I have always moved a lot. Previously, when I would set up my utilities I would either do it online or, if there was a glitch – and often there seemed to be – you would have to endure a lengthy hold and infuriating automated selection process. When I called to set up my electricity in Oxford a sweet southern lady answered the phone on the second ring. I was taken aback at a human voice and had to verify I called the correct number. She collected basic information and told me about the deposit for new customers. I asked how they wanted this payment and she said “Honey, we trust you. Just drop a check off when you get in town and we’ll get your electricity on today.” She was aware I was in Tampa still and wouldn’t be able to drop anything by for at least a week. It didn’t matter. When I finally made it to Oxford and paid my deposit everyone was so personable. One lady told me all about her chickens. It felt surreal.
Prior to my official move in I had to have several workmen over to get the house ready. Every single person who showed up was dressed respectfully and very polite. Even getting my internet set up in Tampa I was uncomfortable with the workmen. Verizon seemed to outsource to contractors who couldn’t care less about their appearance or making me feel uncomfortable in my own home. One asked me if I wanted to get high and go fishing. Um. I’ll pass. I just thought this was the way things are. It’s not that way in a small town. If you show up looking like a hot mess in a small town your grandma will hear about it and there’ll be hell to pay.
Upon moving in my very first visitor was my Farm Bureau insurance guy. He wanted to welcome me to town and gave me a red hat, a Farmer’s Almanac and camouflage beer couzie (sp?). I’ve never even met my insurance people before. I still wear that red hat daily.
That first day in my new home an older man showed up to welcome me. He was dressed in his Sunday best and removed his hat when I answered the door. He said “My wife is out of town and I don’t cook so she said it wouldn’t be neighborly of me if I didn’t take you to dinner on your first day here.” He picked me up at 5 PM and took me to Cracker Barrel.
The following day I heard a motor outside and looked out the window to see a young woman driving up my driveway on a four wheeler, balancing a pie in one hand. She had a big Labrador following her who promptly made its way to my pond for a dip. When I opened the door she welcomed me and handed me the pie. I had never heard of egg custard but it was delicious.
Later that day I was washing my car when a heard another motor. I looked up to see a man on a tractor heading up my driveway. It was “Farmer Steve” dropping by to introduce himself. He and all my other neighbors are great people. In all the places I lived around Tampa Bay I only knew (and loved) my neighbors in one building.
Granted, people can be nosier in small communities and always interested in others but that’s part of being community-minded. I’m sure they gossip about the weird city girl and all her animals but every one of them is quick to lend a hand when needed, for me or anyone, regardless of skin color and background. It’s not something the media highlights because people getting along doesn’t sell as well as division.
My first week I noticed everyone waved at me when driving down country roads. It was confusing at first. I couldn’t figure out why they thought they knew me. They didn’t. It’s just how people are in the country, most people wave at each other while driving around back roads. People who visit me often comment on this.
Two weeks ago I had a slow leak in my tire. It was a stormy day but I knew I had to get air in my tire in order to drive into town to get it fixed.
While I was reading the air machine directions a man pulled up on a big tractor. He hopped off and jogged over to show me how to work the machine. We chatted for a bit and I thanked him profusely. He seemed shocked I have livestock (most people are). When the tire was ready to go he went on his way.
Here I’ve seen people of all colors and ages stop to help someone in need. I think it’s a small town, USA mentality. Once I had an old farmer tell me country people are all family, even if we aren’t the same religion, race or background. He said we’re all family because times come when disasters strike and your blood relatives can’t make it to you but your community will be there. He told me this to make sure I was on the same page as everyone else. It took time for these people to trust what I was made of.
Last year I was at a Piggly Wiggly grocery store in a nearby town and saw five old timers sitting in the café area. They were arguing about which watermelon variety is the best like they were solving a major world problem.
I love these people and this community-mindedness. It’s making me a better person.