JUNE 2009 - Two-Lane Friends are Family

I recently saw a wall hanging in a neighbor's house that read "Living in a small town is like having a big family." It got me thinking about all the ways we can choose to exist in life, from how we raise our kids to what makes us sleep soundly at night.

I wrote that sentence down in my notebook and made an effort this past month to connect its meaning to my own situation. Before my family moved back to the mountains, we lived a very different life in modern suburban sprawl. One of the first differences we noticed about our new life in the country was how welcoming all (well o.k., most) people were. Some have treated us like family since we arrived. It didn't take long before a few names came to mind - the type of neighbors who represent the good things in life.

The next day was a perfect example. I have been trying for a couple of years to find wild mushrooms on our farm, particularly morels, with no luck. Growing conditions this year were exceptional and everyone around was finding them by the sacks full - except me. As I've said before, for some reason the Mushroom Gods just weren't paying me any attention.

Then it finally happened!! I had been in bed sick all afternoon when I heard my husband's voice through an open window, "Kim, get up. You've got a visitor sitting on the porch." Not only did I feel pathetic, I looked even worse. "This better be good," I thought, reluctant to let anyone see me this way.

I stumbled out the front door to see our friend Doug with a large butter bowl on his lap. He handed it to me and inside were a pile of the prettiest golden mushrooms I'd ever seen. They had been washed, soaked and sliced, and were ready to use. If that wasn't enough of a blessing, there was also a baggie with a few more his wife, JoAnne, had already fried up, ready to eat. I thought I'd died and gone to Heaven.

The gesture brought tears to my eyes. Mushrooms are a scarce commodity that only appear for a few weeks each Spring, so sharing your stash is a really big deal. Their kindness and consideration did more to improve my health that day than all the Tylenol I could take.

The story gets even better. Since the kids were away, and I was in bed sick, my husband Richard had decided to go mushroom hunting himself - for the umpteenth time this year. He didn't expect find much, but as fate would have it that day, he located a small patch of a couple dozen. He couldn't wait to come off the hill and present them to me.

It was while he was gone that Doug arrived. He had knocked on the door, and when no one answered, he waited patiently for one of us to show up. Richard came walking home to find him sitting on the porch.

We enjoyed three meals out of that bowl of goodies, and we savored every one. I even shared a few with my brother, who seemed to like them almost as much as I do. We also got the satisfaction of finally finding a patch on our own land. But most of all, thanks to two very good folks named Doug and JoAnne, I have a renewed faith in the Mushroom Gods and a deep appreciation for the people who live in our small town.

I went to bed that night feeling blessed and thinking about all the other times they've come to our rescue, like so many folks have since we've lived here. From helping us fix the gas when it's out, to calling on my elderly grandmother each day when she lived nearby. They've checked on us when I've been out of town for medical visits, and offered to keep my kids anytime I might need it. They've invited us to participate in their own family outings and encouraged us to attend church with them on Sundays. They've shown up to help when the water washed out our road, or to help Richard build his office when no one else was around to lend a hand.

There are usually several Doug and JoAnnes in a small country town. The kind of people who would give you the shirt off their back if you needed it. You run into them at the grocery store, chat with them at the post office and sit beside them at the local restaurant.

They pick up the phone and call when they hear you're in trouble, and buy Girl Scout cookies from your daughter even if they're not supposed to eat them. They're the type that send extra vegetables home with you in the summer, or bring plenty of food when there's been a death in your family. They notice when your kid's picture shows up in the newspaper and gladly stop beside the road to help when you've had a flat tire.

They won't take anything in return, nor do they expect it. They just enjoy being good people.

Most importantly, they smile when you cross paths from day to day, wave when they drive by, and wrap their arms around you when you seem to need it most, just like family is supposed to. Sometimes that's the best therapy life has to offer.