• by Larry Dobrow , Featured Columnist, March 2, 2006

A few hours ago, today's Magazine Rack posed what Ned Flanders might have called a real dilly of a pickle. The harpies and horndogs beckoning from the corner newsstand left me flat; the prospect of plowing through another 72,000 words on those clever, clever Google guys numbed my lower extremities. I inched homeward feeling aimless, forlorn, disheartened, my super-yummy tomato bisque only a meager consolation.

And then, as if by cosmic happenstance, a copy of Country Living landed in my mailbox. The address label was partially removed, meaning that the mailman probably didn't have the energy to figure out its rightful addressee and just lumped it in with my usual stack o' crap. O destiny, you so crazy!

At the same time, I realized I'd have to, you know, read the darn thing. Let me say that even as a city-dweller, I have no problem with country living. Heck, in my book it's right up there with living in the 'burbs, on an archipelago or under the sea. But the very mention of antiquing dredges up memories of an expedition with an ex-galpal, which started out with sunny skies and a picnic basket and ended with widespread looting and a government-imposed curfew. So I took a few deep breaths and resolved to tread cautiously.

It's easy to understand why Country Living kicks the dickens out of its similarly knickknack-obsessed competition... in a WWE steel cage accessorized with kneehole desks and tole trays, no doubt. Simply put, the magazine is a marvel of organization, with each section ("Out & About," "Home Almanac") remaining almost militantly on point.

In the March issue's "Idea Notebook," you get several pages worth of tips on how to use eggs for decorative purposes, a concept that's silly in theory but surprisingly artful in execution. In "Collectibles," you get quickie appraisals of reader tchotchkes, the "Antiques Across America" fold-out photo feature and a comprehensive look at sweetmeat baskets (a brief history and some tips on where to find 'em, though no theories as to why "Sweetmeat" was never used as the name of a blaxploitation-flick heroine).

"Home Comforts" alternately showcases all things rustic (rustic fences, rustic pajamas, rustic sod, etc.) and proposes craft-y uses for old cigar boxes (apparently they're good for something other than storage of narcotics paraphernalia). Items in each of these front-of-book sections are kept quite short, so when Country Living unleashes a country-lover who knows his way around pronouns, gerunds and pluperfect tenses--Boston Magazine architecture critic James McCown, longing for his small Alabama town--the words truly resonate.

The bigger stories work almost as well, though the magazine as a whole would be better served by larger photos and an enhanced paper stock. To Country Living's great credit, it consistently finds novel ways to feature a breadth of design motifs. The March issue dabbles in "Midwest Retro" (a kitchen straight out of The Donna Reed Show) and the "pure aesthetic" of a refurb'd 1868 house. I don't know what that means, but the pix sure are purdy.

Since Country Living maintains such tonal discipline throughout, the few lapses feel quite jarring. I don't know why the mag offers up a supermodern dishwasher as contest booty, nor why the "Cook Book" BBQ spread deems it necessary to offer a lemonade recipe (Mush lemons. Add sugar. Rinse. Repeat.). The ad supplements mesh with the editorial a little too easily, which is good for the folks at Minwax and Windex but bad for readers trying to distinguish the pulp from the pap. Plus "Everything's Coming Up Roses" serves up another Worst Opening Sentence 2006 nominee in "Anna Florio's passion is anything but contained," which foreshadows nothing if not the imminent depiction of a heaving bosom.

Me, I tend to populate my shelves with books rather than pewter teapots and Farmer Bob figurines. But for those inclined otherwise, Country Living offers the most straightforward, least hippie-dippy-ish guide to decidedly non-modern home decor. Simplicity in execution and presentation is underrated.