I live in the country. To be a bit more specific, I live in the northeast reaches of rural Sullivan County, in a town that for nearly a century was dry, where Betsy Bingo droppings are the hit of the summer fair and where our only traffic light blinks.

I know that it’s the country because we have a bathroom that’s surrounded by windows and I’m not worried about any Peeping Toms.

That’s not to say I don’t have the occasional curious visitors.

Last week I came out of the shower and found myself entertaining an entire herd of Peeping Bambis. I wasn’t sure how to react, so I just waved. Hey, I was trying to be neighborly.

I also know that I live in the country because I have to keep a landline telephone, knowing there’s no guarantee I’ll get cell service in every room.

The nearest supermarket is a good 25 minutes away; the place to be on the weekend is the town dump, and pizza delivery is only a dream. At night I fall asleep to the sounds of cicadas, crickets and frogs.

My friends who live in Orange County swear they too live in the country. And they do - until they visit me and say, “Boy, you really live in the country.” Compared to where I live, they’re big city folks.

It's all relative.

When my family used to come up to the Mountains for the summer, I’d see nothing but green as we crossed the George Washington Bridge - the only sign of life was Palisades Amusement Park. I always thought, well, we’re now in the country.

But living in the country should not be confused with country living. Or so I was reminded as I moseyed along (that’s how us country folks get around) last weekend in the not-so-country community of Rhinebeck in Dutchess County for Country Living magazine’s annual Country Living Fair. That’s where man’s trash is another sucker’s vintage decor. I say that with pride, having been suckered for many years buying truly worthless wares.

Why? Because they’re salvaged antiques.

How do I know they’re salvaged antiques and not simply junk? Because of how much money Bonnie and I have spent over the years on these worthless wares - I mean, vintage decor. A few years back we bought a porcelain mini-bathtub. Why? I have no idea. But I did see a bunch of other Country Living Fair folks walking around with these mini-bathtubs, and I knew I couldn’t live in the country without my very own Country Living tub, which now doubles as a year-round planter.

If you’re not sure how to live in the country, the Country Living Fair folks offer plenty of tips straight out of, you guessed it, the pages of Country Living magazine. They teach you how to decoupage your suitcase. I usually just empty mine, but then again I grew up in Brooklyn, so I’m still learning. They had a class on “Easy Painting for Furniture, Cabinetry and Home Decor” which sounds great, but I think the real easy way is to just leave your furniture and cabinetry the color you bought it.

I saw a lot of guys at the workshop titled, “Never Stop to Think... Do I have a Place For This?” They should offer that one when you first park your car.

Let me tell you, after nearly half a century of living in the country, I’ve learned it’s not about the antiques and artifacts, the designs and decorations, the pottery and planters or the crafting and creating that define country living. It’s being able to wave at Bambi in your birthday suit.