It’s been about seven years now since we relocated from Omaha. I think most of my family and friends have heard about all they care to hear. They know that I’m prone to embellish a few facts every once in a while. It’s never stopped them, however, from enjoying a good yarn about my little town. Deep down inside they realize the tales are true and they envy a fair portion of the anecdotes. They are also happy for me and that feels good.
Midwesterners like us are sometimes portrayed through books and films as unimaginative or unambitious. The people that spin this nonsense behave like the playground bully, insecure and void of self-confidence. Still, a little doubt to the authenticity of the genuineness in our rural lifestyle must linger in the recesses of the mind; natural human jealousy is my guess.
From experience, life in a faster lane had its share of pluses and minuses, and the list is too long to lay those out for comparison. But at the end of the day when the ledger is tallied and the bottom line is finalized, there isn't anything that would necessitate a fudging of numbers. The debits and credits are entirely in our favor.
“I have a ton of errands to take care of this morning,” I used to tell folks in a phone call, text or email. "I have to go to the post office and mail a couple of packages, run into the hardware store for a few items, drop a check off at the bank, pick up a prescription at the pharmacy, and grab something for dinner at the grocery store.”
“I hate days like that,” they’d reply. “Those two or three hours of running around, in and out of stores, I’m drained and irritated for the rest of the day.”
“Two or three hours? I’ll be done with everything and back home in about thirty minutes,” I’d respond so ever nonchalantly.
An inappropriate, sarcastic, humorous and unprintable remark from them about my character and lack of moral fiber only reassures me that they understand the greatness of small town America and small town Nebraska.
I’m torn between my desires to advertise our oasis in the northern plains versus my selfishness to keep it all private. It's like a hot fishing hole at the lake or a heavy populated shelter belt full of birds. The tendency is to want to brag, but loose lips sink ships and can otherwise stir up the calm waters, rocking the boat.
New folks move into town – which is a wonderful sight to see, and begin the work of making their dreams come true. The houses and the yards receive restorative love and care. A garden might be planted; a dog might already belong or be acquired, or a child’s toy might lie across the sidewalk. They are all indicators of a belief in the good within themselves and within us as a community.
Alumni from the Osmond schools gathered to celebrate their memories and stories of “remember when?” Some brought laughter and some brought tears. Some brought a quick quiet glance of “you’re an idiot” and others brought an endearing thought of “I never appreciated you enough.” More importantly perhaps were the conversations of the future, the questions and the comments like “what if?” or “how about?”
Mark Twain said it best: “Even if you’re on the right track, you’ll get run over if you just sit there.”
But either way – it brings people back or gives those still here another opportunity – or at least should – a chance to rejoice and recognize their extraordinary contributions toward the farms and the fields and the families, in town or on gravel.
Looking in a little bit less now from the outside, ya’ll have done really really well. It’s a treasure being a part of it.
