Feels Like Home

I live in a small town, population 942 souls. Well, I suppose I actually live near a small town, since I live four miles out in the country. But I get my mail in town and buy a few things there and know half the people. We get together for church and school functions and football games and celebrations. So I feel like part of the town. People at the convenience store and the post office and the town hall and just about everywhere else call me by my first name and know my father and brothers and some of my cousins. There has been someone from my family in this area since 1905, before statehood.

I should make it clear for those of you who don’t know me well that I consider myself a country woman, but not necessarily a “small town girl”. I grew up in California, in a large town that later became an unmanageably large city. We’ve moved a lot, so I’ve lived in other states, areas, towns. I’ve lived in this small town a couple of times, maybe three or four times. I forget. I guess what I want you to understand is that I’ve always had choices, and I choose to live here. This is the small town that feels right, that feels like home. I suppose it might be because I have family here, but I’ve always had family in at least three other states. My children don’t even live here! I suppose it might be because I went to school here, but I’ve been to sixteen other schools. I could ponder all night, but I’d probably just come back to the beginning…it feels like home.

     When people ask me why I live in the “sticks”, I like to tell them a story about what happened to me at the post office. I pulled up to the front of the post office one evening  just as the postmaster was pulling out of the back parking lot to go home. He was halfway out the driveway when he backed up. I didn’t think much about it, figured he’d forgotten something.  I walked into the lobby, checked my box and started to leave. Just then, he opened the inner door and stuck his head out. “I saw you pull up and I didn’t want you to miss this. It was too big for your box and the package boxes are all full.” He handed me a package from my daughter. Honestly, there were tears in my eyes as I thanked him! That’s the kind of service you get in my small town. I could make a long, long list of other favors and kindnesses I’ve received in the fourteen years that we’ve been here.

     I think when you live in a small town that has deep roots in the past and has families with strong connections, there is an expectation of kindness. There is an obligation to be a little more considerate or tolerant. After all, if someone isn’t related to you they are at least related to someone you know. What someone says or does here affects everyone. We’re family. We may fuss and feud from time to time, but we have shared memories and common experiences.

I’m not saying there are never problems. This isn’t Mayberry. Every town, like every family, has problems. We have our share of drugs and alcohol and violence. We have political and economic problems. Right now we are trying to make some decisions about the future of our small town. We’ve had a series of town meetings and more are scheduled. Perhaps that’s really why I choose to be here, in this small town. I feel like I can be part of the solution to our problems. I feel like my voice and my ideas and my actions matter. I can work with my extended and adopted “family” to achieve the goal of making sure this small town continues to feel like home…to everyone here.