In books, movies, photographs, poems, paintings, and any manner of art, life in the country is often painted as some kind of rustic idyl. Those red barns. That green grass. Never mind the sweat, the parched land during a drought, the rusty machinery, and that ever-present perfume of manure in hot summer months. Sure, after a long day you can sit on your porch, sip a Genny, and watch the setting sun turn the clouds lovely hues of pink. But you better believe mosquitoes will be biting at your ankles. And the scent of that "fresh country air" might still be hanging around.
But some days, it really does seem like you're living in a pastoral. On one of those days, a gentle breeze (even a zephyr, if you're lucky) will waft the scent of fresh basil into your nose, and your goat farmer friend will insist on giving you a 60 ounce tub of fresh chevre. Not like the fresh chevre you buy at the grocery store, or even the farmers market: The chevre that was made from this morning's milking. Good, raw milk chevre.
On one of those days, it's best to keep dinner simple. Mound that cheese in the middle of a plate. Hopefully you have some fruit: Cantaloupe and and figs are perfect. Strawberries would be good, too. Add some proscuitto. Grill some crusty bread. Eat outside, while you watch the clouds turn from dusky rose to brilliant pink. Never mind the bugs.