Love in the Country: A City Girl’s New Beginning at 79
At 79 years old, I did something I never thought I’d do. I got married for the first time. Not only that—I married an 80-year-old country gentleman and moved out of the city I’d lived in for 21 years, not counting the other cities I lived in, to start a new chapter in the quiet rhythm of the countryside.
You could call it brave. You could call it foolish. I call it love—and a big leap of faith for the both of us!
City life shaped me. I was used to noise—the hum of traffic rolling down the hill behind my house. The occasional shout from the sidewalk, the predictable wail of sirens. I loved the movement, the cafes on every corner, the art, the diversity of people, the endless stimulation.
Now, I wake up to birdsong and the rustle of wind in trees. No rush hour. No blaring horns. Just the occasional growler flying overhead to practice touch and go landings from the nearby navel base. Our home is in the path of those airplanes, but we don’t mind. I got used to the silence immediately. And the Jets flying overhead are just a fun surprise.
From High Heels to Mud Boots
Moving to the country brought its share of adjustments. I quickly learned that shoes matter differently out here. My polished city heels and fashionable boots didn’t stand a chance against the sometimes muddy and sometimes dusty paths and gravelly ground. I now own more pairs of hiking boots than I ever imagined. I have resisted the trend of jeans, T-shirts and sweatshirts so many of the folks wear here, but I quickly embraced the trend of puffy coats.
Why? So Delightful!
And then there’s the house. It’s spacious, airy, full of light. My first adjustment was to leaving the blinds open on the windows. The neighbors are far enough away, and there are enough trees where privacy is a given. Our own private well gave us some challenges because of the extremely hard water. After several discussions with experts on the matter, we now have it softened. However, there’s a high salt content so bottled water is king here. Fortunately, my husband is quickly learning how to be a handyman in his own home. And he’s picking up gardening skills. Well, actually, he’s mastered cutting the grass with the riding lawnmower. I’m the gardener despite my lack of landscaping experience.
Grocery Runs and Internet Woes
Although we are really out in the country, we can just drive a couple of miles into town to grab a loaf of bread from the little grocery store there. But the nearest big box grocery store and drugstore are 30 minutes away. I’ve learned to plan meals like a pioneer wife, and I keep a list of “city items” to stock up on when we’re out that way.
Don’t even ask about the Wi-Fi. Getting hooked up was quite the challenge. Thanks to the perseverance and determination of my husband, we do have Wi-Fi and it works pretty well. Of course I do have to know which corner of the house won’t drop calls.
The Surprising Joys
Here’s what I love. I’ve never felt so at home. There’s space to breathe. I see stars—thousands of them—every single night. I’m learning the names of birds and trees, and tracking the bloom of flowers that I didn’t know were already in the garden because we haven’t been here for the complete cycle of seasons. I’m also discovering which flowers the rabbits and the deer will eat – which, so far, is everything I’ve planted. So now I am planting accordingly. Each morning, while making my coffee, I look out of the kitchen window and watch the hummingbirds fly around the hummingbird feeder. I may see a large fat crow sitting on the birdbath dippping it’s peanuts in the water to soften the shells and scaring all the other birds away. Or I will see an entire flock of birds scrambling around the birdfeeder taking turns getting seeds or picking up the ones that dropped on the ground. Now and then, a little flock of quail march through the yard near the bird feeder with little baby quails following behind, and the papa quail’s feather thingy bobbing over his head. In that same space, rabbits love to come and eat the grass and chase each other during mating season. Once in a while, a deer wanders through checking it all out. We watch all the happenings like a television program. We are endlessly entertained.
And then, there’s Him.
Friends and acquaintances frequently ask me what made me decide to get married for the first time at this age? The answer is clear. This man—gentle, grounded, full of stories and old-fashioned wisdom—has given me the kind of steady affection I never believed would come my way. We cook together, take care of the spacious lawn and garden, and share long, quiet evenings on the porch with a short glass of Amarula. We hold hands while watching movies on the big screen in the den. I rest my head on his shoulder while cuddled up under a throw.
Dreams have no expiration Date
It’s never too late to start over, to try something new, to risk the unfamiliar. Yes, I miss the city sometimes. I miss my friends, the art walks, and the bustle. But I’ve gained something rare: a life built on presence, patience, and unexpected joy.
So, if you’re wondering if it’s possible to start over in your eighth decade, I’m here to tell you—yes. Yes, it is. Just bring your sense of humor, your boots, and an open heart. Love doesn’t come with an age limit. Nor does change.
