that small time charm

Until August of 2007, I have never lived in a small town. I grew up in a city of about 85,000 people in Central Connecticut, which had a great sense of community but was not small. I lived in DC for four-ish years while I did my undergrad. It goes without saying that in no way, shape or form is DC a small town. And then, because Mr B is from upstate NY I agreed to move here once I was done with school.

For a year we lived in a tiny village (village as in it is a smaller part of an already small town) in Columbia County. We were right on Main St in a quaint 1770 apartment, complete with wavy glass windows and slanted molding. This town had two gas stations, a Family Dollar, two small restaurants (one catering to the locals, and one to the ‘city-idots who came up on weekends, pricing wise) and a volunteer fire alarm that was right across the street from us. (Side note: if you have never heard one of these alarms, imagine the loudest and most prolonged wailing you can. And then repeat it three times. At 2am.) This small town did not have a grocery store and thus, many day to day essentials were purchased at the Stewarts Shop, which was diagonally across the street from us.

Well. I was unemployed for the first month we lived there. This meant I ran to Stewarts quite a bit. One day while I was getting the paper the cashier asked me how the job search was going. Say what?! Turns out she had noticed that I would go to the job section first and deduced it from there. Then other things – my hair cut, my clothes, and on. At first it was a little bit weird (I had not lived in places where people were nice to you!) but I grew somewhat accustomed to it. I noticed her haircut and knew she was a single mom. It was a decent relationship, even if it did mean I didn’t run out of the house without brushing my hair anymore.

Now we live in Greene County, and have been here a few months past a year. Because it is larger than our last stomping ground I was convinced for a while that it would not be quite the same. Thankfully I had already had small town experience, because I was quickly proven wrong. We frequent one Italian restaurant (always sit at the bar) and they know us by name. The one time I abstained from a beer with dinner, the rumor mill got started that I was pregnant – now, I make sure to always drink (!) or explain why I am not. The laundromat owner knows what day I come in and will ask if I was ill if I am late. The cashiers at Price Chopper know we always have a 3 pack of water under the cart, and the pizza joint on Main St knows us by face.

I began writing this intent on pointing out the times when this is a negative thing – when you see someone you don’t want to chat with but are obligated to by social standards, or when you want to pick up a prescription in private. But as the words unfolded, I realized that this is not indicative of how I feel most of the time. The truth is, after living in large, impersonal cities for so long, it’s nice to be part of a small community. Cheers was on to something – having somewhere people know your name is underrated, especially in todays world.

peace&love,

Ren