The town my family lives in has pros and cons.
On the plus side, the scenery is gorgeous. It’s a small town right below one of the tallest mountains in the country. The weather is practically always sunny, even in winter, and there are multiple lovely parks in walking distance.
A lot of the town’s business comes from tourists, so it also has a charming and vibrant main street with an unusually high concentration of coffee shops for a town its size. Really good coffee shops–there’s one in particular that sells some of the best pastries I’ve ever had, including sumptuous homemade pop-tarts.
Every resident we’ve talked to so far has been friendly and helpful, especially the staff at our kids’ school (for whom we are extremely grateful). There’s even a surprisingly large liberal and queer presence, although the town as a whole is pretty conservative–we even had our own local Pride event!
On the minus side, well…like I said, the town is pretty conservative. The district school board, for example, has officially “decreed” that there are only two genders and that they are fixed from conception, and the town’s elections skew heavily Republican. Pickups with Trump bumper stickers are everywhere.
It’s also a very long way from my office, and while the scenery helps make the drive itself bearable, it still means too much money spent on gas and not enough time spent with my family.
The weather is also something of a double-edged sword–the thin atmosphere means the summer sun can make an 80-degree day feel like 100, while the winters alternate between frigid (often snow-packed) and weirdly warm. Deer, ice, fog, and flash floods are all potential road hazards–sometimes in the same day!
On the whole it’s a lovely place to live–at least for now–and we mostly knew what we were getting into when we moved. There have only been a handful of surprises, most of them pleasant.
By far the most unexpectedly pleasant surprise has been the local newspaper, which we find stuffed in our PO box about twice a month. It’s been strangely empowering just knowing more about what’s happening in the town, political and otherwise. It’s how we found out about the local Pride event, and how we decided who to vote for in Tuesday’s election (there were three open seats on the school board).
Even more surprising than the articles, however, have been the letters to the editor.
As I said, it’s a conservative town, so the letters to the editor contain their fair share of MAGAs, transphobes, and apologists. That being said, the discourse is mostly civil, and there have been a much broader range of views than I expected. It’s been heartening, for example, to see more than one staunch conservative condemning Trump and his actions along with the liberal and moderate voices, and there are many letters that share useful information on purely local issues (like the aforementioned school board’s activities).
Most surprising of all, however, have been the letters that aren’t really about politics at all, the ones that are just about lived experiences. Emotions, thoughts, and memories shared honestly; not as rhetoric or argument, but as simple communication. Sometimes it’s a plain “thank you” or “congratulations,” other times it’s more complex, but in each case the feeling is of neighbors reaching out to each other through a sense of community, not competition, fear, or anger. Not the Voice of the People, just…people.
People, and their voices.
Voices
I came to her when she was nineteen.
Born on payday.
She was to be my mother.
Not a mother anyone would choose at the mom store.
She fed us well, clothed us, washed our sheets.
Beyond this, we were on our own.
No hugs, no praise, no words of love.
Narcissistic and rude, she was our mother.
At Eighty-nine,
we try to care for her, silently cursing her demands.
Her software is worn, her coding, eroding…
She worries, dragging her walker room to room
never landing, confused, anxious, fidgety.
Pausing only to read the paper.
Our nation’s leaders are killing her.
She is not the same. Six months ago she had hope for her grandchildren’s future…
Now, she paces
What will happen to my IRA? Where will I get my meals?
Am I going to get next month’s Social Security?
Will I need to change doctors?
I have nothing to leave my kids.
I’ve worked so hard. Do you know how hard I worked?
Yes, Mom, I know.
Her mind clogged with the failing schemes of a madman.
There is nothing we can say to ease this panic.
Despite all, she is ours, and we try to offer peace.
I wonder how many of our elderly men, women, veterans…
The greatest generation will die with heavy hearts.
No longer knowing if this democracy will survive.
– Tricia Tennesen
In Search of Secrets 