Getting your Trinity Audio player ready...

By Tamar Reno

 

On Saturday afternoon, my husband and I came home to find a bull in our side pasture. He hadn’t been there when we left. We certainly didn’t put him there. 

In true Polk County fashion, we got a hold of neighbors, and pretty soon the bull’s human showed up to fetch him. Turns out, the human still has fencing problems caused by Helene’s damage, and this bull, whose name is Lucas, enjoys a nice stroll. Lucas knows a good opportunity when he sees one.

Around here, we know our neighbors. We know the names of their dogs, their bulls, and even some of their kids. We notice if something’s wrong and celebrate when something’s right.

This paper is like that. It’s neighborly. 

With headlines featuring farmers’ markets and ribbon cuttings, this self-proclaimed world’s smallest newspaper is the quintessential small-town rag. It’s steeped in sweetness. In a sea of headlines about the latest disaster or malevolence, this tiny paper is a soft landing. It’s like comfort food, except it won’t harden your arteries. 

That doesn’t mean it never tackles hard subjects. It does. It simply isn’t defined by toughness. Or shock and awe. Or despair. 

It’s a reflection of the community it serves, a place where local people come first. “Who are your neighbors?” it asks. “How can you be a better neighbor?”

People who don’t live here mistake us for hicks. Okay, maybe we are hicks. We go to the grocery store with hay in our hair and no one notices. We take Sundays all the way off and roll up our few precious sidewalks early. We mind our manners.

When we ask how you’re doing, it’s because we actually want to know. That’s why everything takes us so long. We stop to hear the stories. We stop to tell them.

There’s an underlying sophistication to this place and the people who live here. It’s just not flashy. It’s homespun and sweet. God knows the world needs less flash and more sweet. 

The world at large is insane. It’s a firestorm of instability coupled with malfeasance. We probably can’t afford to ignore it. National and international doom and gloom have a way of knocking on local doors, whether we’ve invited them or not.

Are we burying our heads in the sand by talking about ribbon cuttings and farmers’ markets? Maybe. Or maybe we’re actively and intentionally creating an alternative way of being in the world. Maybe, in the midst of insanity, we’ve found a way to stay sane. A way that holds up community. A community that holds up individuals. 

A place where the grass in someone else’s side pasture really is greener and they don’t get mad if you stop by for a bite.

We might just be a beacon on the hill, or at least in the Foothills. 

And Lucas? He was back again yesterday. He claims to be a direct descendant of the cow who jumped over the moon. Who are we to argue with him?

Tamar Reno writes from her home in Green Creek. You can find more of her writing at tamarreno.substack.com or email her at thehorsesofbearcreekfarm@gmail.com.