Small Towns

Okay. I was brought up in a SMALL town. A ridiculously small town... a town so small, that your small town would be a bustling metropolis by comparison. If you go to googlemaps and look at the street views of Fruitland, Utah, you will see pictures of sage brush and the odd lake or two. Funny, but entirely accurate. I didn't mind spending my formidable years in a town where there was only one other person my age, or where the neighbors felt the need to alert my parents of any missteps in etiquette and adherence to the speed limit (I forgive you, Mary Baum). As a result my brothers and I are all relatively well adjusted adults with superb imaginations and the inability to be bored.

Even though I currently reside in suburbia (despite our proximity to Yaks and Alpacas), I appreciate the small town ideals with which I was raised. This weekend the Beardocrat and I dropped in on the folks for some birthday cake and some snow shoeing, and I was again reminded of how great my crappy small town is.

My mom is Chiliean (hence the Latin Fury moniker) and a majority of her family lives in Chile. Early Saturday morning the earthquake that hit Concepcion Chile made the news. All day long my parents received calls from concerned neighbors asking if our family was okay. Doug Robinson, who I doubt has spoken a total of ten sentences to my Mom in his whole life, was one of the first to call. THAT is why I love Fruitland. Would I ever return to live? Oh heavens no, but I appreciate a place where people still care enough about others in the community to call or drop by offering sincere condolences. If everyone acted like they were raised in Fruitland, the world would indeed be a better place.