Tag Archives: Small Town

Old Handwritten Recipes

You should never trust an old recipe that doesn’t have a few stains or some food smeared on it.  If it’s not dirty or well-worn, then it probably wasn’t used very often to begin with and isn’t worth the effort to make. Continue reading Old Handwritten Recipes

Swinging Bridge

Here’s a few pictures and a video from yesterday’s wonderful day along the Shenandoah River here in Virginia.  A blue sky dotted with white clouds above the scenic river, the tree’s leaves beginning to change their colors, a vineyard full of grapes lining the far side of the river’s bank.  The Shenandoah Valley basked in God’s glory. Continue reading Swinging Bridge

Aunt B’s Pictures

I was working in Aunt B’s basement yesterday, and she followed me down the stairs and began rummaging through some boxes, looking at old pictures.  The more that I looked, the more that I was amazed. Continue reading Aunt B’s Pictures

Life on the Mountainside

I wrote a very short story yesterday entitled You Know You’re in a Small Town if… which naturally had me reminiscing and dreaming about those days up on the mountain.  Some of us constantly need people around.  Some are happier being alone.  And somewhere in the middle is a really nice place to live. Continue reading Life on the Mountainside

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…