Small Town Living
When we moved from the city to a small town seven years ago, I don’t
really think we knew what we were getting into. Or, at least, I
didn’t. I grew up in a Vancouver suburb, so moving to Main St. in a
small Saskatchewan town was a bit of a culture shock for me. But I
had the perception in my mind that we were making a change for the better, and
I can say now that I wouldn’t move back to the city, not unless it became an
absolute necessity.
What drew us originally to a rural town was the cost of housing, which
was substantially lower than in the city. We were able to afford a
larger house, on a significantly larger piece of property, than we’d have been
able to afford in the city at the time. And we’re not tied to a big
mortgage, which means that we’ve been able to go more places and do more things
than we might otherwise have been able to do.
There’s a sense of community here that I had never experienced in any of
the cities in which I’ve lived. People know each other, and look out
for each other. The disconnect that some people
experience—particularly larger cities—from family, from friends, and from
neighbours just isn’t here in a small town. We’re not “bowling
alone,” to use Robert Putnam’s phrase, and there’s a depth to our social
capital that I’ve never seen elsewhere. To put it bluntly, we’re
invested in our community, and invested in each other.
That investment can certainly have its down sides. Yes, there
are disagreements, and long-standing feuds that newcomers will likely never
understand—like why the Town and RM councils seem to have difficulty working
together. But we can’t all agree on everything. And it’s
difficult, at times, for this socially-liberal, fiscally conservative feminist
to see things from others’ points of view. On the plus side, I’m
getting better at biting my tongue when saying something just won’t do much
good, which is a valuable talent to develop. And people do know
everyone’s business, at least to an extent. When we got a new cat, a
stray kitten found not far from the ferry road, people across town knew within
minutes. Although that’s partly my “fault,” for posting on Facebook
that we’d retrieved it. But, in all honesty, the intimate details of
our lives are still intimate, unless we’re inclined to share.
In light of sharing, the saying “it takes a village to raise a child”
comes to mind. Living in a small community has reinforced my belief
in this concept. In the early summer, there were packs of small boys
running rampant through my yard, and if my boys disappeared, I had a pretty
good idea of where they’d gone. We know their hockey coaches, their
Kindergarten teacher has visited our house, and they’re already beginning to
contribute to volunteer activities within the community, this year helping to
get toys sorted and cleaned for the Christmas Miracles initiative, along with
delivering suppers to Mrs. Claus when she gets so busy she forgets to eat. They
have many wonderful, positive role models in their young lives, which is a
blessing, to be sure.
We’re relative newcomers to this small town, which is close to
celebrating its 105th birthday. We live in the
“Newton house,” even though our last names not Newton, we won’t ever be part of
the town’s inner circle because our grandparents weren’t community founders,
but we’re still a contributing part of this small community. We work
to keep tradition alive, doing odd things like giving out wieners (!) at
Hallowe’en, serving on various boards and committtees, and generally
contributing to the community’s social capital. We may not always
agree with our neighbours, but we’ll always be here to lend a hand … and I
think that spirit is one of the most important gifts we can give our
children.
