Saturday, December 1, 2012


From Wikipedia, Author: Marekich

Victorian houses, grain mills, groceries, graveyards.

Small town towns are a nuclei; everything surrounding nothing—or vice-versa. It always starts with a cornfield.

I could be the mystery driver rolling in. I could stop at their diner or their cafe or their post office. I could say a word. Those faces would look, try to recognize, try to categorize. They'd wave, or smile. Or do nothing.

They have their own government, dogma, karma. They have their lovers and preachers. The lover to rush them through boredom, the preacher to dispel their sins.

The road cuts straight through; you must not stay. If you were not born or brought by marriage, then you will never belong. Pass their marquee, say goodbye to their waitress. Hit the gas and go.


  1. So often the case. I once asked the lady postmistress in my parents' village, how long it would be before I would be accepted as a local. About 10 years, she replied. Remind me to leave in 9, I said.

  2. Russell Baker said of small towns, you're from here or come here. Almost thirty years on in my small town I remain a come here. It is what it is.

  3. I will never feel at home in the town here, but I so love where we live and the countryside and mountains that surround us. It is worth it. I don't know how happy I would be though if I didn't have my blog, my email, and through those the ability to connect to old and new friends. As well as keeping up on things and learning new stuff to blog about.

    1. I love the pictures you post, as well as your descriptions. Really lovely.


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