The power of connections

Fourth cousins. Fifth cousins. The first 30 years of my life, I never really kept tabs on my second cousins. Around here though, finding out that someone is a fourth or fifth cousin is the norm. And there are a number of people in this town who can spit out the full family tree before you have a chance to connect the first two dots. We attended a somewhat impromptu family reunion last week. Walking in, I was still trying to figure out the connection. As we shook hands with the guest of honor, he casually asked if there had been some mass text message, email or complicated phone chain in order to get all of these people together. It was pretty clear that the number of people in attendance surprised him. There may have been a phone call, but no discussion. Around here, if you have a connection with someone, regardless of how far up the family tree they are, you make an effort to be there. It seems that mindset is shared by just about everyone in this town. Look at the high school football program. It’s no surprise that small towns basically shut down on game nights during a winning season. What is hard to believe is that people will travel from all over the state to make these playoff games. When I was a kid, it seemed like parents and grandparents attended games. Today, if a player’s mother waves at you from across the street, there’s a good chance that you’ll make a point to be at the next game. There are families in this town—yes, that means more than one—who get together regularly for potluck dinners, Husker games, or for no reason at all. They are no less busy than anyone else. They might be five or fifty-five years old. But you can be that they’ll be there, every time. The Q125 celebration could be the most obvious example long-distance connections congregating in this town. I have no doubt that there were a lot of fourth and fifth…maybe even sixth cousins in Petersburg that weekend. Simply put, this town has a way of connecting people, regardless of family ties or lifelong friendships. While our children may leave home following graduation, or our grade school friends move away, that connection continues to bring them back…even decades later. While life in this little burg isn’t for everyone, there’s plenty for people to appreciate and want to come back to.

Seeing the "good"

As I sat waiting for a funeral service to begin a few weeks ago, I couldn’t help but reflect on the “good” that this person had brought to the world. Although I hadn’t known her very long, I could just feel it: her caring spirit, optimism and faith. With a church full of family, friends and acquaintances, I also couldn’t help wondering how many of these people exuded that same aura. Seeing the “good” in others isn’t always that easy—especially when it comes to small town living. I grew up near a town with twice the population of Petersburg. I don’t remember any of the stereotypical negatives of living in that area, but I do remember leaving for college believing that I’d never be back to a small town. As people close to me married farmers and moved to their family farms, I’m pretty sure I made a promise to never put myself in a position where everyone would know my business and I’d have to pay special attention to what I said, who I spent time with and what I wore. So it’s no surprise that I had my doubts about moving to Petersburg. Would the “good” in people outweigh everything else? It didn’t take long to find out. The first few weeks here included attending Mass, running errands and taking my children to day care. No matter where I went people smiled, said ‘hello’ and called me by my first name. It no doubt made learning names more challenging, but it also felt like a warm welcome. Many of those initial outings involved picking up paint supplies. While I found the materials I needed, I also gained a sense of “good” from the store’s owner. He told me about the town and asked me what brought us here and what we left behind. Rather than feeling exposed, I felt appreciated for giving Petersburg a chance. A few weeks later, he arrived at our home with a job posting that he felt fit my education and experience. While I wasn’t looking for a job, the gesture further exemplified the nature of this community. A few months later, I was invited to a girls’ night out at the Knotty Pine. I was surprised by the invitation, and went into it with my guard up. But again, I felt no judgment. I also received a piece of advice that I held onto pretty tightly from that point on. “You have to give yourself a full 12 months,” one of them shared. Being somewhat of a newbie herself, I listened. Her good, along with the rest of the group, helped me realize that there’s a deeper sense of community existing in this small town. Even now, I am constantly reminded of just how much the good of this town outweighs small town stereotypes. Are there rumors? Yes. Do people know everyone else’s business? For the most part. But the commitment to the “good” that’s deeply rooted in this community far outweighs anything else.

Coming together

As a kid, I remember watching my dad and our neighbors climb into their straight trucks, combines and tractors to go help after hearing that another farmer had been in an accident or diagnosed with some illness that prevented them from being able to get their crops in. I still have a picture in my mind of the line of trucks and the small handful of combines staggered across someone’s cornfields late into the night. It was an incredible sight. And one likely to be remembered by everyone involved. At the time, and even up until a few years ago, I believed that kind of generosity only happened in a time of crisis. Why else would another person turn their back to their own work to help another finish theirs? Fast-forward to life in Petersburg. People pitching in to mow the cemetery didn’t surprise me. I wasn’t shocked to see a pretty sizable volunteer fire department. But I was caught off guard several weeks ago when a few light bulbs needed changed at St. John’s. Don’t get me wrong, this was no easy feat. These are lights that hang from above the alter. They’re high up there. It’s no surprise that finding a way to reach them took some doing; let alone finding someone to climb up to change them. But, there happens to be a few parishioners with some extra initiative who went looking to solve the problem of patchy darkness during Mass. I happen to know one of the “volunteers” pretty well and while he wasn’t thrilled with the idea of having to climb the ladder, he was willing to give it a shot. Later I found out that he wasn’t the only one. Actually, a few younger men (who don’t even live in Petersburg) pitched in to help too. By the time it was over, it sounded like there was close to a half-dozen people changing a few light bulbs…which could make for a pretty bad joke: How many St. John’s parishioners does it take to change a light bulb? Oh, about five or six. Okay, not very funny but the truth remains that people—more than one individual—were willing to drop what they were doing to help. Another example, hitting closer to home than the light bulbs, happened just a week ago. This same close acquaintance of mine who helped at the church was asked by a local farmer to help haul silage. Not being overly familiar with silage, I soon learned that when there’s silage to be cut, it takes a small army. Because it needs to be done today. So I drove him to his tractor and wagon and went on my way. On the short journey home, I met the silage cutter, a few tractors pulling wagons, and some other equipment heading toward the same field. Those memories of people coming together to help others in need came flooding back. Only this time, it wasn’t a crisis. It was neighbors being neighborly. What surprised me even more was that when someone needed to quit early to help at a local wedding reception, another person stepped in to take his place and help finish the job. Neighbors helping neighbors, asking for nothing but a beer or two in return. Now that’s my kind of town.

Chance Encounters

Wanna go for a bike ride? Can you play? Let’s go see what [enter kid’s name here] is doing. Oh yes, these are the sounds of impromptu play-dates. Depending on the day, the sounds of the doorbell ringing or strange small voices in my house either bring a sense of relief or slight irritation with them. I grew up on a farm, so play-dates were few and far between. I can only remember my parents hauling my bike into town once. And I think I was in junior high. We were raised to never invite ourselves over. Always knock. And leave a little early. After the first few times kids started randomly stopping over to play with mine, I brought the subject of kid-induced get-togethers up with a friend of mine. She’s a grandmother now but having grown up in Petersburg and raised four children here; I knew she was an expert on the subject. Her face lit up as she told me stories of her and her sister spending hours with other kids in town. The noon whistle telling them what time they needed to be home. They rode bikes, played games. Were scolded by other parents. Her stories sounded a lot like what my kids were experiencing this summer. Certain kids are even brave enough to walk in without knocking. The first time it happened, my husband and I were cleaning in the basement. We saw three small figures run by us (I have two children). Shortly after, the doorbell rang. It’s not uncommon to have a kid banging on our back door, or peeking through our front. There seem to be two homes in Petersburg that are truly kid magnets. One serves some older kids, and the other draws in a posse of seven and eight year old boys. I may be pretty slow catching onto some of my kids’ schemes, but it just took one night to learn a valuable lesson about my son and this house. Like a lot of people in town, we take a walk in the evenings after dinner. One night our kids rode their bikes ahead of us, and when we came within a block of this home, I heard my son yelling. He literally sat on his bike outside of their front door yelling this boys’ name. Humiliating, yes. Funny, yes. Soon the whole family stepped outside. The kids in their pajamas. I felt even worse. The boys immediately grabbed a ball and started playing. I began apologizing. They weren’t surprised. I guess I shouldn’t have been either. Since then, I’ve heard that those kids have conned their parents into walking over to our neck of the woods for a chance encounter of their own. It reminds me of those movies where kids meet on their bikes every day and raise a little cane before coming home for dinner. I’ll take those kinds of impromptu play-dates over video games any day.

Summers in PBurg

Summer in Petersburg is the sound of lawn mowers, birds chirping at 4:30 in the morning, and the tsk, tsk, tsk of a pivots’ end gun. Kids run home for lunch when they hear the noon whistle from the fire hall, and you can hear kids laughing and playing outside until the last orange sliver of sunlight vanishes behind the hills. It’s a strange peacefulness. Mixed with a certain sense of isolation. But how can anyone feel alone when everyone knows what time you left the house this morning? And what you did last weekend, who you were with… Ah, these are the yins and yangs of living in Petersburg. Our first summer here I kept hearing about carnival days. It’s a big to-do here, but I couldn’t grasp the significance of it. It could be that I hate rides, but more so that I wasn’t buying it. I had visions of parents standing behind cardboard and duct-taped booths with hand-me-down toys as prizes. The church ladies selling homemade pie and scoops out of buckets of ice cream. There was no way a town of this size would have anything grander. I was sure of it…And I was even more wrong. As the D.C. Lynch trucks rolled into town, blocking main street and a few side streets with their gigantic rides and games lit up like overly decorated Christmas trees, I’m pretty sure my jaw dropped open a few inches. This was my first lesson in regards to Petersburg’s Carnival Days. It was without a doubt, the real deal. And walking up later that night with our kids, I also remember holding my daughter’s hand tight and telling her to stay by my side. This was an actual carnival after all. Lesson 2: A family-friendly community is another way of saying “we’ve all got your back”. By the second night, we were handing our six-year-old son several tickets and telling him to come find us when he needed more. By then, we understood that everyone looks out for everyone else’s kids. The first time someone brought my daughter to me, I was mortified. The second time, I was over it. I had done the same favor for others. In a world where no one is safe, the kids of Petersburg have an entire community looking out for them. The carnival is long gone; so is the county fair. Now summer nights more often than not include taking walks and visiting with neighbors along the way. Group cookouts. Impromptu baseball games. Summer is a reminder that there’s still a piece of tradition in America. And it exists right here in Boone county.