Like many another over-TVed and over-Fritoed urbanite, Jaynes took his family from the city to the sticks--in this case rural northern Georgia; only he's looser, funnier, and shrewder than all those others, except maybe Ed Hoagland. But Jaynes, unlike Hoagland, believes that ""Too much introspection will destroy you,"" and he tramps his acres with no particular purpose except ""feeling good."" He gets a kick out of his neighbors, powerfully sot in their ways yet exotic as nightingales to a city yardbird. They range from ""the meanest man in the state""--who confides an invention for burglarizing a house via CB radio--to one Lamar Fountain, a perennial jail-breaker, subject of song and sympathy, There are also some tar-paper poor neighbors hungry for venison--and Jaynes changes his mind about forbidding deer hunting on his land, in spite of unsettling gunshots. He reports on local festivals and rituals, from pig barbecue to coon treeing; includes a portrait of the harried founder of Mother Earth, which conjures up rural Edens for city folks, and an interview with Miss Lillian and Amy, confirming the impression that the sprout just won't take to buttering up; chronicles his travels on a bike, a battle with the upstairs bees, and assorted family crises. Witty, tough, and anchored in humanity.