Via Facebook last week a friend relayed that there was a bat – the flying mammal kind – loose in his house. Ever eager to help a brother in need, I fired off two possible solutions.

"My grandma used to whack bats with badminton rackets," I shared. "Brooms work too."

I spoke from experience, having whacked more than one flying mammal with a broom myself.

So it was that I realized I am a redneck, or something close to it.

Not the flag-waving, country-music-listening, Jeff Foxworthy-loving, vote-as-your-grandfather-did kind of redneck, mind you – but a country boy to some degree.

We should, of course, mention there are many shades of country boy, and some resemble suburbanites more than farmers.

I am one of those, having mostly avoided farm work and remained fearful of animals like horses, cows, sheep and especially pigs.

But as a teenager I did spend a few summers picking rocks, baling hay and wicking milkweed, and I've lived much of my life in a century-old farmhouse in Huron County, a decidedly rural corner of our predominantly rural nation.

Suffice it to say I identify more with the countryside and small towns than with city life, though to a degree I've experienced both.

Lacking a better idea for this week's column, I drafted the following list – something that may not qualify me as a hillbilly but could place me in the conversation. To wit:

o My driving experience involves more than one kind of tractor, and during childhood I spent plenty of time wishing I could plow or harvest fields;

o I was 26 years old when I first made a lengthy trip in an airplane;

o I have never been to Disneyland or Disney World;

o We have about 10 cats at our farm, none of which are allowed inside the house and few of which want anything to do with anything that is not also a cat;

o Until I moved away to university, my TV watching habits involved gleaning what I could from the five channels (sometimes six!) I could pick up with the antenna at our farm;

o The first TV I owned was black and white, and I think high-definition technology is a bit of a scam;
o I am both impressed and put off by Toronto, and have no desire to live there;

o I recently spent a week on Prince Edward Island, which is mostly made up of hamlets
and potato farms, and dubbed it "my kind of place."

During university I spent most of my time living in a suburb of a small city, and during that time became quite suburban.

I listened to hip-hop music, thought I identified with hip-hop music, and did mildly rebellious things. My worst problems were things many people might wish to have.

Since moving back to the farm a couple of years ago, I haven’t done anything resembling farm work.

Cows still freak me out. I cannot bring myself to pet a horse. And I still listen to hip-hop music.

I am not a redneck in the strictest sense, but I am a country boy to some degree – the kind that knows the difference between barley and wheat, and knows milk originates in animals and not the grocery store.

At the end of the day, I know more than one way to rid a house of bats. That really ought to be proof enough.