So last night we drove over to the Woolley Market for the regular Thursday evening music jam and that phenomenon that is so hard to put your finger on...
... it's that thing about small town life that is so, well, so sustaining. Comforting.
So home town America at its regular old best.
It's driving through downtown and loving how it looks so much you stop in the middle of the cross walk for a photo.
And you don't worry about the traffic hazard when you do it!
In a small town, you can go to the Market and find your local bluegrass band in concert.
And the best people watching, I'm convinced, is in our small towns.
There's a depth in little towns, too, because you meet people you know wherever you go.
You know the children and the old ones, and those in between, too.
There is time for friendships here.
We make time for the satisfaction of knowing one another.
There is an emphasis on values here, too.
Not the kind of thing politicians talk about so loudly, but the kind of quiet pride in our local farmers and in things that nourish body and soul and feed the eyes, while we're at it.
So we listened to bluegrass, hugged our our friends and I tucked a bag of organic steel cut oats under my arm. My love and I walked into the evening, so thankful we live in a small place that is so local, sustainable and sustaining.
