Small Town Stories

Where People Matter Most

I don’t embrace life—I struggle with it. I find it precarious and I’m sure the fault lies with my third grade teacher, who read us John Steinbeck novels at nap time and graphically explained there were no absolutes anywhere in the universe. Grandma Banta, my 70 year-old small town neighbor, saved me that year. She took my moody, nine year-old person out to her garden and showed me how to get along with living things. We planted marigolds for the bugs, strawberries for her and a currant bush for the birds. She taught me about waiting, nurturing and weeding a garden and then joyously celebrating the harvest. We moved away, and by the time I hit puberty Grandma Banta was a fuzzy memory, but I always remembered what it felt like when someone had time and stories to share.
Small towns have always been that way for me. Small spaces on the map where people matter. When a neighbor comes to call you invite them in, sit a spell and offer coffee or tea, because, although your laundry/phone call/chores/pets may be Urgent, people are Important. In small towns there are always a couple of minutes each day to share a bit of wisdom or story, and I still love the feeling that someone has time and stories to share.

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