Well, it’s been another quiet week up here on the mountain, my little slice of heaven.
The temperature has gotten a little warmer up here and the sun has been out a few times this past week.
Small towns have an abundance of townies, which is what we used to call those kids that were born and raised in town, and had never been more than fifty miles from town. Their highest goal in life, at least when I lived in New Hampshire, was to work at the nearby rubber plant or a coveted job at Thompson Center Arms, the manufacturer of black powder firearms.
This town being no different, with two mills in town, those with no higher goals find themselves working in one of those mills. Those like myself seek adventure and leave town for parts unknown hoping to find something to feed our dreams. Some return in time, their dreams dashed and spirit broken; they find employment in the mill, forever bitter. Others, like myself, find what we are seeking and never return; or, eventually, settle down in another small town and fade off into the background.
This came to my thoughts this morning at My Kitchen while listening to the old loggers talking. Most are townies, never venturing far from this little town, and have little knowledge of the bigger world and the real issues that face it.
Some of the men that come in are like me and have traveled the world, fought wars and had our adventures, and now wish nothing more than a quiet day. We rarely try and converse with the old loggers, except the morning greetings of faces we see almost every day. We know nothing of each others lives and probably wouldn’t care to.
Towns such as this are scattered throughout the country, and from what I have seen in my time spent in some of them, they are all pretty much the same.
I grew up in small towns, and have lived in large cities. I will happily take the small town life over the city life any day.
Well that’s all the news for the week. Bye for now.