When Amy realized that her university term would extend into summer, she was thrilled. She had spent the previous summer in the countryside and hadn’t enjoyed it at all. For several years, while she was in college, she lived with her aunt in London. She became so accustomed to city life that the thought of returning to her native village was far from appealing.
During her university studies, Amy embraced the independence and various delights of city living, and going back to the village felt out of the question. Although she had grown up there, she found everything about her rural home somewhat absurd and ridiculous now.
The endless chores, the farm animals, the people, the constant worries and trivial concerns were nothing like the city life she knew. There was no oat milk latte waiting for her at the café, no clubs or restaurants to enjoy. Even the Internet seemed to falter in that backwater, much to her frustration.
The underground and taxis would be forgotten for the summer, not that there was anywhere to go in the village. But dogs barked everywhere, as if they had nothing better to do, and the roosters crowed madly each morning, unable to sleep.
Amy had quickly grown accustomed to city life during her five years there—three years in college and two at university.
Her mom’s sister, Aunt Sophie, had left her childhood home for the city as a young woman, something Amy greatly admired. The thought of living in the village did not appeal to the young student, but she couldn’t refuse her mother’s request.
Yes, she missed her mom, but the thought of hard work in the garden and the house, along with the lack of entertainment and basic comforts, was a daunting prospect now.
Honestly, there’s not even air conditioning in the house! How is that living?
Village folks seemed dull and narrow-minded to her. The local girls seemed oblivious to highlighter, dating apps, and streaming services like Netflix. When she asked them what they watched without Netflix, they vaguely replied with “the telly.”
“But how do you meet guys without dating apps?”
“Why bother? Everyone knows everyone.”
Amy remembered last summer with a shiver. She couldn’t settle in her own home and spent all three months counting the days until she could return to her familiar environment. Here she was, at the end of June, facing the prospect of going back there again…
A train ride, then a local bus. Fields and forests flitted past the fogged-up windows, taking her further from civilization and making her heart heavy.
This wasn’t even the end of her journey—the coach stopped at a dreary little town, where she had to take what’s loosely termed a bus to the village. It was more like a shed on wheels. From here, things would only get worse.
Amy was at the end of her tether and cursed everyone under the sun: the driver who seemingly hit every bump, herself for agreeing to come back, instead of staying at her dorm or with her aunt, and even her mom for raising her in a village.
As soon as she got off the bus, she was wrapped in her mother’s embrace.
“Let me have a kiss! I haven’t seen my baby in a year!” exclaimed Helen enthusiastically.
“Mum!” grumbled Amy, softening slightly. “Okay, let me go.”
“Why the glum face?” her mother asked with a smile, taking two-thirds of her bags. “Come on, cheer up! You’re home for the whole summer ahead!”
“That’s what scares me!” groaned the daughter. “Summer in the village…”
“The air’s cleaner here and the environment’s better,” Helen replied firmly. “That’s a fact! The people are kinder, everyone knows each other.”
“Yes, everyone knows everything!” Amy echoed. “Like Dad used to say—if someone farts at one end of the village, everyone knows at the other end!”
“Dad didn’t say it quite like that!” her mother chuckled. “But that’s not entirely bad. It keeps people accountable. Everyone knows everything, so they behave! Or at least try to. There are fools everywhere. In the city too.”
“People who think sushi is just fish and rice can’t be that respectable?” Seeing her daughter’s puzzled face, Helen laughed.
“You’re still young! You stick your nose up over nonsense. The only truly bad thing in the village is the dirt road. No arguing there.”
That seemed to end the debate. In reality, mother and daughter often returned to the topic. Amy was annoyed by everything, from the local food to the howling dogs. But mostly, she was irked by people who didn’t seem to know of any other way of life. Among them, she felt out of place.
“Stop being so snobbish!” Helen often chided her, sometimes realising she had said it five times in a day. It was like talking to a wall.
Maybe Amy just enjoyed feeling different, superior? Though, how much of a child is she anymore? Helen herself was a mother at her daughter’s age. She couldn’t fathom why Amy loved feeling so superior. Perhaps it bothered her that she herself was from the countryside and hadn’t come to terms with it?
Amy eventually got used to the roosters crowing each morning, working in the garden, and even the lack of leisure activity beyond library evenings and occasional amateur accordion concerts at the village hall.
She could get used to everything, except the people. Every villager seemed pathetic and inept. Amy didn’t understand why none of them had moved away, like she or her aunt had, to escape such a life.
They seemed stuck in a world of stagnation and ignorance. And they were content with it!
“They like it!” her mom explained. “They don’t know any different.”
“If you don’t expand someone’s horizons, they’ll never know that it’s better beyond them!” Amy agreed. “But why doesn’t anyone even try to live civilly in these conditions? Self-education? Creativity? Studying science?”
“When?” Helen laughed. “There’s fields to plow, firewood to chop, a stove to light, cattle to milk…”
“This peasant lifestyle horrifies me!” exclaimed Amy with disgust.
“Well, let’s not look down on them as peasants. It’s just different for you. I lived in the city too, and levels of living differ there. Remember how you were little? You liked it here! I recall you munching carrots straight from the bucket, chasing chickens, then running from the hen! Forget that?”
“I’ve forgotten and don’t want to remember!” the daughter retorted defiantly. “City people are different,” she thought but kept quiet.
Back in the city, she’d easily joined a student circle. Her ideas were understood and accepted both in college and university. But here, she barely had anyone to talk to. Amy was lonely.
“Well, just because I managed to save for your education in the city doesn’t mean you’re much different from everyone else!” her mother noted.
“I am!” Amy retorted, lifting her chin.
“Do you enjoy that feeling?”
“What do you mean?”
“Feeling superior! Do you like knowing you’re smarter than everyone here? You think you’re better because of that?”
Amy pondered. She first wanted to argue, but then analyzed her feelings and nodded. Her mother sighed. Perhaps her daughter’s behavior really was just a result of low self-esteem. In every other case, belittling others wasn’t appealing.
“Yes, I consider myself better!” her daughter started speaking. “They’re all idiots.”
“And me?”
“You aren’t, you’re normal. And Aunt Sophie too. The others know nothing. I was talking to the literature teacher the other day. Teachers should be the most educated in places without science centers and university. But she didn’t even know the development of genre theory progresses from syntax to semantics and then to pragmatics! She couldn’t even list the basic triads!”
“Well, I’m also not in the loop about that!” her mother remarked and huffed, looking at her daughter disapprovingly. “Does that make me dumb too? Were you talking to Emmy?”
“Yes, the one with glasses, awkward lady.”
“Emmy teaches primary kids. They’re learning ABCs, not your theoretical triads.”
“But she should know Russian herself!”
“Of course, she should. And she knows it ‘excellently,’ just enough to teach first to fourth graders according to the national curriculum!” Helen explained patiently.
“That’s exactly it!” Amy nodded. “And no personal development beyond that. I know it even though it’s not my subject.”
“I just don’t get why you’re so proud of it? Not everyone is going to be Wikipedia, everyone has their path!” Helen M. frowned, losing patience. “You might know more, but it doesn’t inherently make you smarter. Imagine if you were with people much smarter than you, they’d consider you a country bumpkin. Would you like that?”
“That won’t happen!” Amy replied, sharper than intended. “I can always keep up with an educated chat.”
“Don’t be so sure of that, dear. Did you feel this arrogance in the city too?”
Amy thought again.
“The city had more people at my level.”
“What level?”
“Higher than in the village!” Amy got annoyed, feeling her mom looked at her as if she were a child about to stomp and cry. “I don’t feel lonely there, though starting off was tough too.”
“Really? Was it hard?”
“Yes, absolutely. They say you can take someone out of the country, but not the country out of them. Of course, I had a mark of… All this. I wasn’t popular at first.”
“Did it bother you?”
“Of course, it did! But I learned to live and act differently. There’s nothing left in me that anyone can judge.”
“And now you judge others?”
“Do you really believe it’s arrogance?”
“Yes. And self-esteem issues. You flaunt what you know, forgetting the myriad of things you don’t. You look at locals like they’re sheep, not living people. Sure, they don’t read much history, aren’t into politics, don’t attend opera. But what’s an appropriate level of knowledge for village life? Who taught them? And mind, you have some village traits too!”
“I don’t!” protested Amy.
“Never heard a city person use ‘ain’t,’ and you’ve said it twice!” her mother noted cunningly.
“But I…”
“What? Unpleasant? Stop judging and focus on yourself, I sent you to university, that’s what you did. Think of them. Those you look down on. You studied for two more years at university and college with your aunt. You know a bit about language, literature, and history, good for you! They know how to till the soil. When to grow each crop. Which herbs cure ailments without antibiotics. Do you know?”
Amy hesitated.
“I haven’t learned!” she evaded.
“You could’ve learned while at home. Before college, but these skills escaped you. Now you judge others for being limited!” Helen laughed. “Think it over.”
Amy was quiet. Criticism from her mother stung. For what? For not embracing farm work or endless dishwashing, birthing kittens, or giant mantises in tall grass?
She could say, “That’s not why her mum raised her,” but that’s up for debate.
She fleetingly considered teaching at the local school. Introducing extra lessons for those rural folks or at least their kids, to make them more educated. But dismissed it just as fast. They wouldn’t find time between weeding cucumbers and planting potatoes. It wouldn’t make a difference. Why waste time?
Amy stopped arguing with her mom about village life and its residents. Apparently, mom wasn’t far from them. Years in the village etched into her mind. What did she know?
She just needed to get through this summer, and next summer, find a job in the city, or even better, get married so she wouldn’t be dragged back home.
