A Small Town Girl

Small Town Girl (all the photos in this post were made by me near where I live)

Except for a year in Atlanta and another year in Lexington, Kentucky, I’ve always lived in the same small town. Our little community got a McDonald’s and a stop light about the same time, and as far as I can tell we haven’t grown any in the last 30 years. When I was young I couldn’t wait to leave it all behind. The way I saw it there were two ways out…. the local funeral parlor and Highway 68-80.

I preferred the second option.

After college I moved to Atlanta to live with some girlfriends. I can still see my mother standing on the sun porch, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue as we pulled out of our drive and on to 68-80. I had no idea why she was crying.

5 children and 7 grandchildren later, I understand her tears.

Several decades have passed and my mother and father have gone on to Heaven. They were born and raised in this little community and are buried not far from where I live.

I visit them often. I park my car next to the church, walk to their headstone and sit on the ground and talk to them. I know they probably don’t hear me, but God does and He understands.

All the things I once considered annoying about small town life, I now think of as quaint. My roots are so deeply planted in the soil of the hill we built our house on that it would take an F5 tornado to force me to live anywhere else.

Something happened today that reminded me of why I love living here. I work in a neighboring county that’s every bit as small as mine. I know my co-workers and students at the schools where I work, but not many of the other folks who live there. As I was leaving school today my husband called and asked me to pick up a few things at the grocery store. I stopped on my way out of town, got my items and proceeded to the front of the store to pay for them.

It’s a tiny grocery with only two cashiers. I looked at the two aisles and tried to choose which lane was moving faster. One cash register was operated by a bored teen who was popping gum and staring off into space, so I chose the other. The lady checking out in front of me was engaged in a conversation with the cashier.

The cashier said to the customer, “You look familiar. Are you kin to anyone from around here?”

“My last name is Riddle and my father lived down next to the river. He died last year but my mother’s still alive,” the customer in front of me said. “She’s 83 years old and a real pistol.”

She collected her groceries and left the store.

“If I live to be 83 I’ll probably be more of a squirt gun than a pistol,” I said to the cashier, thinking about my recent trip to Florida and the number of bathroom breaks we had to make due to my over-active bladder.

The cashier looked at me, smiled and rang my items up. “Are you that writer from Metcalfe County?” she asked.

“How did you know?” I asked, surprised that she recognized me.

She replied, “My last name is Melton and your daddy had an oil lease over on my grandfather’s farm. And a long time ago I was pen-pals with your sister-in-law, Kelly, when we were in grade school.”

My dad was a super-duper salesman and had business connections in lots of the surrounding counties and my sister-in-law is a talented and well known educator.

About that time the lady behind me waves at me and said, “Hi there. I thought I knew you! I’m Vanna Jo. I’m Amy’s, mother-in-law.”

I thought she looked familiar! Amy is Kelly’s sister, a sister to my sister-in-law. If you go back far enough everyone in Kentucky is a distant cousin.

“Of course!” I said. “Nice to see you.”

I paid for my groceries and started toward the door when the cashier called out my name.

“Teresa, you have Vanna Jo’s chili sauce in your bag!”

I stopped dead in my tracks and peered inside my grocery bag. She was right. While we were chatting she had put the chili sauce in my bag.

I was an accidental chili sauce thief. I gave it back and chuckled all the way to my car.

Remember the song by John Cougar Mellencamp called Small Town? The last verse says,

Well I was born in a small town
And I can breathe in a small town
Gonna die in this small town
And that’s probably where they’ll bury me

The only thing I have left to say at this point in this post is “Amen,” and “Thank you, Lord. Your chosen path for my life was so much better than the one I tried to take. I may not have always appreciated being a small town girl… but I sure do love it now.”