Being a kid from the big city on the banks of the Hudson River, it might be well to begin this meandering manuscript with my impressions of a little town in northern Wisconsin hard by an unnamed little "crick" wandering through Douglas County.

To begin with, it's different. It's quiet. So quiet, in fact, that one can actually hear the birds singing in the trees. This fact is an oddity in itself. In New York City, the only birds one hears are in the Bronx Zoo, and the only tree grows somewhere in Brooklyn, or so I've read. The only greenery in the Big Apple is on the center line of Fifth Avenue, painted that venerable hue in honor of St. Patrick during the March festivities celebrating his feat of tossing of the snakes out of Ireland. The good saint's wonderous deed was a marvelous thing for the Emerald Isle, although snakes of a different variety still roam the streets of Gotham.

That leads to another aspect of the quietness factor in the land that noise forgot. Gunshots. In the land where Guliani ruled, the sound of a firearm discharging is almost immediately accompanied by the wailing of sirens in the streets. Cops, ambulance crews, firemen and the general populace hit the bricks to find out what happened. The cops to find out if a crime has been committed, the ambulance personnel to take a possible hapless victim to the hospital, the firemen just because it's always been part of their job description, and the people of the neighborhood to cry "Police brutality". The cacophony reaches levels that somehow still penetrate the much battered eardrums of the average city dweller.

In the Northland, however, while the sound of gunfire may be more prevalent than in the big city, there is a definite difference to be noted. It is not accompanied by the wailing of sirens, roar of police cars, ambulances or fire trucks and no massing of neighbors and friends. Most folks are aware that said gun noises are most likely produced by hunters honing the sights on their rifles prior to the upcoming season, or during that season, attempting to bring down their intended deer or bear victim. The number of shots heard 'round the area would seem to indicate they miss their intended targets more often than not, while the ratio of gunshot noises to victims in the big city would suggest that the hoods in New York are better shots. Or perhaps have more and louder firearms and a larger number and less elusive victims from which to choose.

Even in the local bar scene, the most innocuous source of noise, there is a difference. In the large cities, the din perpetrated on the ears of the barroom customer is something that bears investigation. The difference between "bar talk" in the Big Apple and that of the tavern types in the northwoods territories, can best be described as "Talking at" versus "Talking to". The former is founded on the premise of "I'm right and you're wrong, so your best choice is to listen and pay attention to the wisdom I am about to proffer for your enlightenment". "Talking to", on the other hand, is the mutual exchange of ideas in normal conversational tones. The decibel level is profoundly lower, and the damage to ear drums significantly less.

The difference in subject matter is as obvious as the noise levels. Whether Mantle, Mays or Snider was the greatest has been an ongoing topic of New York conversation for years. Regardless in which borough the differences of opinion may occur, statistics on personnel preferences and a loud mouth will inevitably intimidate even the most hardy and knowledgeable soul. The argument is won or lost by the level of noise and physical presentation of the verbal content. There is never a final conclusion. It is the same tomorrow, tomorrow, and the tomorrows to come.

Discussions in the Northland tend to be of a more pastoral bent. Whether the John Deere or the Allis Chalmers is the better farm implement, or an "original" put together with baling wire and a ten penny nail does a better job, what garden item should be planted when, or if the Brewers, Twins, Vikings or the Packers stand a chance may raise the pitch of the conversation, the tone remains remarkably civil. Even the differences of opinion in the sporting arena recognize that great things have been done by great sports heroes on the fields where hotly contested battles are won or lost.

The worst potential casualty in a barroom conversation would most likely be the bruised ego of some newcomer to these parts who would make the mistake of cheering for the Vikings in Packer country or commit the unpardonable sin of not knowing the difference between a "blue gill" and a "big mouth" while attempting to spin a fishing fable.

A renowned comedian had it right when he once said "I'd rather be in Solon Springs". While that may not be a verbatim rendition of his words, the meaning is clear. The peace and tranquility of a small town is hands down worth more than the turmoil and madness of life in the big city. At least in this author's humble opinion.