“Green Acres is the place to be.”

As a child of the 80s I grew up watching reruns of the 1960s classic “Green Acres.”

Not until two weeks ago did I understand the beauty of the theme song.

“Farm living is the life for me”

Before Aug. 1 I never considered myself a farmer or anything close. But, I do grow grass in my front yard. And I raised a few tomatoes during my childhood.

“Land spreading out so far and wide”

Yes, that’s something I’m very accustomed to and very much love.

“Keep Manhattan, just give me that countryside.”

Amen. I’ll second that motion.

I recently made my first trip to the big city, our country’s biggest in fact, and eight days after our plane landed in New York City I was desperately missing the grass, the trees, the squirrels, the clean streets, the southern drawl and the slow pace.

Don’t get me wrong, I saw some cool things, met some nice people and enjoyed the time away from work.

But New York City is not my kind of place.

I went with a small group from church to work with an Hispanic church in Brooklyn. Over the years the small congregation, church staff and volunteers from Natchez have turned an ailing city building into a lively house of God. Their membership has gone from mostly senior citizens to a mix of young and slightly older. The members’ native countries span the Latin American spectrum, but in Brooklyn they are one family.

And though their family sits in a city of 8.2 million people, their community is stronger than ours.

A mother to one child is a mother to all around. No one leaves church on Sunday afternoons without food in their belly. And every greeting — hello or goodbye — comes with a kiss.

But outside that community, things are scary. The New York streets are littered with trash. The air feels dirty. We saw more than one arrest and more homeless people than I wanted to stomach.

The crowds walk too fast, stand too much and spend too much money. Ten minutes in Times Square and my head was spinning.

In New York, no one knows anyone, no one makes eye contact and no one stops to help.

But the small church community in Brooklyn wasn’t New York. Sure, its members are New Yorkers. Many, though Hispanic in race, were born in New York City. They have city jobs, city homes and city children.

The church isn’t in a bad neighborhood. But it’s not in a good one either, not by my standards. The children can’t play outside, except on a small plot of concrete. And a five-or-so block walk to the park takes you across several dangerous intersections. The closest park is grass-less too.

Yet, the church’s community is different than any I’ve seen in Mississippi.

The Hispanic culture explains much of the difference. Traditions are different in their lives. Family is tighter.

The culture, and a love for the Lord, is reflected in their daily lives.

People adapt to their surroundings. Big city residents tend to love the city. Those of us who prefer miles of green acres love our land. And it takes a unique person to make the jump from one life to the other.

Yet, I’m convinced a town like ours is better aligned to form a community. In New York, they do it because they have to. In Natchez, it should come naturally.

Fast paced to us is slow to New Yorkers. What’s keeping our town from becoming a stronger community?

To that, I don’t have the answer.

Regardless, I’m glad to be home, perfect or not.

Julie Finley is the managing editor of The Natchez Democrat. She can be reached at 601-445-3551 or julie.finley@natchezdemocrat.com.