Last week I experienced some things that only happen when one lives in a small town. Three Rivers in Central California qualifies as a small town, with a population around 2600, and many of whom are weekenders.
(The Kaweah Post Office in this pencil drawing isn’t my post office, but it isn’t very far from home.)
As I passed South Fork Drive, a car pulled across my lane onto the highway going the opposite direction. I almost locked up my brakes to avoid him, but there was no audible squeal. He didn’t seem to notice anything amiss.
At my next stop, my very good friend pulled into the lot behind me and said, “I saw that! Are you okay??” Wow, what what a thoughtful friend she is! I was fine, and was especially touched by her kindness.
She told me who the driver was, and we both were a bit a worried and puzzled as to his behavior. We speculated about his state of mind and hoped he was shaken awake.
Back at the studio, I ripped into my mail. It included a bank statement, and I was astonished to see that I’d taken a trip to the coast. My first thought was “OH NO! Identity theft!” Then I had the presence of mind to read the top of the statement. Aha! It belonged to someone else.
I grabbed the phone book and called her. She was home, so I jumped back in the car and zipped over to her house. And, I apologized for reading her business, but hoped she had a great time over at the coast.
Where else but in a small town would you know the one whose mail you received by accident, know where she lives, and just run it over to her?
And, where else would you understand that the more experience postal clerk has hand trouble, so she switched places with the other clerk who isn’t quite as experienced with loading up the P.O. boxes?
P.S. I noticed that this is full of exuberance – “ripped into my mail”, “grabbed the phone book”, “jumped into the car” – may you all be blessed with such energy as fall arrives.
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