Hard to believe that over the last few days, 17″ of snow has disappeared, but it’s true. From the blizzard of January 10th, there is very little of the white stuff left. Just last week, the short-legged dogs of the town were concerned. The elderly widows of the town even more so. Tomorrow, our temperatures may reach 55 degrees. So it is in the high desert plains of Northwestern Nevada.
I’ve found that after a storm, I know many elders that are terrified of two things.
- Driving in the snow and wrecking the car, themselves, or someone else.
- Getting safely to their destination and then slipping on the ice and breaking a hip (or the bones connected to the artificial one).
Shoveling snow IS a pain in the neck, back, and arms. Once the snow falls, there is little choice but to shovel, or ice will form early the next morning. The men of our church went to work the minute the minister’s bird-bath-O-meter hit 17″.
Throughout the following day, the pastor and several friends visited the homes of our elderly friends. When thinking about the members, of the 30 we know pretty well, all are past the age of efficient and effective snow shoveling. One by one, their driveways and sidewalks were cleared. Hearing the story, it seemed almost magical.
The nice thing about small town living is that you get to know each other. Attending services at a small church intensifies this. Pretty soon, you learn who brings the best deserts to the monthly potluck, or who might have the added worry of an adult child feeling a bit down.
Life in a small town is just a little more thoughtful. Word gets around when trouble hits. I can’t help but remember Miss Naomi, (now a sweet angel), and how our town came together when tragedy struck. If the name Naomi doesn’t ring a bell, you didn’t live here then. I did. Forever, I’ll remember.
A small town celebrates things that need celebrating! Like Caucusing and America’s Independence Day! I can hardly wait for the 4th to come around again. I’ll be front and center for the greased pig races while cheering on the contestants. From the early morning pancake breakfast, to the parade, food, and fantastic fireworks, nobody does it better than our small town.
Neighbors come outside to say “Hello” and compliment each other on their yards. People stop to talk awhile. Even the dogs are friendlier.
Last October, 100 people from our small town turned out to watch us get married in our little church. The pews were packed as I walked straight up that aisle towards a very nervous HHH. As I did, friends and family were full of love and kindness. Blessings overflowed that day, as we filled our little chapel to SRO (standing room only). They came to celebrate at our reception, as two little old people enjoyed their first hours as husband and wife.
Small towns enjoy things like intimate candlelight services on Christmas Eve, and sunrise services high up on the side of Olinghouse Mountain on Easter Sunday. They show up to school board meetings to steer the direction of the school their children attend.
When I see pictures of the biggest cities in the United States, I shake my head. I’ll never understand why someone would give up Big Skies and wide open spaces in exchange for concrete jungles. I wasn’t wired to live under those conditions. Just a desert gal here, through and through. Wild things don’t thrive in captivity.
Sunday, all the seasoned widows and widowers were still talking about the day the men came to shovel the snow. Those men even shoveled for some neighbors that lived next to the parishioners. “You’re the Pastor of the Free Methodist Church? Just where is this church and when is the next service?”
Remember, strangers are just friends you haven’t yet met. Especially in a small town.
More tomorrow.