Once upon a time, there was a little mouse who lived in Avery’s Creek. He had a cousin who lived near the Woolsey Dip, and having heard wonderful stories about city life, the country mouse decided on a visit. He brought with him fresh country eggs, grass finished beef, his favorite djembe, and his loyal dog Spot, who loved to roam the front yard with nothing but a tether to restrain him. The city mouse was somewhat surprised that his cousin had shown up at his Norwood Park home because the city mouse was hosting a dinner party that night, but as he was bearing artisanal meats, the country mouse was welcomed.
And indeed, the guests where delighted with the fare of the city mouse’s table, especially the brisket, and they were settling in for a night of quiet conversation when the country mouse suggested they dance. Each city mouse looked nervously at his or her neighbors. Surely a nighttime drum circle was in violation of the city ordinances. Sure enough, not five minutes after he had begun beating his djembe, the country mouse was presented with a citation and an order to cease and desist by the APD. Not having seen a police car or uniformed officer before (these were the days of Sheriff Bobby Medford) the loyal Spot raised his voice in protest and strained against his tether.
The next morning, as the mouse cousins were enjoying what was left of the brisket and some fresh local eggs (such as were raised was close as the law allowed) there came a knock at the door. Upon opening it, the city mouse found five of his neighbors and Monroe Gilmoure on his front porch refusing to leave until Spot had been “released from his misery.” The country mouse had no idea what this meant, button being informed that his dog ought not be tethered outside the house, the country mouse agreed to let Spot roam freely as his ancestors had. Spot, not knowing what to make of this but assuming it meant he was no longer wanted by his master the mouse, despaired and immediately ran into the middle of Merrimon Avenue as a ATA bus was hurtling unpiloted toward the Woolsey dip.
Being “Strive not to Drive” week, the bus was full of former Warren Wilson students who form the heart of the Asheville Barista Corps and can only afford to ride the bus when it is free. They collectively cringed at the notion of hurting a sentient being, causing the bus’s center of gravity to shift and the vehicle to swerve away from Spot. The country mouse restrained his pet, picked up his djembe, and headed for home without even finishing his breakfast stout. Feeling bad about how things had ended, the city mouse decided to visit his country cousin as soon as possible.
Which meant, of course, after he got his bike fixed. It was a sweet fixed gear rig that he had bought after reading an article in Ad Busters, but the city mouse was having difficulty finding the greenway that went to Avery’s Creek. Moreover, the hills which prevented him from riding the thing much in town were really bad out here in the country. He thought about stopping for a rest, but the trailers looked very frightening. The city mouse was beginning to wish he had worn shorts instead of his skinny jeans when all of a sudden he heard his name being called. His cousin waved to home from a broad porch built onto the front of a mobile home.
“I had no idea,” thought the city mouse as he entered his cousin’s single wide. It was pretty small, but it seemed nice enough. The country mouse invited him to sit down and take in the view out the back window while the country mouse got some refreshments together. They talked over bread that the country mouse had made with acorn flour and honey which had come from his place and jam made from strawberries in the garden. The country mouse admitted that it was not easy to live off the land as much as he did, but it made for a nice life given that he could afford what with the mills all closing down.
“Maybe the best thing our grandfather ever did was to make that deal with the City way back in the depression when he was the chair of the water district,” said the country mouse. “Because I can afford to live here so close to the city, I think I can start selling my eggs, ham, and produce to them fancy restaurants what bring in all those tourists.” “Yeah, but you’re living high on the hog because we pay the same for water,” said the city mouse. This didn’t make any sense to the country mouse, based on their recent experiences, and he said so. The city mouse immediately accused his cousin of being a homophobic tea partier, which also sounded strange to the country mouse. At this point, Spot came bounding into the trailer, knocking over the city mouse’s bike and scratching the finish. The city mouse got up in a huff and rode back into town, muttering about the wisdom of at-large elections the whole way home.