"...Where Everybody Knows Your Name."

I'm here to tell you that Mayberry still exists!



Okay, so there is another structure besides the gas station, the Post Office, and a bar....it's called "The Baker's Haus". It's a building that can't be more than 500 square feet-TOPS! Every morning before 3am, a 75-year-old man opens The Baker's Haus and starts to cook the donuts. They're the BEST! I gained some poundage when we first came down here because we were making donut runs every morning. We knew it was getting bad when Hayden would wake up in the morning and say, "Mommy....go get donuts?"

Okay, so before we abruptly ended the daily donut runs Ben made one last trip. When he went in, the lady practically had our order ready for us. "Now, Hayden likes the sprinkle ones, right? Hayden....that's an Irish name. I made him one with green sprinkles today." (Huh?)

There's also the town bar, that serves food. It's managed my Juan. He's the only one who ever serves your food. (THE absolute BEST tacos I have ever had.) Ben ordered french fries the very first time we went in. Ben always asks for a side of Ranch dressing. Everytime Juan sees us in there now, he brings Ben a side of Ranch dressing.

Sandy runs the Post Office and knows everyone by their first name. Shirley knows everyone's address in town by heart. She's the mail carrier. Bob and Mary run a teeny hardware store. And there was this one time that I pumped gas at the gas station...

It only has those really old gas pumps. The ones from the 50's and 60's. The ones that were around before the digital monsters that read your debit card and print you a receipt, while screeming at you with the most annoying "BEEEEEEP". No, these ones have spinny dials on them that tell you how much gas you're getting and make a sound like, "click, click, click". You pump first and THEN pay. No "waitng for authorization"...You pump your gas and then go in to the gas station and tell them HOW MUCH you owe them. They don't have any way to check if you're being honest unless they go out to the pump and look...but they never do. You're just expected to be honest.

There are three churches within an hour drive of town: the Catholics, the Mormons, and the Baptists. Three. Almost everyone goes to one of the three. Everyone you pass on the street waves. It doesn't matter if it's your first time there. I guess everyone expects to either know you or to meet you in church on Sunday.

I can tell you that in the short time we've been here I know that Bob from the hardware store is a cancer survivor, I know who is having infertillity issues, who's cheating on their wife, who just had new babies, and that the little old man who makes the donuts needs to sell his shop because it's stressing him out. I know that John will build your house, Manny will hook up your electric, and Fern will be at the Fire Committe meetings...EVERY TIME...eventhough she knows NOTHING about the Fire Department.

In a place like this, where everyone is in the same situation: Isolated, it is a way of life to work together. If the rain is coming and the hay isn't bailed, you can lose your entire crop. A farmer who is a little behind will be out in the field trying to bail as much as he can. That's when the tractors start showing up. Other farmers in town (who are finished with their bailing) will go to other farms and help. They don't just go home and say, "Glad MINE is done before the rain". They will help another with his load.

People have invited us over for dinner (and followed it up with "be there at 6".), shown up to help us move, loaned us shot guns to shoot the coyotes, and offered to help us with "the bees". (There's a Bee Man who has a bunch of hives on the farm and told us to let him know when we want some FRESH clover honey.) Maybe everyone knows everyone's business, but I'm not so sure it's a bad thing all the time. So far, the feeling I get from people is that of love. I guess you get what you give. If you love the people in this town, they will show their love back a thousand times over. Perfect strangers come up to me in town and ask, "So, are you getting all settled in?" Sometimes I just look at them and want to say, "Who ARE you?" The funny thing is that if I did, nobody would be offended.