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Small Town Living

The Source

When the tornado bore down on Arenzville shortly after I moved to town, I became aware that I was back in a small town. No siren, no warning buzzers, no flashing lights, simply Arenzville Fire Chief Tim Huey roaring down the street in his pickup, honking his horn and shouting “Tornado’s Coming! Tornado’s Coming!” Thankfully the tornado did not hit the town, and in a few minutes Tim came charging back up the street, again honking his horn and this time shouting, “All clear! You’re alive!” Small town living. Nothing like it. After residing in the metropolis of Jacksonville during my college years and a couple years beyond, it was a bit of a wake-up call to move back to a tiny village. And frankly, winter living is about the same in either sized town. Nowadays we spend the bulk of our wintry days inside and the world viewed through your flat screen TV looks pretty much the same whether you’re in Los Angeles or Murrayville. It takes the hot breath of summer to really show the difference that small town living provides. Last week I turned right on Arenzville street and the street was blocked off. No road construction, no sewer repair…it was a basketball game. The boys looked at me as if asking I wanted to make a fast break through their court, but I backed out and tried another route. I have given up trying to make a lap around the town for my evening’s walk. Although I’m only talking about a trek of 10 blocks, it’s impossible to accomplish in less than three hours time. One neighbor will be trimming shrubs but curious as to how my summer camps are going, another will be walking her dog but needing to fill me in on her husband’s knee operation, and on some evenings the very sidewalks themselves are so filled with strollers that you might want to pack a light lunch before setting off. No need to wear a watch on Arenzville summer evenings. I can tell you exactly what time who will be walking by my house. No one walks in Arenzville past 10 p.m. It’s not that the late night strolling is unsafe, but at that hour you should be thinking about gong to bed, darn it. My nightly walk on the evening of Memorial Day was interrupted just long enough to watch the volunteer fire department remove the flags from every light pole in town. They’d taken the same route early that morning to display the flags. One guy driving the pickup and two flag-snatchers in the back. Speaking of trucks, only in a small town do pickup trucks have right-of-way when they’re parked in the middle of the street. We’ve talked to chat with someone dog-gone it, and it won’t hurt you to drive around us. I have a neighbor down the street who lives now only with his wife, but when he makes homemade ice cream he assumes that he still has a houseful of kids. This delightful memory lapse provides the occasion for the couple hurrying down the street on hot July evenings with a dish of the delectable stuff for everyone who’s home that night. I always ask them to call ahead. That’s one night I want don’t want to be gone. Last summer I cruised into town to see a sign tacked onto one of the town’s half-dozen stop signs. It simply read, “It’s that way!” with an accompanying arrow. I have no idea what was going on that night, but it must have been the only party in town. Another sign popped up at the local convenience store last summer. It simply read, “Warning: zucchini season. Keep your car doors locked.” I truly enjoy driving into town (If you’re sitting in a town like Arenzville you can still use the word “I’m going to town”) to the Jacksonville Farmer’s Market. I think it’s a wonderfully communal and healthy thing to do. But if you live in a small town you’ll find so much produce placed upon your own doorstep that it makes the idea of driving to J'ville ridiculous and the thought of planting your own garden just plain silly. It could be Murrayville or Meredosia or Franklin. This one just happens to be called Arenzville and aside from our parochial boast of having the “World’s Best Burgoo!” … we always add the exclamation point, we’re a pretty modest lot. Not exactly Mayberry in that I’m sure there’s a meth lab somewhere in the vicinity and probably deviant or two within easy running distance, but we’re even modest in boasting about our sins. Given the choice of just everywhere else, I’ll take “here.” I hope you feel the same way about wherever you are.