I am a story teller, and life is nothing but a collection of stories. I appreciate rural life, and life in a small town because the stories are often about community, connection. Of being known, of being helped. There is no left or right here when people are in trouble. Everybody just comes. The electric bill for the farm work was considerably higher than I had budgeted for – no complaints, it was good and honest work. I called the electrician and asked if I could pay in two or three installments. Sure, he said, you are good for it, I know where you live and you have been good to me. Or Ben writing out his bills with a stub pencil on restaurant and waitress order forms.

It means going into the supermarket and having the cashier tell me she is sorry about Rocky, she passed by the farm every day on her way to work. Or the clerk at the hardware store saying she loves my new fences. Or walking with Red on Main Street in  Cambridge, and Red spotting Maria coming the other way on the sidewalk.  Or a man at the gas station asking me if we sold the other farm yet, and assuring me that it was a lovely place and someone would buy it. Or my banker saying he knows this is a difficult time, and don’t hesitate to call if there is something he might be able to do.  I caught Red’s tail beginning to wag. I could not return to the other life, surrounded by strangers, doing business with people who don’t know me.

The encounter between Red and Maria on the street was another. That Red can walk on the street of-leash and everyone knows who he is. Small stories, the fabric of life in rural America, a world abandoned by the politicians and economists, who have declared us inefficient in the new global economy. This is our answer to them: community and connection.