I was born into a generation of kids who grew up watching Donald Duck, which is probably why I love the countryside, grandma’s cakes, squirrels, and talking to ducks. The countryside has always been my favorite holiday spot, but this coronavirus crisis has got me wondering what would happen if I were to pack my bags tomorrow, settle down somewhere in the middle of a forest, and start growing eggplants for me to eat as soon as they come of age.
Let’s be honest. Modern cities have become a hornet’s nest buzzing with the coronavirus, where social distancing is so complicated that the only alternative is to stay home, live surrounded by cats, and order online from some guy who then visits you dressed up like an astronaut. However, be it due to this health crisis or to the ensuing economic one, it seems likely that many of us will have to seek exile in the countryside, retracing the footsteps of our forefathers. It’s really not so bad, unless you’re of the sort who faints at the sight of a spider. And even then, given that the rural world has been the last stronghold of traditional values for centuries, perhaps you could find it in yourself to overlook the itty-bitty spider’s negligible sins. It’s not a question of Tolstoy-like extremism either. He gave up aristocracy to mingle with the peasants of Yasnaya Polyana, and history is still undecided as to whether this was heroic or, on the contrary, his acts sparked the hippie movement and he’s to blame for its disastrous side effects; and by “disastrous side effects” I mean things like Paolo Coelho.
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