Country Living

You Know You’re in a Small Town if…

This is to be read at a Henny Youngman/Groucho Marx tempo.

So my Mom’s living in South Carolina and buys a retirement home up in the hills of the Appalachian Mountains of Virginia.  As is often the case, I’m not working and volunteer to live in the house while freeloading as I paint and remodel the new home.

Mom sends me a book to be delivered at the local Post Office.  She has a small P.O. Box at the office, but it’s not big enough to hold a book.

I walk in for the first time ever.

“Hi.  Yeeeah.  My Mom sent a book for me from South Carolina”

The lone Post Office employee tells me to wait for a moment and surveys a pile of packages behind her.  Then she grabs one.

“Here you go!”

“Thanks”

I went back to my car with the package, strapped-up with my seat belt, and started the engine.  And then it dawned on me.  I never mentioned my name or my Mom’s.  Never a P.O. number.  Just that my Mom had sent me a packaged book.

And it was the right package!

You know you’re in a small town if…

 

 

6 thoughts on “You Know You’re in a Small Town if…”

    1. You know, I’ve lived in Vegas, in Miami, DC, etc., etc. but I’m so happy to be back in little Woodstock, Virginia. My fancy car’s dashboard says that I’m averaging 23 MPH:)

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    1. Same here! This place was so remote that I once went four days without wearing shoes or speaking. I’d drive down to the little community store just for human interaction:)

      Like

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