We have everything cities have, and so, so much more

They simply could not believe it.

During my recent trip to New York, a friend asked why I so like the rural life, the small-town existence of southeastern Ohio. The answer is so obvious to me that I had to think for a minute before answering. It doesn't get put into words all that often.

Well, I began, where I live I have pretty much all the conveniences of city life with none of the inconveniences.

"C'mon," my friend said. "There can't be the kind of stores and restaurants and culture that we have here."

Actually, I responded, there are. You have 1,000 stores that stock all the same stuff at the same prices. We have two or three. But neither of us goes to more than one to make a purchase. If there's something the stores don't have, it can be gotten online "“ whether you live in New York or the backwoods.

Restaurants? Please. I can go to the fine-dining restaurant in Baker Center and get a meal that rivals anything in New York. The same is true of Stephen's, or Zoe, or any of several other places. There is a difference, though. I won't have to pay $50 for supper. That's what the evening meal is called in southeastern Ohio, by the way. Dinner is served at noon.

"But what about the times you want Chinese, or Indian, or Mexican?"

I can get it, and I don't have to spend an hour in traffic or time on a subway so foul that I want to shower when I emerge, just to get there.

Culture? No problem with that, either. An advantage to a college town is that it is more cosmopolitan than other towns its size. There's music, theater, whatever you want. We get movies the same time you do, and they're cheaper.

"But here, there's always something going on. There are parties and events, friends. You don't have all that where you live."

Au contraire. Just a few days ago, in fact, I went to the autumn party at the Glasshouse Works. It's the start of the fall social season "“ "Fall social season? You've got to be kidding." Well, a little. But for, what, a decade now, Ken and Tom have hosted a couple hundred of their closest friends on a Saturday evening in September. Those who attend are artists, literary folk, and just plain interesting people. Everyone there is someone you know or someone you'd like to know.

Parties here in New York are all about jockeying for position. Last party I attended here, the entire conversation was about making reservations in the very best preschools for children as yet unborn. It was oh-so-important to note how expensive these preschools were "“ typically, about the annual cost of a year in college. So little toddlers can play with blocks and scribble with crayons "“ gimme a break. The fact is, the ratio of interesting people is a lot higher in southeastern Ohio than it is in New York or any big city.

(I didn't go on "“ I really wanted to "“ to say that late at night at the Glasshouse party we all painted our faces and danced naked around the bonfire while chanting strange incantations to summon a good harvest next year. I would have been making it up, of course, but it would have been believed. But then my friends would have thought I'd joined some kind of "Wicker Man" cult.)

"But aren't you afraid?"

Ah. Now we get down to it. Things in the dark, strange noises, odd people from "Deliverance." No, not afraid at all. Here's the difference: If I have a flat tire, a half-dozen people will stop and ask if I need help before I have the tire changed. In "the city" (as New York is universally called north of D.C. and east of Harrisburg), have a flat tire and traffic will back up for miles and by the time you have it changed you'll have heard profanity from many lands, some of it coming from people wearing traffic cop uniforms.

"But what if there's a disaster? What if you need help?"

Well, then, help is summoned. There are fire and police agencies and all, but more than that I've never heard of a neighbor refusing aid. It's how things are where I live. It's how people are.

When you are in a big city, it's not possible to look at other people as people. There are just too many of them. Everyone is anonymous. A traffic jam where I live is when everyone is stopped at stop signs, motioning the others to go first. Go on the roads in New York, and everyone drives as if those other cars do not contain people. It's a huge fight, all the time, to get ahead, if only by a little.

So, you see, it isn't so much that I dislike New York; it's that I have come to really love my little town out in the woods.

Editor's note: Dennis E. Powell was an award-winning reporter in New York and elsewhere before moving to Ohio and becoming a full-time crackpot. His column appears on Mondays. You can reach him at dep@drippingwithirony.com.