Rural Banter

Author: ERICA GOODMAN

At 21 years of age, I am announcing my retirement. Although I will not yet be playing shuffleboard under shady Florida palms, it is true, the moment of departure is nigh. With Commencement approaching rapidly, it is time for me to say goodbye to Rural Banter and bid a fond farewell to lovely Vermont. But before you begin tearing it up, faithful readers, let me offer a few final words.

For the past two years, I have given my weekly two cents on life in the less densely populated nooks of America. Hopefully I have achieved my goal of offering both serious and comical insights into the rural life that the mostly urbanized and suburbanized students at this college would otherwise never encounter. The bits and pieces of pastoral anecdotes may seem insignificant in a world increasingly dominated by urban development and metropolitan exclusivity. Still, let me remind you that this country began as a largely rural nation, with most people living on farms or in small villages. The roots of agricultural life experienced by our forefathers may be withered and forgotten by modern innovation, but the legacy of hard work and a connection to the land will always be a part of our cultural heritage.

As this is the last publication of Rural Banter, I considered leaving readers with a list of the top 10 marvels to be sure not to miss in the woods, fields and dusty byways of Middlebury, a mini- "What We've Learned"banter-style. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that what I have learned really boils down to one thing.

Embrace the real life.

Young adults come to this small liberal arts college in the middle of rural Vermont to gain knowledge of Economics or Chinese, Psychology or Studio Art. But along the way, we also learn something about who we are. We make friends and play sports, join clubs and work jobs. Some of us favor the great outdoors; others enjoy a less alfresco lifestyle. Regardless of preference, we experience moments in life when everything seems immediately tangible, and, for better or worse, our lives are undeniably and unfalteringly real.

We imagine. We dream. It is, of course, human nature to explore the next frontier. In these explorations, I urge you to be sure to appreciate what you already have before you, whether it be green mountains or a bustling downtown, the company of family and friends or a quiet moment to yourself. By holding on to what is real and important, the places to which you travel and the people whom you meet along the way will forever a part of you. Understanding the real is an evolution, and if our realities should become blurred, then let the process, the experience and the learning be what matter most in the quest.

Best of luck to the Class of 2006. I'm off to enjoy my retirement.