This morning, I rose at 5:30 a.m., to make a 7 a.m. meeting at Auburn Memorial Hospital. A veteran of the commute for the past six years, my truck could probably find its own way, much like the old horse-drawn wagons and carriages known to our forebearers. I traveled in January darkness at that hour, not concerned, because the way was familiar, with many seen and unseen landmarks along the way.

There were certain stretches of Sherwood Road and Route 34B along flat fields that have always drifted in January. There were also stretches in cuts that have always dumped snow to record levels. And there were the familiar homes and farms, showing their yard lights through the darkness.

I finally arrive in Auburn, on bustling South Street, with street lights and stately homes, and downtown with major lighting and stop lights. Big time city.

Today I have to make the meeting, then go to Syracuse for a 1 p.m. doctor's appointment. I finish the meeting, go to breakfast, then take off for the bigger city, Syracuse. With time to kill before the 1 o'clock, the plan is to go to the Carousel Mall and do some walking exercise, as well as hit the Borders bookstore for bargains. My truck also knows the route over Route 5 to 690, and again passes familiar landmarks of an age when farms ruled the landscape.

Ay Caramba! The old mall is torn up all over the place, and piledrivers are pounding steel beams into the soft mud, looking for bedrock. I have to go around the back of the main building to park close to Borders. It is about 10:30 a.m. when I push through the entry port doors. Huge empty spaces, very bright but muted light, vaulted ceilings, hypnotic canned music surrounding my body and ears. These are the impressions you get coming from the real world into make believe, and a very powerful and subtle buying message.

On a Tuesday morning at this hour, you do not expect many customers in a mall. There is only a scattering of people in the corridors, and most of them are doing walking exercise. Yet nearly all of the stores and shops are wide open with sales clerks trying to look busy. I think, what a waste of time, energy, power and money.

Heating a space like that mall in central New York winters has to be extremely consumptive. It is like saying, on certain times and days, they gave a party, and no one came.

When it gets fairly close to my appointment time, I leave and go to the doctor's office. While I am waiting in the long queue, I think a whole series of whys, and ask myself, which of the two worlds is most desirable? Why expand a mall for destination traffic, when distant people can find the same chains in their own neighborhoods? Why do people travel to places like this, when the cost of gas is headed for $4 per gallon? Why do busloads of students congregate at the malls when they could have more fun in their own neighborhood? Why do ordinary customers think that prices would be lower at a Carousel Mall, when the cost of overhead is so outrageously high for the merchant? The list of whys is also staggering.

And the answer to the question of desirability is simply that I prefer a community where neighbors talk to each other, help when necessary and have been lifelong. Where the population density is light enough to give plenty of breathing space.

And, where the grapevine keeps everybody informed on current deeds and misdeeds. Ledyard fits the bill quite well.

William Dugan is former supervisor for the town of Ledyard.