The Wild Calls. Anybody Listening?
WITH an uncanny precision that perhaps comes from knowing that no one else is counting, New York City officials can at a moment's notice announce precisely how many gallons of water currently reside in their complex system of regional reservoirs. Having automatic access to that water is essential to the city's well being. And such volume figures are most helpful when necessary to flush guilt through the modern consumer's civic psyche. What have never been tracked so closely, however, are the city's equally vital reservoirs of serenity, those sirenless, automobile-alarm-free areas where urban residents of even modest means can fleetingly flee the city life they are paying so much to endure. In these rural refuges for humans where only visitors lock their cars, city people can pay large sums of money to accommodating local citizens to allow them to sleep, eat, hike, swim, canoe, read, acquire souvenirs and generally relax the way real people do routinely all over this country.
