You hear all sorts of stories about small-town life. You know, the hilarious and deliciously scandalous tales of crazy neighbors and weird traditions that are clearly insane, but the storyteller talks about them like they're talking about what to make for dinner.
Well, my town is made of those stories. Every time I talk about it, people look at me with this great mixture of concern and confusion before proceeding to ask if I grew up in a cult. But nope, that's just my town: a quaint yet endearing little hodgepodge of strange.
The town began as a Methodist camp and has historic status. We have fewer than 600 residents, but we're self-governed. We may not have any industry, but we do have two tennis courts and a pond that we call a lake. Our street signs are wooden and hand-painted with plants and their scientific names. My legal address is a grassy path. We have a theme song (and a band to play it). Most importantly, the 2000 census found there to be an average of 1.8 cats per family.
But the best (and weirdest) thing about my town is its traditions, some of which date back generations. My favorites are the Fourth of July and Labor Day Weekend.
For the Fourth of July, my town has so much spirit it cannot be contained in one day. We spend one day playing a town-wide baseball game and having a huge potluck picnic (a staple of town events). Then, on the fourth, everyone dresses up like it's Halloween in July and goes to the park to sign up for costume judging. Then our band lines up on the gravel road into the park and begins to play the anthem while the American flag is raised. A rifle fires a salute, and the parade begins. It is led by our mayor on a tractor and followed by the band and a legion of screeching kazoos. The parade marches all around town, ending up at our town hall, playing patriotic songs all the while. The final song is the town anthem, and everyone gathered sings along. Then the costume judging begins. Everyone who signs up gets a prize, of course, from "Best Red, White, and Blue Fairy Princess" to "Best Yankee Doodle Fireman." Finally, everyone who wants to lines up to ring the town bell, and the day is done.
But that is only one event.
Saturday morning, two days before Labor Day. People gather in herds on the field, which is littered with tires, inner tubes, soccer balls, softballs, and sacks. This is the location of the field events: the soccer kick, the 60-yard dash, the softball toss, the sack race, the obstacle course, and the egg toss, all with multiple age categories. Then, the best event of all: the Triathlon.
The task is thus: Alone or in a team, entrants must paddle around the lake (read: pond) in an inner tube, bike five miles around town, and run two miles to the tennis courts where hoards of people lay waiting to congratulate the winner, who will receive the town's highest honor. But that comes later. There are still two more days.
On Sunday are the shorter bike and running races. They're pretty standard affair, except for the very first race. This is because it is entirely toddlers on bikes. A bunch of little toddlers on their little tricycles seeing who can pedal their little legs faster. It's adorable.
On Monday, we have a croquet tournament followed by an awards ceremony and potluck (I told you it was a staple of town events). Here, the second and third place winners of every event get little ribbons, and the first place winners receive medals made by our resident potter. Not the Triathlon winner, though. No, that paragon of human achievement is given a fancy cup (also made, of course, by our resident potter).
Now, this is only a taste of my town. There is so much more: the Holiday Program, Music Weekend, the Flower Show, Summer In the Parks, Easter, Halloween, Bluestoberfest, and so, so many potlucks. This doesn't give you an idea of the people, who are so friendly and wonderful it can be uncanny. I can't tell you all the crazy stories of its past, like the group my parents were in which practiced military drills with croquet mallets (???).
In the ridiculously dramatic yet beautiful words of my town's first mayor, my home is “a town within a forest, an oasis of tranquility and a rustic jewel in the diadem of the great free state of Maryland.”
In other words, my town is crazy and weird and I wouldn't have wanted to grow up anywhere else.
