When I tell people I’m from a small town, I usually make a joke that we have more cows than people in our population. . . which might just be true.
We have dirt roads, depend on our vegetable harvest to help with the food bill, try to fix things ourselves with some duct tape and W-D40 (Olive oil works too by the way) and most everyone listens to country music.
Colrain was hit pretty hard by Tropical Storm Irene. We’re still finding bales of hay and farm equipment miles from their homes, roads collapsed and houses swept away. My little world survived and we had minimal damage on Church Street, but you still feel the pain for your neighbors. Around here, their struggle is your struggle.
Partly for this reason, and partly because I felt the need to get to know the people I run past on a weekly basis, I decided to attend the annual town fair this past
Saturday – which was quite the "to-do"because it was Colrain’s 250th anniversary.
I heard a rumor that the fair might not happen this year. There was so much damage from the storm that there was a question if we would be on our feet enough to have a party.
The powers that be (and I agree) felt it was exactly what we needed.
The elementary school field was set up to look like a mini fair without the rides. But the familiar smell of friend deliciousness wafted through the air, and that’s all you really need to qualify something as a fair.
As I looked around, the sights were something I expected to see.
Most of my neighbors were in some sort of flannel, Levi’s or wore a John Deere hat. I fit right in with my Adidas sweatshirt and faded jeans.
Wherever I went, the conversations were about the same. "How’s your family?" "How’d the farm hold up in the storm?" "Let me know if you need extra hay this winter . . . I’ll cut you a deal for your wife’s apple pie."
What I heard was a real, genuine concern for one another - something that’s not too common in our fast paced society. Yes, families may have lost something in the storm or in in the recent economic pickle, but they were able to set aside their loss for a while to catch up with their friend down the road.
Community
That’s what I saw. People came out to take part in the town’s heritage. To rejoice in the common good - Not looking to be the sob story, but to share in the fact that we’re still here as a town, we’re still here as a community and as a family . . . despite the devastation around us.
Once upon a time, I was ashamed of this town.
Not Colrain per-say, but "small-town-ness" where the people are "simple" and enjoy their lives of work, family and bonfires on Saturday nights.
I used to be embarrassed that I wasn’t from a fast paced city and that my "home town" never changes unless new lines are painted on the main road.
I wanted to be a city girl – chic, collected, independent, and prestigious. I wanted to leave these "Boondock" roots behind, marry a suit and tie guy and never look back . . . yet even when I was young and stupid (22) and in college outside of Boston, I could never keep my shoes on.
There’s just something about plush grass on bare feet on a cool evening just between summer and fall. Something about being in the moment enjoying nature, getting your hands and feet a little dirty that kept calling my name.
There’s a country song that says, "You can take the girl out of the Honky Tonk, but you can’t take the Honky Tonk out of the girl."
That’s me. I’m a country girl.
Turns out I like the slow, private, "simple" life we live. I like going to church Sunday mornings and catching the football games in the afternoon, smelling the roast cooking in the crock pot.
I love that most of my neighbors have trucks held together with duck tape and WD-40 and that I’m surrounded by fields of corn, hay and sunflowers.
Sure I might poke fun at the fact that we have more cows in town then people, but when you’re from a small town . . . expect the unexpected.
Like the Colrain City Cloggers for example.
We have dirt roads, depend on our vegetable harvest to help with the food bill, try to fix things ourselves with some duct tape and W-D40 (Olive oil works too by the way) and most everyone listens to country music.
Colrain was hit pretty hard by Tropical Storm Irene. We’re still finding bales of hay and farm equipment miles from their homes, roads collapsed and houses swept away. My little world survived and we had minimal damage on Church Street, but you still feel the pain for your neighbors. Around here, their struggle is your struggle.
Partly for this reason, and partly because I felt the need to get to know the people I run past on a weekly basis, I decided to attend the annual town fair this past
Saturday – which was quite the "to-do"because it was Colrain’s 250th anniversary.
I heard a rumor that the fair might not happen this year. There was so much damage from the storm that there was a question if we would be on our feet enough to have a party.
The powers that be (and I agree) felt it was exactly what we needed.
The elementary school field was set up to look like a mini fair without the rides. But the familiar smell of friend deliciousness wafted through the air, and that’s all you really need to qualify something as a fair.
As I looked around, the sights were something I expected to see.
Most of my neighbors were in some sort of flannel, Levi’s or wore a John Deere hat. I fit right in with my Adidas sweatshirt and faded jeans.
Wherever I went, the conversations were about the same. "How’s your family?" "How’d the farm hold up in the storm?" "Let me know if you need extra hay this winter . . . I’ll cut you a deal for your wife’s apple pie."
What I heard was a real, genuine concern for one another - something that’s not too common in our fast paced society. Yes, families may have lost something in the storm or in in the recent economic pickle, but they were able to set aside their loss for a while to catch up with their friend down the road.
Community
That’s what I saw. People came out to take part in the town’s heritage. To rejoice in the common good - Not looking to be the sob story, but to share in the fact that we’re still here as a town, we’re still here as a community and as a family . . . despite the devastation around us.
Once upon a time, I was ashamed of this town.
Not Colrain per-say, but "small-town-ness" where the people are "simple" and enjoy their lives of work, family and bonfires on Saturday nights.
I used to be embarrassed that I wasn’t from a fast paced city and that my "home town" never changes unless new lines are painted on the main road.
I wanted to be a city girl – chic, collected, independent, and prestigious. I wanted to leave these "Boondock" roots behind, marry a suit and tie guy and never look back . . . yet even when I was young and stupid (22) and in college outside of Boston, I could never keep my shoes on.
There’s just something about plush grass on bare feet on a cool evening just between summer and fall. Something about being in the moment enjoying nature, getting your hands and feet a little dirty that kept calling my name.
There’s a country song that says, "You can take the girl out of the Honky Tonk, but you can’t take the Honky Tonk out of the girl."
That’s me. I’m a country girl.
Turns out I like the slow, private, "simple" life we live. I like going to church Sunday mornings and catching the football games in the afternoon, smelling the roast cooking in the crock pot.
I love that most of my neighbors have trucks held together with duck tape and WD-40 and that I’m surrounded by fields of corn, hay and sunflowers.
Sure I might poke fun at the fact that we have more cows in town then people, but when you’re from a small town . . . expect the unexpected.
Like the Colrain City Cloggers for example.
I didn’t even know the town HAD cloggers (or what they were for that matter), but they were on the fair’s schedule for the 12:30 slot (give or take as a farmer tells time) and I was in the front row. And let me tell you – these ladies can dance, despite of all the birthday’s they’ve seen the town have.
These are the roots that I’m proud of. Season after season, through floods and hurricanes, we’re ok. We’re still here, still kicken’ and still jamming to our country music.
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