I’m
not a city girl. In fact, every time I come
close to a large population an anti-social monster takes over my mind. My patient, calm demeanor morphs into
a defensive, road-raged attitude that I carry with me into stores. I find myself pushing carts aggressively, annoyed
at anyone in my way and not making eye contact with others as I hurry to finish
my task.
Shopping
in my small town is a completely different experience. There’s no quick in and out…it’s meant to be
savored and enjoyed…a social event that can take up an entire afternoon if enough
people are out and about.
Chances
are good that I will run into someone I know.
Even if it’s a casual acquaintance, we smile like old friends and catch
up on the highlights of each other’s year.
This can even develop into plans to do lunch or stop in for a cup of
tea.
If
there’s a big news story going around, that will be the topic of choice, with details
accumulating with each new conversation.
Of course I never take anything said as gospel truth. Having been involved first hand in some of
these stories, I have witnessed how much they get modified with retelling.
In fact, if all the stories were accurate I’d have three more children than I
do, I’d have moved to another town, and my husband would have been in several
nasty car accidents that didn’t really happen.
Small town gossip is very similar to the childhood game we played called
“telephone.” To play, we’d sit in a
circle and the first person would whisper something in the next person’s ear. The message continued all the way around the
circle and then we’d see how closely what the final person heard matched what
was originally said. Usually, the answer
was “not at all.”
One place
especially fun to stop is the church thrift store. The older volunteers who staff it have long
family histories in our town. As a
20-year community member I am still a newcomer.
These women can tell me all the interesting connections I don’t know
exist between the locals. I’ve come to
realize that nearly everyone from here is distantly related through marriage or
ancestors. In a small town, the paths
between people can be drawn to look like a tree with new people grafted on to
branches of old families. In a city I
sense that most people aren’t linked to a main trunk at all but remain scattered and
unattached.
At
the thrift store, there are also wonderful stories of “what happened in that
house” or “one night when we were in high school” or “back when the dance
hall was there.” It will be such a loss
when those stories fade with that generation.
A sense of nostalgia seems to be lost on younger folks…maybe it’s just
something that is bestowed on us with
age and will come to us eventually. I
hope so because looking back is the only way to look forward with wisdom.
If I
want conversation that revolves around fixing world and local problems, then
the best place to look has tables and morning coffee—the convenience store, the
bowling alley, the café—all these places have regulars who stop in for a quick
discussion over their morning brew. It’s
a great way to start the day for the retired folks who never relinquished their
early morning hours.
Some
days it happens that the only people I run into are not familiar. In a small town that doesn’t mean ignoring one
another. The weather in South Dakota is variant
and extreme enough to be an open topic to everyone, including strangers.
The
point of all this has nothing to do with topics of discussion. It has everything to do with human
contact. We hear so much talk about how
technology has left us disconnected from others. These
small town interactions are the antithesis of that. A friendly smile and greeting, a brief
exchange of small talk--nothing earth shattering or world changing—are actions
that fill us with the feeling of belonging to the human family. It is an opportunity to really SEE another
person and BE SEEN…no disconnect…no invisibility…just pure connection.
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