One of the joys of living in a small town is that I can hear one of the local church's bells that play at 1700 every evening. I always enjoyed working in the yard and listening to the songs come wafting over the trees, distant but still clear. And I knew it was a church when I heard the hymn "Oh Sacred Head, Now Wounded" play.
I've lived in the city. And I've lived in the country. Heck, being a military brat who joined the military himself, I've lived just about everywhere, including overseas. And I would pick a small, rural town any day of the week and twice on Sundays. The big city folks can keep their noise, their bustle, their sky-high crime rates, their rude neighbors, their traffic jams, and their unearned sense of superiority. I'll keep my small towns, where the church bells ring out J.S. Bach hymns in the evening, where the neighbors actually wave and say "Hello!", where I don't have to fight my way into traffic, and where bowing your head to say grace in a local restaurant invites smiles instead of sneers.
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