Kevin Eckhardt

As a lifelong ruralite, I'll tell you about these "people." In short, they suck. They look at you the way you look at your neighbors who don't pay the light bill, smoke meth, and spent Sunday afternoon doing burnouts in their driveway. They build these little enclaves and never, ever so much as wave at you. If you're taking a walk down the road, they don't even slow down--even if you're pushing a baby stroller or riding a horse--and pepper you with gravel. Their social circle is elsewhere along with their business: out of state or otherwise "in town." They drive past a dozen country churches where their real neighbors are, to a church an hour away to participate in rich folk intrigues and hear a sermon on just how wonderful they are. They will occasionally try to do "country" things, which to them consists of putting up NO TRESPASSING signs every 8 feet around their palatial estates or drive around on a UTV that costs more than your family car. The people from where they opt to live, are nuisances to their performative country peace & quiet that they advertise, daily, on their social media accounts: "Nothing like a latte on the back porch! Love it out here!!!XOXO" captions a candid photo of the female sitting in a rocking chair that costs more than all the furniture in your house, covered in a artisan wool blanket that was more expensive than your wife's wedding dress. Out in the picture, often out of focus, is the douchebag, white collar, old money nepo-baby husband sitting on a brand new tractor that will never do any real work besides being a glorified lawnmower that weighs as much as a panzer tank. The front loader of which will never actually scoop shit or dirt, but will move some cute little strawbales around for their Fall Display that nobody will see from the road, but they'll also post on social media. They are insufferable, soulless people who see the countryside as something to consume, a brand to which they wish to be associated.