Just before Easter weekend, I paid a visit to my sister, who lives in Florida. After spending almost 20 minutes driving five miles on Jacksonville’s I-295, I arrived at her condominium, gave her a hug, mentioned the congested traffic, and said, “I’m definitely a country mouse.”
Readers will likely recollect that fable from Aesop contrasting the country mouse and city mouse. Like millions of other people around our country, my sister’s a city mouse, accustomed to fighting traffic every time she gets in her car. Where I live in Virginia, a major traffic jam means waiting for the stop light to change twice.
