What’s on my mind? Small towns, of which there are many.
We live in a village that pretends to be a town. We moved here from the Big City long enough ago that we’re no longer seen as “city folk,” probably because we passed the “tourist test” almost as soon as we arrived.
Oh, sure, we smile and offer directions, but mostly, we tolerate tourists in the knowledge that they’re “good for the economy,” as the locals reluctantly admit. That’s the “tourist test.” Acknowledge the positives of tourism while eagerly awaiting Autumn.
Disguised in T-shirts, Bermuda shorts, flip-flops, and cameras, tourists lack all hope of blending in with the locals. They flock here every summer, jamming the roads, shops, parks, and campgrounds before - ZAP! They’re gone, off to Arizona for the winter. Which is a good thing. If they stayed any longer, they’d want to live here, and that just wouldn’t do.
Our village’s dirty little secret is that we’re eager to see them go, which they’ll do when the first leaf drops and twilight starts one minute too soon for their liking.
It’s then, when they depart en masse and the beaches and the roads clear out - then, and only then - we can resume our everyday pursuits such as puttering in our gardens, jigsaw-puzzling, and wondering why our neighbors Mr. Harris and Mrs. H haven’t invited us to see the new used car they bought on eBay (We’ve heard dark rumors about brakes, transmissions, and rusty frames. What can you expect for 350 bucks?).
The appeal of our village isn’t just its beaches (though they are nice, I must admit). The place has other charms. Like having only one traffic light. One. And free parking everywhere, of course.
The hardware store sells blueberries, figs, plums, and pears. Eggs, too. The seed store sells live chicks in the Spring. And the weekend markets sell live ducks. The bank stocks dog biscuits, for all who drop by. Dogs, I mean. No checking account required.
We’re off to the country fair, this weekend. My favorite event? The zucchini races. A bunch of zucchinis whoosh down a slide and ... Too complicated to explain to you Noo Yawkers and other pseudo-sophisticates. The chicken, duck, turkey, and goose races are pretty straightforward, as is the ladies' nail-driving contest. Would these things happen in the Big City? No-o-ope.
The bucks stop here. So do the doe-see-does and their fawns. And rabbits, raccoons, mink, foxes, marten, elk, and cougars. Bears, too. Mustn’t forget the bears!
The bucks stop here. So do the doe-see-does and their fawns. And rabbits, raccoons, mink, foxes, marten, elk, and cougars. Bears, too. Mustn’t forget the bears!
Maybe we should plaster posters on lamp-posts: UNWANTED: COUGARS AND BEARS. WE HAVE TOO MANY. I reckon that would move the tourists along, pretty fast.
© Nicole Parton, 2019
