Rural Kansas

My experiences have been worlds away from those of my parents. I’m convinced that the places we lived during our formative years made the difference.

I attended a high school with more students than the total number of citizens in the town where my parents lived when they graduated. My high school was in a metropolitan area. My parents went to school in rural Kansas. I attended college in Chicago, the Windy City, and lived big dreams. My parents endured winds that stirred the Dust Bowl and blew away dreams. So they followed the migration west and eventually moved to the city.

Forty-three percent of the United States population lived in a rural setting when my parents were teenagers. Less than 19 percent do so today.

Television has caricatured the rural family. In the 1960s, hillbillies in Beverly Hills kept the country snickering. Today, reality show producers walk the fine line of commodifying what may seem like peculiar behavior while not totally denigrating the rural persons who keep the dollars flowing.

A recent trip to my parents’ hometown challenged assumptions about those living in rural America. I’m beginning to think that some urban dwellers have made errors in how they view life in small towns.

Things look different in rural areas. Unwashed by persistent glare, the night sky provides the black background in front of which a thousand stars dance. Rural places sound different too. Not bleached with the incessant hum of the city, the aural palette sparkles with the birds’ crisp singing accompanied by the breeze strumming the trees. Sights and sounds seem more vivid, more authentic when beyond the homogenizing effects of ambient light and white noise.

The most noticeable difference I see, however, might be described as relational stability. The religious order of St. Benedict values the stability of staying within a particular community for life. This commitment recognizes the value of nurturing long-term friendships and the well being that comes from striving together for the common good.

Researchers compared the experiences of the elderly in rural and urban settings. Rural folks reported more satisfaction with their community, a greater happiness, and less fear. In a Swedish study, rural children had higher perceptions of community trust and safety than their urban peers. Scholars correlated that with a greater sense of well being.

My rural cousin sang in the same church choir for 60 years. He lived in the same house for 45 years. When he died, more than 500 people attended his funeral.

In contrast, as an itinerant cosmopolite, I’ve directed church choirs in five states. I have lived in Overland Park for 12 years, my longest tenancy to date. The house next door has had four owners in that time. If I died tomorrow, my neighbors would notice, eventually, but most would not attend my funeral.

These days I’m wondering about the unintended consequences of living in a transitory culture. The song of my youth that asked if anyone stayed in one place anymore may have been prophetic for many in my generation. Sometimes there’s just too much movement, too much blur.

I’m finding increased contentment in staying put and decreased interest in a supersized life. Maybe those of us who live in metropolitan areas should click off televised caricatures and sink deeper relational roots for the well being of our children and grandchildren.

An edited version of this article appeared in the Kansas City Star Midwest Voices column, November 30, 2013.