Small Towns With Big Hearts

Recently, I seem to have found joy in watching design shows. This is surprising. I am perplexed at my joy. I have come up with a theory. I don’t love all design shows, I lean towards the shows where the hosts love the people and there is crying involved.

I could spend all day watching the sappy and sentimental shows. I like it when the hosts say things like “we’re going to make sure that they get their “forever” home” and then they give the backstory about how wonderful the family is and some of the hardships they have faced and how they want to do all they can to make sure that the family is happy in their new home….blah, blah, blah. Thirty minutes later, everyone is crying because the home transformation so much more than they ever imagined.

And there it is….I like happy endings. I like the dreams, the challenge and the tears that flow because they never believed it could be true and then it was. Call me corny but I love it when it all works out and I confess to shedding a tear or two myself.

Not all shows hit the mark but one that does is Home Town. This is a definite fave! A super fave in fact. If you haven’t seen it and need some feelings of “feel good“, check it out. www.hgtv.com/shows/home-town

Home Town is about bringing life back into small towns. The show is based in Laurel, Missippi and is about the community that you find within a small town. The magic comes from the hosts, Erin and Ben. In addition to being the most adorable married couple in the world, it’s evident that they live their purpose which is to welcome new people to their town and help these people choose and renovate historical homes to their original glory. It’s a real town with real people.

Ben is 33 and is a skilled woodworker and used to be a former youth minister with a degree in history. He’s also 6’6 and comes across as a teddy bear! Erin is the cutest little pixie of a thing. She’s 31, an artist and a former stationer with a degree in graphic design. They own a store called Laurel Mercantile with four of their close friends. Ben adores Erin and Erin adores Ben and together, they infuse love into the world as they welcome people to join their little town.

It’s delightful and so lovely that some cynics might think that it is all staged. I am an eternal optimist and am completely immersed in what I see to be genuine authenticity that reminds me of all that is good in the world. In my mind, they are the real deal and live from the heart.

“As far as our marriage goes, it’s me and Erin and God. We work everything out together, and everything has worked out so far” ~ Ben Napier, Home Town

Yes, I love this show and love their love of small town and of each other. It gives me hope and a sense of happiness and purpose. “Every town needs their people“. Yes we do Erin. Yes we do.

I moved to my small town over 25 years ago. I arrived and the population was around 2500 people. Today, it’s pretty much the same. There are no stop lights and rush hour consists of having to wait at the Highway 5 intersection behind 4 trucks or cars. People still don’t lock their doors, I know I have left my wallet a million times in the grocery store and they always call me to let me know. I figure if anyone needs to steal from me, well, they need it more than I do in which case, I am happy to give it to them.

People may have street addresses but it’s rare that this is given out. You are more likely to hear things like, “we’re the fourth house down on the right, just after the old McCracken House”. You could live in a house for ten years and it would still be called by another historic family name. “Where do you live?” “We live in the Smith House“. Far more effective than a number address.

When I moved here, I came from the big city. It took me a while to get used to the small town vibe. I came from “bigger is better”. There was a comfort in nobody knowing my name. When I first arrived, I was given a tour of the town and was relieved when my guide said, “let me show you the mall”. Thank goodness. A mall. I can understand a mall. A mall meant that I was still attached to civilization. I was not lost, I was found!

Small problem. A city mall and a small town mall are different. Very different. I had come from the BIG mall with 200 stores that offered everything and anything. The small town mall mall consisted of two banks, a pharmacy, grocery store and of course….the liquor store. And we’re done.

While the lack of diversity was frustrating, it was also kind of soothing. Going “shopping” was an outing. A social outing. Kind of nice. I remember one year, it was December 31st which is Megan’s birthday. We were having a party for her and I had to stock up on the party items. Owen was maybe 2 years old and dragged along. Halfway through my list, he just gave up. He was tired. He lay down in aisle 4 and was having a nap. I assessed the situation. A better parent would have picked him up and taken him home for a nap. I am not that parent. I turned to the Dairy Guy and said, “Owen needs a nap and I need to finish shopping for Megan’s birthday and run to the pharmacy, do you think I could leave him here for 20 minutes?“. No one called the RCMP. In fact, the Dairy Guy took a picture and presented it to Owen on his 10th birthday. He took pride in being one of his first babysitters. I know…..small towns. Go figure. I wonder if I could get away with that today? Probably not. It was good while it lasted. I get a kick out the imagery. People having to step over Owen while he napped to reach whatever they needed and no one thought twice. Dairy Guy just explained I needed to pick up a few more things and everyone just went along with it. I’m pretty sure that by today’s standards, I would be in jail or at least serious rehab.

Over time, there have been changes. A new developer came in and built a new mall with a new grocery store. On opening day, almost the entire town came out to the ribbon cutting ceremony. It was a big deal. Everyone walked through the store with wide eyes. It was so new. So bright. So modern. It was like discovering electricity or the phone or even sliced bread. A big deal.

There is a rhythm in a small town that beats a little softer than in the city. Things are slower. If you need to be somewhere in a hurry, DO NOT stop at the grocery store. It’s impossible to be “in and out” of the grocery store without a 15 minute conversation. Going to the store is a silent understanding that you are going to chat. Some people say that deals get done in the bar, that is true but things also get done in the produce section. I kid you not.

I also love the rural essence of small towns. One of my favourite images is the iconic blue cooler on the side of the road. We have one. It’s our version of a store front to sell eggs. Owen fills the cooler once a week with eggs. He puts a jar in the cooler with “change”. People come by. They pick up their eggs and leave their money. Egg coolers run on the honour system and so far, it works. Inherently, I believe that people take homage in being trustworthy. It is part of the small town code of conduct. “Thou shall not steal from an egg cooler”. I love that.

In a small town, you know your people. I remember being in the bank several years ago. I was standing behind this tiny elderly woman. She couldn’t have been more than 4’10. My eldest son was just a baby and she turned to me and said, “oh how I miss babies“. We started to chat (as you do) and I almost fell over when she told me her story. She was a mother of triplets and regaled me with tales of cloth diapers and homesteading. Remarkable. When it was her turn to go to the teller, the teller asked “can I see your client card?” The woman just couldn’t understand this. “Why do you need to see my client card? You know me. You’ve known me all your life“. True. Small towns don’t need client cards. It kind of kills the vibe.

Despite my homages to the small town, I have to confess that I had always wanted to live in a big city. I took pleasure in the vision of being anonymous yet “important” to whatever “firm” I was going to be working with. When I moved to Clearwater, BC, it became clear that I was never going to be anonymous and never be a part of a “firm”. I was destined to be a part of something more.

When my husband I bought our first house, we lived in a little village called Birch Island which was about 10 km north of Clearwater with a population of barely 200. We had a cute little house on the river. My neigbour was Pauline Gregory. Pauline had served on just about every volunteer organization in the valley. You couldn’t meet Pauline without her selling you a raffle ticket for whatever charity she was representing that month. Even when she broke her leg (in her 60’s!), she still fired up the phone and made everyone she knew come to her to buy raffle tickets that month. Pauline was a force. Her husband was Greg. Greg Gregory. He was a retired railway worker and equally devoted to the community and Pauline. They taught me humility. They taught me that “greatness” often shows up in coveralls. They taught me that a community is only as strong as its people. In a small town, you aren’t judged by the amount of money you make, the car you drive or the “firm” you might work for, you are judged by what kind of a neighbor you are. What do you give back? Humbling.

In January 2005, our family was evacuated from our little Birch Island home after an ice jam caused the North Thompson River to spill over its banks and run right through our living room. The night before, the community was on alert and the local store had organized a phone tree. At 4am, the phone rang. The jam had burst and the pent up fury of the river was on its way towards us. I had put Aiden (8) and Megan (6) to bed in their snowsuits. Once we got the call, Wayne drove up river to figure out how long we had. It was faster than we thought. I will never forget the WHOOSH that took hold of the whole house as water poured over the bank and started to rise. I had to call Greg and Pauline but the water was coming in so fast and I also knew that I had to get Megan and Aiden out of the path of disaster. It was dark and cold and I looked at the kids bundled in their snowsuits and said, “head to the road and take the first car out. You have to go. You will be fine and I will find you.” They held hands and ran down the driveway to get to the road. Our small town invoked this sense of trust. I can hardly breathe as I write this. Our two small children had such faith and their faith and trust was rightly felt. I finally reached Greg and Pauline and got them out. Alas, their house was so damaged, they were never able to return. The river took more that night than I ever could have imagined.

We waited 48 hours before we could get back to the house and see the damage. When we go there, it was like everything was floating. For a flat piece of property, wading into the house in waist deep water will always be imbedded in my memories.

I don’t recall reading “how to survive a flood” when I was in my big city apartment. Thankfully, my neighbors were more savvy than us. It was 9am and I was sitting on a milk crate trying to figure out what was next. Our neighbor from “down the way” came around the corner of the house and saw me sitting on my milk crate. He looked me in the eye and dropped off a 24 pack of beer and an industrial pump. He knew that things were bad, that’s why he brought beer. He knew it was going to be ok, that’s why he brought the pump. We didn’t have to say anything more than that. That moment was enough. I saw his care for our family and I hope he saw my gratitude. It’s what you give that makes you part of a community.

That was a long time ago and yet, that moment was one of many that helped me define a new “me”. I had arrived in this little town with little understanding of how rich life could be. The goodness was had in the giving, the sharing, the commitment to caring. It wasn’t the “stuff” that I had imagined.

This town that I call home is not wealthy. People wear their “best jeans” to ceremonies. Graduation from the high school often takes place in the curling rink. The community lines the streets as the grads drive through en route to prom and we all cheer. We cheer because we were a part of their upbringing. We were part of the community that committed to helping each of them rise to their best ability. This prom, this doorway is where we we hug them and wish them well in their journey. In small towns, our children our raised to leave and it’s hard to watch them go. They need to leave. They need to see bigger horizons and all we can hope is that they remember that they were loved, they were cherished and they come from a place where people showed up when it mattered.

We do show up and our favourite times are when we get to cheer. Small towns love to cheer. We fill our hockey arenas and you would think that we were watching the gold medal round of mens hockey in the Olympics and not just our U18 team playing for first place in the Provincials. I kid you not. Finals for U18 is a BIG deal and everyone comes out. The stands are packed. When we host a tournament, it’s not just the club, it’s the whole community and all hands are on deck. We serve with pride.

While celebrating together is magical, we also come together to grieve. I remember reading a quote that says “everyone is a celebrity in a small town“. I know that to be true. Many a time has the school gym been filled to collectively mourn. Notices of those who have passed are posted outside the grocery store; it’s the truest form of social media. Often a hat is passed if there are financial needs and there is always a flurry of casseroles to be shared. Grief is collective, grief impacts us all. Things stop and the passing is felt not as a murmur but as a whole loss. Someone is missing and it’s not the same.

I love that about my town. The deep sense of “feeling”. It makes up for things that we don’t have. When you come from rural, it’s just normal to accept that you don’t have access to the same amenities found in larger city centres. Our kids learn to swim in the lake, there aren’t any “try outs” for teams because our numbers are so small that “everyone gets to play“. Our high school is grade 8-12. There are less than 200 students. A senior sports team is normally made up of grade 11 and 12 students. In our case, a senior team is anyone who makes practice regardless of age. We’re just excited that there is a team! We’re even more excited when there is a coach too!

What bonds me to this community is the depth of generosity. If there is just cause that needs to be financed, this is a community that gives from heart. This is true in so many cases but especially when it comes to our kids. We know that they are the underdogs but by gosh, any kid that plays, doesn’t play alone.

This was proven a couple of years back. We had a rag tag senior girls soccer team. Many of them hadn’t played before but they were keen. The coach was a volunteer from the community. He saw their spirit which was definitely a little higher than their ability and yet, he was enthusiastic. He was constantly quoted saying, “They can be out-skilled by another team, but they will not be out-hustled by another team.”

The girls hit the pitch every single game with determination. Their uniforms didn’t match (often they didn’t even fit), they didn’t always know the rules but they played with abandon and their goal was to put more balls in the other net than any team could put in their net. Simple. And it worked.

Game after game, they won. Their grit brought them to the final game. If they won, they would make it to Provincials. No girls soccer team had ever made it this far. It came down to a single penalty kick. Here’s the thing. The player that was going to make the kick was in grade 9. She was a beautiful young player and as shy as they could come. The anxiety was overwhelming. The coach called a time out. The team circled the player. She was afraid. The team huddled closer. They told her they believed in her. They said “do your best” and she found the courage to take to the field. We all held our breath. The tension was enormous. We all wanted this so badly. Silence. Total silence and then the kick. Slow motion. We watched the trajectory of the ball find the back of the net and we erupted with enthusiasm! THE WIN!! THE WIN!! THEY WON!!!

While all of this was beyond exciting. There were some financial realities that came with the win. Because no one had expected the girls to win, there was no budget for them to travel to provincials. They had one week to raise over $7500. Many of the girls held down part time jobs just to pay for family groceries. This wasn’t a team where everyone could just write a cheque. This “win” required more.

Here’s the other thing. The team said that they wanted to go to Provincials. The community said “you betcha”. I love my town. When the girls held a car wash to raise funds, I watched cars and trucks stretch for blocks. They waited their turn to be a part of the financial equation and contribution to something “more”. And it wasn’t just cars and trucks, it was logging trucks that lined up too. Everyone came to give their share. Our “girls” needed their “people” and their call was answered. Donations came all up and down the valley. In less than a week, the team raised more than double what they needed. They had what they needed to travel. The extra was put in a fund to help future students cover costs. Why was this incredible? They never said that they could win, they didn’t even know if they could place but they knew they wanted the chance to compete and the town said “Yes, you can“. There was no expectation other than best effort and in turn, the girls gave their very best and more. They didn’t win. I don’t even think that they placed but in our hearts and minds, they won it all.

My town is a giving town. A kind town. A town that tries to give everyone a sense of place and space. My town has endured tidal waves of job losses in the forestry sector. We’ve been ravaged by wildfires, flooding and now a pandemic. And yet, we’re still standing side by side. No one is left behind.

I share these stories because each of us lives in a small town. Maybe our physical address is that of a big city with stop lights and sushi bars but on a granular level, we have our circles of community that work like a small town. We have places where we are seen and heard.

This month marks one year of a world pandemic. One year of change, upheaval and often heart ache. In this year, many of us have had time to re-evaluate what matters, what is important and who is important. For me, I reflect on those early days where a fog of disbelief took over my life. Anna Quindlen refers to moments of losses as “before and after”. I feel that. “Before” the pandemic and “after“. I know I am not the same.

I remember things as a blur but what remains starkly clear is the clamoring to connect. Family. Friends. While family connects in a more natural pattern, it was the connection of friends that I will never forget. I felt like I was floating away and yet, the circling of the wagons brought me back to earth. It was friendship that grounded me, that gave me a centre and reminded me that no matter what I lost in the pandemic, I could not be robbed of my friendships and their power to hold tight in the storm.

I am not the same. I am different and I am richer because of the year. I have loved the unspoken code of conduct of a small town for decades and yet, in this past year, I have lived it more passionately than ever before and in many different circles. I am better because of those that held my hand and held me close while the storm raged. Thank you. I couldn’t have done it without you. I needed you. If I had been left alone, I would have become undone. Being a part of community ensured that I was a part of a whole. Thank you.

If anything, what I have learned is that the deep contribution to life is love. It’s not the “stuff”, it’s the people. It’s the glue that holds the messiness together and allows for new steps. I am the sum parts of those that choose to believe in me, care for me and love me. I hope that maybe I have been able to return the gift. All the stories I have told have been of moments that mattered, gifts that build bridges of connection. This is not a story of monetary wealth, rather that of sharing what we have to give to make the world a better place in spite of what happens.

We don’t need “client cards” to show who we are. We need each other. We need our stories, our support, our care, our love and our generosity that gives purpose to being and creates connections that make us strong. “Every town needs its people”. So true. We all need our people, wherever we are.

May we all take time to stretch out, to connect and to ensure that we extend care to all those who make up our community regardless of size or address. For me, I know I used to live to check the boxes and there I wasn’t particularly successful possibly because it wasn’t “real”. What is real is the feelings that connect us and make us better.

To all of you, thank you for being a part of this community. I hope you feel a part of things and feel that it is safe to be brave, courageous and also ok to be afraid before you jump. We can all be part of a small town, community and share with big hearted living.

Here’s to community. To happy endings where we all find our “forever home” where we find place and space with the people we love.

Shelley