There was a time in the not-so-distant past when most societies were agrarian for purely prqctical reasons; far more people lived outside urban areas than within them. A time when people lived in villages, and farms radiated out from the villages. At that time it was common, whether in North America, Europe or the Far East for people to live in the same house they were born in; at the very least, never to leave the village where they were born. Houses were handed down to the oldest child in the family, and others lived with them, or built modest houses of their own nearby.

When we lived for a few years in Atlanta, our youngest son took a summer research position with Emory University, working out of a research facility located in North Carolina, at the border between Georgia and North Carolina. His research took him  in close proximity to nearby small towns, and one day he came across an elderly man who could have posed for the iconic painting 'American Gothic' all on his own. They talked for a short while; the research site was adjacent to farmland that had been in the man's family for generations. He had never, ever left the area even for a visit elsewhere.

It would make for some interesting research in our current universal 'movable society' the percentage of people regionally who leave their place of birth to settle elsewhere.  How many people, for example, could count owning or living in more than three or four houses in their lifetime. We're currently living in our fourth house, although we've lived in more than four; the others not our own. We no longer live in the city where we were born because professional life mandated we move elsewhere.

The world has changed immensely since we were young. It's said that every 30 years technology itself makes great leaps forward changing not only people's lives but society itself in its interchangeability and greater fusion with the global community. Just the fact alone that in our personal lifespan we saw the appearance of motorized vehicles making horse-drawn conveyances redundant, that the wonder of telephone communication has given way to cellphones and iPhones, that letter-writing has lost its vogue to instant internet communication, that people can 'visit' other countries' residents and converse with them halfway around the world.

We've been to many other places, lived in some, and returned to our country of origin, if not the city where we were born.  At our age there is a diminished desire to travel; not because of lack of curiosity and the attractiveness of being elsewhere from time to time, but because we're comfortable and we're busily engaged right where we are in a location that offers us the best of all possible worlds.

 

Our children have long gone on to pursue their own lives and their connection to us while familial, familiar and affectionate, is peripheral to their lives. You might say that our two little dogs representing a succession of such companions, have more or less filled a gap. They've become our companions and a massive load of caring and affection emanates from us to them and vice-versa. 

Pedestrian concerns like the weather concern us daily. Will it be a good day for a walk in the forest with Jackie and Jillie? Will we be rained out, will it be too cold in sub-zero winter temperature with a raging wind and snow falling thick as fog? Well, there are few days and few weather conditions that keep us from those daily forays into nature with our little companions.

Today was a pleasant day, fully overcast, with a high temperature of 12C, and slight wind. And although the forest landscape is one of approaching winter, it continues to attract and reward us as we make our way through a maze of intersecting trails. In the process coming across other people wedded to the idea of spending time in nature's ample bosom, taking advantage of the scrubbed air, hearing birdsong, admiring the daily-changing appearance of the forest.

 

And you never know what you may come across that's interesting, amusing, instructive and worthwhile. For example, today we watched incredulously as an older German shepherd mix of a modest size confidently and energetically trod a trail we were on, carrying firmly in his jaw a partial log. No mere stick this, it would do a fireplace proud. It was thick and it was long and must have weighed considerable, yet the dog pranced happily along with it. At one point he placed it gently on the forest floor, looked around, then retrieved it and followed in the boot steps of its human companion.