Between the Creek and the Caution Light 5/31/2020

By: Jennifer Richardson Holt

I live in a small town.  I know things come to mind when I say that but I feel I really need to expound upon the gravity of my statement.  I live in a VERY small town.  My town is in fact, so small that it is not even technically a town. This little place isn’t big enough to have its own postal code so, in reality my small town is so small it is actually located within another small town. “My, that IS small,” you might be thinking. I feel I must take you further. 

My small town just got a caution light a handful of years ago.  Yes, a caution light. My town has a grand total of four significant sites in its “downtown” area.  I had to add quotation marks there because, as you will learn by reading, calling it a downtown area is something like calling a tree and a half a forest; I suppose it may be technically possible but it’s a stretch. At the heart of this town is a school, a volunteer fire department, a gas station and a tire store.  That, for the most part is it…oh, and the snazzy caution light.  That’s significant so I am counting it.

This town may very well have an even cow to people ratio.  I can’t be certain but we have a lot of cows here, mostly Black Angus if you’re curious. I may or may not have contacted a person after driving down the road to tell them their cows were out of the fence and having a wander. (If that’s not small town I don’t know what is.)  There are also a fair amount of hay fields too.  So envision if you will, homes of every type dotted amongst pastures and grassy fields.  Oh and we have a good bit of forest too. Though we’d be more likely to call it woods. 

We’re even the type of town that can see someone walking along the road, (yes we do that, for exercise or just for a casual mosey), and we will likely know who they are, or at the very least to whom they’re related.  We recognize a dog too.  We are likely to know the home of a meandering pup, though on occasion it’s just a neighborhood dog who just hangs out where the eating is good then migrates to some other portion of the community-wide buffet. I suppose those are the more of the free spirit type of canines that can’t be bothered to be tied down to one household.

There is a creek on the outskirts of the community.  A bit of the history of the place leaks out in the very native name of this creek.  Its name comes from the Creek nation that once heavily inhabited this area of Alabama.  The name of this creek is Saugahatchee which interestingly means, “Rattling Gourd Creek”. Here, where I have never seen nor heard a gourd rattle, on any given warm weather day you can see random vehicles parked near the bridge that crosses this water. In as much, you can be assured that someone is fishing, or splashing about or on some sort of flotation device enjoying themselves.  It is a small town after all, one must find more “natural” forms of entertainment, assuming you aren’t into cutting hay or tending cattle.  I suppose you could always watch kudzu grow as it does so fast enough to actually observe it but…even though it’s fast, it’s still just a plant growing.  The fascination factor there is debatable.

Let me retrace my steps.  I mentioned earlier the “downtown” has a school.  Let me tell you more about it.  This school teaches children from their first experience with school until they are adults.  The population of the entirety of those classes from the tender age of 4 all the way to the ready-to-face-the-world age of 18 is roughly the size of some single graduating classes of a large school.  The entirety of this little community, I suppose you could say it revolves around this school.  I suppose that makes sense.  The past, present and future of these people lie within its halls.  There are teachers that have been here for decades. There are coaches who were once children who roamed the playgrounds.  There are the children here who are the children of children who called this place home. Yes, many graduate and move away.  Not every child stays put but here, something about this place has a certain draw.  Many who start here, stay here.  I can attest to this.  I am one of those who had the entirety of my school experience in this teeny town. From kindergarten through cap and gown I was here.  Was it fancy like some private academy in a buzzing metropolis? Certainly not. Was the quality of an exceptional caliber? Absolutely.

When you get a town this small, it becomes something other than a town. You could call it a community but even that doesn’t really give it the appropriate amount of due.  You see, it becomes a large, spread out over several country miles, family.  We know each other.  We know OF and ABOUT each other. Yes, at times that can be a bit less than thrilling but, when you need members of this big group to be by your side you can unquestionably count on them. I have seen this family team together to support its own like you wouldn’t believe. Be it a football team going to the championship or be it a beloved member who is struggling with terminal illness, these people will rally with an outpouring of aid and encouragement that would downright shock you. Many might find it hard to believe that the same blood didn’t run through all these veins.  I guess that makes the love and common destiny we all share as well as the nosiness and sometimes annoyance make sense. It is one big family of many wonderful qualities as well as some downright obnoxious ones, but it is family and in the end, it’s good.

So if you’re ever in the central part of Alabama and come across a rural little town with a caution light and seemingly not much more, rest assured you’re among the salt of the earth.  These are people that are welcoming, warm, friendly and as tightly knit as grandma’s afghan.  Now yes, it’s possible we might get on your nerves, but it is far more likely that we’ll invite you in, offer you a glass of sweet tea and feed you something, because after all, that’s just what families do.