city mouse and country mouse

my whole life, more or less, i have wanted LAND. space. quiet. peace to come dropping slow with crickets and linnets' wings. i am finding myself in the disconcerting position of questioning this, however, adn am not quite sure what to make of it--or myself.
country mouse says: fool, of course you want land! and horses and chickens and a big garden and maybe a goat. stars at night, and clean fresh air. no road noise, or grease-dive smells, or factories or trains or sirens. no neighbors peering around every corner or strangers walking down the street swearing on their cell phones.
city mouse responds: yes, have all that . . . and nothing else. no community. no friends around the corner or a few blocks away. a 20 minute drive to everything, everywhere. random, isolated neighbors, or a close-knit community that doesn't readily welcome strangers. what about walking to the local butcher shop, coffee shop, book shop, violin shop? a five minute, one mile walk to Church, which it's hard enough to get motivated for, anyway? adding who knows how long to husband's commute, further lessening his time with home and family, further increasing stress, requiring another car?
for, truth be told (as if it were not painfully obvious), neither ryan nor i make friends easily, and i worry already about being too isolated, spending days holed up--yes, with fresh air and kiddos and animals, but without *people*. i have come to appreciate so greatly the importance of being surrounded by community, both religious and local. truth be told, the sort of farming community, or even country community, is rarely possible. some are lucky enough to be raised in it, in which case they have inherited it; a very few are lucky enough to be able to create it. clearly the former is not an option and, as of now, neither is the latter. which leaves--please, God, at least a decent yard and an old house!