Four years ago I moved to a rural burg. Some might call it a one-horse town, but we have plenty of horses here.
You could say “bucolic village,” which conjures images of Lady Bountiful pouring tea for the vicar, but we have no titled gentry or vicar, for that matter. There’s also no grocery store or traffic light (though we do have a blinking caution light we’re pretty proud of.)
A couple of weeks ago, at an appointment in Summerville, a woman my age asked, “What do y’all DO out there?”
My first thought was, “Breathe, like everybody else,” but I like this lady and besides, I’m getting too old to be a smart-mouth.
“Well…” I began.
“I mean, do you like it?” she asked. You could tell she was genuinely curious. So I told her the truth.
“Thirty years ago, I’d have fled with my hair on fire. But now I love it,” I said.
I needed the mellowness of middle age to appreciate small-town living, but there are plenty of young couples here. They don’t mind driving 35, 45, even 50 miles to work if it means they can live on a quiet tree-lined lane and walk to church. (United Methodist, Pentecostal or Baptist, take your pick.)
In “End of the Innocence,” songwriter Don Henley wrote, “Somewhere back there in the dust/that same small town’s in each of us.”
Some of us moved away, some came back. And some, like my husband, never left.
So… how can you tell if you’re smack in the middle of a small town? Glad you asked. Here are a few clues:
•    Going to the post office is a bona fide social event.
•    The sidewalk ends at the mayor’s house.
•    There are more golf carts than people.
•    Oral directions include, “Turn left at Luke Ledbetter’s place,” and Luke Ledbetter has been dead 40 years.
•    Three people on town council are related.
•    On Sundays after church, folks drive 15 miles to a buffet where the peach pie recipe hasn’t changed in 20 years.
•    If, God forbid, you let out a scream at 2 a.m., men, women, dogs and children will come running.
•    The gas station makes the best fried chicken in the county.
•    Cold well water. You never forget your first taste—and yes, it always smells like that.
•    Forty people know where you can buy a goat for $10.
•    If your dog gets out, somebody will tie him to the fence and leave a note for you. Or…
•    A cop brings your dog home in the back of a cruiser. (This actually happened to Widdle’s black lab.)
•    A guy is always selling shrimp from the back of a pickup truck.
•    When you walk along the paved road for exercise, neighbors pull over and offer you a ride.
•    The lady from the post office calls and says, “That doggie sweater you ordered is here.”
•    If you can’t buy it at the Dollar General, you learn to improvise.
•    Installing a new septic tank is a great excuse for a party.
•    When you’re out in the yard, people stop and say, “Those are some pretty flower beds.”
•    And, last but not least, visitors look around and ask, “What do you DO here??”
Julie R. Smith, who came home to the country, can be reached at widdleswife@aol.com.