“The hell with it,” said the seventeenth-century specialist. “I spent nine years working on a PhD and fifteen years making full professor and here I am shoveling rocks out of a ditch. I’m moving back to town.”
“You don’t mean it,” I said, visitant free labor, leaning on the pick that had loosened the rocks of which he spoke.
He shook his head and grinned. “I guess maybe not. But one of these times I will.”
No figures exist nor is there much demand for them, but I suspect that electrical malfunctions, leaky roofs, busted pipes, jammed sewers, rampaging storm waters, and the like have more bearing on the number of back-to-the-landers who eventually return to the cities