Rutland is a funny place. When I moved back here five years ago and told my London friends where I was going, the response was mostly: “Where?” A mere 18 miles at its longest point, it is England’s smallest county. Our motto is multum in parvo, meaning much in little.

Things we have little of are speed cameras, a functioning mobile phone signal, change and McDonald’s: we are the only county in England not to host a branch. Or we were, because Ronald’s corporate gaze has finally swivelled in our direction. The company has expressed a desire to set us on a par with all other counties, submitting a planning application to build a “freestanding restaurant with drive-thru facility” on a patch of empty ground just outside Oakham, the county town. This has ignited fires of rebellion in an area not known for hostility – even our castle isn’t a proper one. There hasn’t been a battle here since Empingham, in 1470, unless you count some unpleasantness over our temporary loss of independence to neighbouring Leicestershire, and we won that one too.

The reason for this outbreak of belligerence probably lies in the things we have much of: toast-coloured ironstone cottages in picture-book villages, cosy pubs, miles of footpaths and bridleways, rolling fields, hilly bits and water. We have a lot of water. Here is where you will find Rutland Water, England’s largest reservoir, an internationally important wetland site and SSSI (site of special scientific interest). Ospreys have been breeding here since 2001. Bitterns can be heard booming in the reed beds. Oakham itself is a pocket-sized town with a buttercross, a twice-weekly market, a profusion of independent shops, restaurants and hotels, a small but perfectly formed public library and Oakham school. Siting a McDonald’s here is a bit like sticking a Nando’s in Middle-earth.

Osprey have bred on Rutland Water since 2001. Photograph: Alamy Stock Photo

Having said all that, the site McDonald’s has chosen is on the town’s (modest) bypass, where there are already warehouses and two supermarkets, so it will hardly be an eyesore. The principal complaint seems to be that of litter. We have litter. We even have McDonald’s litter because those in desperate need of a cheese quarter-pounder from a source other than those provided (yes, we do have our own independent burger bars, takeaways, fish and chip shops and pizza places – what do you take us for?) drive to Stamford or Melton Mowbray and chuck the litter out of the car window on the way back. I’ve picked it out of streams running through fields two miles from the A47. Nothing if not persistent, I followed a walking party of teenagers from a local school over four miles of track to hand their teacher a bag full of the rubbish they’d dropped like a trail of breadcrumbs. Littering has more to do with attitude and awareness than brand. And while we’re on the subject of the environment, what about all those car journeys – wouldn’t it be a good thing if they drove just a couple of miles up the road instead of making a 30-mile round trip?

Our local police have raised minor concerns over whether the proposed car park will lead to antisocial behaviour from teenagers. We have that in Rutland too, but it is largely unfocused and small scale, and exists because there is precious little for young people to do. With no cinemas or nightlife, all that’s left is hanging around the market squares, if you’re underage for the pub. In an area desperately in need of employment opportunities for this age group, McDonald’s will offer something in the region of 64 new jobs, and it’s hard to argue against the benefit of that. If the worry is that McDonald’s is going to steal custom from businesses, I have to say that seems unlikely, but it will provide a welcome pit-stop to drivers passing through, and family-friendly roadside cafes are not something Rutland has an abundance of.

When I lived in the capital, I settled on a hill at the edge of Blackheath, in south London, because the trees and wide green spaces reminded me of Rutland. I remember a similar sense of outrage when Starbucks wanted to open in the “village” centre among the independent shops. Protests were unsuccessful, and the chain moved in. After about three years it decided it wasn’t profitable, and closed. I suspect a similar thing may happen here.

Rutland is a place with a powerful sense of who and what it is, and those of us lucky enough to live here are proud to be its guardians; but perhaps we are a little over-protective of this place we cherish. When a mountain-biker popped out of a hedge in front of me this summer, lost, I set him on the right way for an excellent pub. “Isn’t this place amazing,” he said, flushed with the thrill of discovery. “Shush,” I replied, “don’t tell anyone or they’ll all want to come.” And perhaps that’s the real reason for not welcoming McDonald’s.

•Helen Walmsley-Johnson is an author and former Guardian columnist