There’s a lot to be said for a rural way of life.

Not too many things in the world can compare to a summer’s night, stargazing while sitting by a campfire, roasting marshmallows and laughing with loved ones. Crickets chirping. The hoot of an unseen owl. The snorts of deer just out of sight. The bark of a fox. The whisper of the leaves as a light breeze ruffles through the trees.

The smell of the rain, of the autumn leaves, of fresh-cut grass and wildflowers.

I remember when I lived “out in the sticks” and our new neighbor’s young son asked us how to shut off the peepers so he could sleep.

In my community of moms with medically complex children, the other women often laugh and tell me “you live six hours from anywhere.” That’s not quite true, but when you or your child has a complex medical issue, it can sure seem like it.

On Monday, we had a brief scare with my daughter’s health. She had taken a phone call from her pediatric cardiologist’s office in Pittsburgh. They had a question; she misunderstood. It was easily cleared up, but in that 20 minutes before I knew what was happening, I had run through that mental list of what needs packed, can we get into Ronald McDonald House to stay if it’s an overnight visit, is there anything we need to get from the store before we make the trip to Pittsburgh.

It turned out the trip wasn’t necessary, but to anyone with an uncommon illness who sees a specialist out of the area, that’s a reality of daily life.

Many parents I know have what they call a “go bag,” filled with a few changes of clothes, sample sizes of toiletries, some laundry soap, an emergency stuffed animal, an extra phone charger and the like.

Medications are kept in one place, together in a bag or box and locked up inside the home. There’s no time to sort out what you need and don’t need when you get the call to go see the specialist — sometimes within a few hours, the time it takes to drive there. If you are lucky, it can wait until the next morning. Then you can try to sleep until 2 or 3 a.m. before packing the car and getting on the road for an early appointment.

Ask anyone with a chronic illness, or any parent of a child with a chronic illness. You recognize another person going through it, too.

They are the ones in the hospital waiting room, waiting quietly, usually emotionless but looking bone-weary. They are the ones who have a “go bag” for the waiting room with a coloring book, magazine, video game, or book for their children to pass the time. Snacks and bottles of water, or change for the vending machines are in the bag, too.

Parents of “normal” children will be panicking, often pacing or badgering the staff to get little Johnny’s tummy ache addressed first. So many times, we have been accosted by other parents for being taken back to be seen in an emergency room first.

“She isn’t even bleeding!” one mother screamed on one such occasion. We just kept walking. I don’t stop to explain that a child with a heart defect, experiencing symptoms that could be a heart attack, takes precedence. Because that parent will never understand.

I’m not belittling a parent’s worry about their child. I have sometimes wished I could be that parent, with no greater concern than whether their child might be a bit dehydrated from being sick.

Other people have their favorite pizza place on speed dial; we have doctors offices, including the Heart Institute at Children’s Hospital of Pittsburgh.

We really enjoy Pittsburgh — it’s a beautiful city and we enjoy visiting. But even though it would be convenient to live close to the medical specialists, we are in no hurry to give up the peace of a rural life.

The kindness to be found in a rural area is unmatched. Having car trouble? Someone will stop to help. Lose something? Someone likely found it and turned it in to the police station or the Era office. Looking for something? Just ask around.

And the caring hearts of people ready and willing to help a family in need just aren’t found elsewhere — the Kids and Cancer benefit, the Big 30, the Blaisdell Foundation, the ELF Fund and so many others.

So despite that three-hour road trip, we’re content to live where the pace of life is a bit slower, and the people still smile and wave to each other.

As the song says, “Keep Manhattan just give me the countryside.”

(Schellhammer is The Era’s associate editor. She can be reached at marcie@bradfordera.com)