Community life in a small town

Until the third year of our marriage, I had spent all of my life living in the city.  Dave, on the other hand, grew up most of his childhood on the farm in a hamlet of under 200 people.  When we were barely two years married, he moved me one hour outside of Ottawa to a town of 8500.  Surprisingly, I loved it.  Granted, that town still had a few gyms, some box stores, a decent downtown, a movie theatre and coffee shops.  We spent the next four years in that town and, despite not finding a niche into which we fit well, I made good friends and appreciated our life there.  I joke that Dave had to move me up the Valley in stages:  first the city, then the town, and now the village.  Perhaps one day, maybe, the farm; not now, though.

After our four years in the town, Dave transferred jobs and we moved to our present village of 1300 people.  In summer, when the cottagers arrive, it swells to 5000.  The arrival of the non-locals is what many regard as a necessary evil.  Economically this area could not survive without the purchasing power of the folks from away.   Nevertheless, the big-city ways, uber-trendy clothes, increased traffic, incredibly expensive vehicles, and foul mouths in the grocery store (really!) are obvious even to the moderately-trained eye.  These are not all the cottagers; but a fair number of them really do fill the stereotype.

During the winter months (which, unfortunately, comprise a majority of the year) we live the real life of a very small town.  Certain shops close down, gas can't be found after 10pm, the emergency room is the walk-in clinic, and one had better fill any prescriptions before 6:30pm.  I think that many would feel claustrophobic living within such constraints.  Much of my family worried that I would be unable to bear such a life.  My aunt, who has lived here for thirty years, joked that I was too cosmopolitan for this area.  Not so, dear auntie.  However, as a concession to my aunt's insight, I will sadly admit to filling the stereotype of the city girl until I moved here.  I remember visiting little places like here when I was a teen and in my early twenties. I would scoff at the outdated haircuts, the funny accents and the lack of sophistication.  I have been humbled.  These small-town characteristics have become things that I love and greatly appreciate.  In a certain sense, one can become one's self within such a milieu.

And, in truth, I have flourished in this little place.  It is unlike any other area that I have visited or lived.  My dad jokes that we don't really live in Canada here:  traditional values are strong, faith is real, and helping hands are true to their word.  Of course, along with the advantages come the entrenched biases; family feuds are very real; rednecks with actual rednecks are abundant in the summer; camouflage is always the new black; and gossip is constant.  One has to learn to navigate around and through the downside which, in a certain regard, is a necessary evil.  Also, not having grown up here, I can only imagine a young person's desire to break free and escape to the big city.  (Funny how so many of them want to come back, though.)

I think that this small town has a special ingredient that has added a distinct and improving flavour.  Due to the presence of Madonna House, Our Lady Seat of Wisdom Academy, the back-to-the-landers, and a number of faithful apostolates that have come and gone throughout the years, there exists here a unique blend of descendants of Irish and Polish pioneers side by side with academics, professionals, hippies, visiting students, and others who prevent the inevitable stagnant life of the typical small town.  There is an incredibly unique blend of people that makes for culture, troubling differences, and, if one has an eye for it, tremendous humour.  Trust me, Sunday mass and the ensuing gatherings in the parking lot can leave me in stitches.

Growing up in Halifax (which many say is a small town that thinks it is a big city), one of my mom's friends used to say, "You could never have an affair in this town:  the neighbours would know before you had your pants down."  Yes, a little crude, but also very true.  The living-in-one-another's-pockets' aspect of a small town can be its greatest failing as well as its most formidable offering.  In truth, I think that one can find this sort of community in a big city as well.  One might have to look a little harder, but it can be found; it's just that it comes a little easier when the population is tiny.

What got me thinking about this is a relationship that I have forged with one of the cashier's at the grocery store.

Dave teaches one of her sons and for five years I have made my way through her cash to enjoy a little conversation - sometimes mundane; at times, much more intimate.  She is a wonderful woman:  simple in that country sort of way; joyful, dissolving into tearful laughter at the slightest provocation; and generous - oh my, is she generous.  You might recall an incident around nine months ago when a cashier, thinking that I was a friend who had recently moved back to town, paid for my groceries?  Well, that cashier is this woman.

Dave arrived home from school yesterday with the sad news that she has kidney cancer.  She is only in her mid-forties with three sons still at home.  Her husband works at the local mill and they live a lifestyle typical of many around here - frugal, simple and connected to the land and family.  I hugged her today on her last shift and told her that I would be praying for her and would help in anyway I could.  She laughed and told me that I was too busy already.  Oh my.  I am determined to somehow help her as she begins this journey.  I imagine that the community that is the grocery store will pull together and care for her with great generosity.  And, in a community where having family and multiple cousins determines one's standing, she is blessed.  I still want to help.

I don't really know why I am writing this.  I guess I'm asking you to pray for her, but also realizing how thankful I am to live in a place where anonymity is impossible.  Some might find this stifling; I, on the other hand, have found it strangely liberating.

We have been given a great gift in this hometown of ours.  I do hope that I can give back.