Vignettes from the Neighborly-hood

Vignettes from the Neighborly-hood

By Paige Ponder Monaghan

One Knows One Lives in a Small Town Again,

When…

27 September 2011

A little green truck passed by

Oak Street

this morning. These oaks, ahhh these oaks! They drip with tendrils of sterling Spanish moss, a bromeliad relative of the pineapple family, and canopy a southern road called Oak Street, obviously. The image is embedded. The Spanish moss cliché would be over-done almost if not for its truly laden loveliness, for its old-roots timelessness, sparkling in the morning dew.

This morning I heard this soothing verbal transaction, which made me appreciate my native land which I left for college and after that, traveled farther, for nearly the same reason I returned: everything and everybody so connected. But there I sat on my friend’s front porch. We do not have a neighbor within earshot at my house now which is why I thank goodness for gunshot if needs be. But anyway…this is what I over-heard.

The driver of the lil’ green truck had slowed to a rooooowlling-stop, then hollered out his window at the neighbor next door to where I was rocking on the porch, watching the rain.

The little green truck driver hollered, “Hey, Will! Nora’s car window is down.” The man next door was outside pulling weeds while the rain held. Understandable, weeds give-way much easier from moist soil.

He lifted his head from the weeds in the rain just long enough to holler back, “Hey, thanks, Bill. I’ll get it.” And with that the lil’ green truck drove on its way. It was a ‘Good Morning to you’ of sorts. It just held more information is all.

I live in my native county now, after decades of traveling away from it. I live in a place I thought I would not ever be again, a place I love despite the grandeur of experiencing so many other, different places and countries. With such a huge family clan and distinct circle of friends I was flying home to visit most of the time anyway. Now, here I am, back again, LIVING here and I like it. At least I think I like it?

In a small town no one spats on the ground. Oh heavens no, at least not in front of someone who might tell their momma. I like that. In a small town, everyone says ‘yes, ma’am’ and ‘yes, sir’ innately. With that I have no bother. That moment struck me like lightning: the people in our sleepy town are kind enough to stop to say ‘your wife’s car window is down.’

It tugs at my heartstrings; it pulls them up to my mind, and I realize, my roots are here, every bit as deep as those weed’s roots are and perhaps deeper than the oaks.

I live in a small town again, and I like it here.                             –PPM