The Heart of a Town

Despite hanging my hat in a room in a nursing home, the surrounding small town of Mars has become my home.  I’ve been here for three months, and I’ve mentioned to my mom that I’ve wanted to show her around the town.  She seemed less than enticed by my offer.  Finally, after multiple rain checks, she agreed to put on her walking shoes and join me for a tour of the town.

We exited the parking lot of the St. John’s and made a right turn, traveling down the side walk.  We jay walked across the street, as I tend to do; there were no cars within sight on either side.  We passed the corner store, the red brick church, a handful of houses, a small office building, and the funeral home, and with that short distance, we were already in the heart of the town.

The air felt like it was about to rain, so we popped into the closest store, which was Vintage Finds. My mom and I browse differently, which is my nice way of saying that she takes forever to see what I am finished looking at in a few moments.  So, I glanced, and she inspected.  My mom then displayed her other famous quality, which she got from her mother– she talked, this time to the store owner, Terri.  As my mom complimented Terri’s displays, Terri told us about the store; she had been an interior designer for many years but always wanted her own shop.  She is open four afternoons per week, and on the other days she travels all around the eastern part of the country to find treasures in estate sales.  Her 14-year-old son has a real eye for color.  She once had the shop open on Sundays, but since roughly 80 middle-aged men shopped at the grocery store next door, and no one else came by, it proved to be the wrong day.  ”If they don’t come, they don’t buy,” she said.  Terri’s shop has a little bit of everything, but the brightest gem in it is Terri herself, whose great joy is engaging her customers.

The skies were clear after a light rain.  We said goodbye to Terri with a promise to return, and I told my mom that she had to see the beautiful Brewhouse and meet Brad.  Unlike my mom, I don’t talk to just anybody, but Brad made me feel so welcome in his recently-redone coffee house.  He found out that I’m a writer and artist and said that I’m welcome to set up a table one weekend morning and show people my work.  ”Mars is on the upswing,” he said.  ”People are realizing what it has to offer.  People are coming from out there to shop here, because they’re finding out what we’ve got.”  Though I question the wisdom of giving away my secret, I can think of no sweeter way to spend an evening than sitting outside the Brewhouse with an open journal, listening to the House’s outdoor music, and soaking in the summer breezes.  I have a designated chair, of course, and it might be my favorite spot in the whole town.

As we sat outside and sipped our drinks (my mom slowly sips her coffee; I had guzzled my flavored water in two minutes or less, as is my typical approach to beverages), a beautifully dressed young woman with a tiny black dog whose ears were tipped in pink came up the ramp.  On her way out, her dog spotted us and excitedly came to greet me.  ”Oscar loves everybody; say hi, Oscar!”  She introduced herself as the owner of the salon across the street; her name is Libby.  She had moved her salon from a nearby area with a lot of money to small-town Mars, and she said her clients followed her.  ”I love it here!”  She chatted with us for some time, displaying her genuineness, and then my mom and I went back toward the nursing home and Libby and Oscar went on their way.

Mars is situated at the intersection of town and country.  It hints of town life with its stop light, but just under the surface, its true country heart comes through– the stoplight only blinks, red on, red off.  Drivers will always wave a pedestrian through; it has cross walks, but no one heeds them.  The streets are quiet enough for kids to play in the middle of them, and the cars go slowly enough to allow them this carefree childhood liberty.  As I walk through the residential streets, I pass one dog after another in the yards, far more than I ever saw outside in the suburbs.  While it may be a pinprick on the map to some, for this young woman from suburbia, it is the small town in that it is the representation of contentment.

My mom chattered the whole way back to St. John’s.  ”You have to stay here!  You have to!  This place is the best!  Did you ever think…”

My mom had quickly learned what those of us who live and work here already know.  Some places are worth falling in love with.