For the Love of Small Towns

You know you're in a small town when you can't go to the post office at noon because she's out for lunch. You see, although Rapid City is a bustling and growing city (70,000 people, 100,000 in the "metropolitan" area), we don't live there.  We live in the suburbs, sort of.  We live in Black Hawk, population 2,500.  Actually, I think we live in the suburbs of Black Hawk.  I don't even know.  There's not a comparison I can make like, Maple Grove is to Minneapolis as Black Hawk is to Rapid City - the boundaries are less defined and certainly less important around here.  It seems like everyone is just happy to be from the hills, whether or not you're even FROM here.  If you're here, you're one of us.  If you're not, you should be, and we like you anyway.

I always wanted to live in a small town, but in the country, but with a bigger city that has community and good Asian food.  This combination didn't seem likely, but as it turns out, I got just what I wanted.

Small towns consistently make great storytellers.  While not a great storyteller, I'm able to identify one from a mile away.  Janna's fiancé, Dan, is from a small town in Wisconsin (life is easier with another Sconnie in the house).  His storytelling has excellent delivery, great attention to detail, and amazing Sconnie dialect to boot.  Here is one of his stories, paraphrased and reproduced without permission.

Well, my grampa had diabetes and when he was 80, the doctor wanted to take off one of his legs.  He said, "The hell yer taking my leg!  Goddamn doctor..." and he wouldn't let the doctor take his leg.  So some years later I took grampa out huntin'.  I think he was 94 or something.  I pulled him in on a toboggan to his spot, ya see because the snow was up to here.  We got him all set up and then I went to my deer stand a ways away.  Awhile later, I hear 'boom, boom, boom,' and thought, "Geez grampa's, losin' his touch."  Ya see, Grampa never had to shoot more than once to get a deer.  So I waited a bit, got down and headed over to his spot, but when I got there, he was gone.  But I could follow his steps in the snow, ya see, and it led me to Grampa kneeling down, guttin' a deer.  I said, "Grampa, I heard you shoot THREE times.  Finally got it, eh?"  "Yup, " he said, "and there are two more over there so get busy."    

This is how I've always imagined my life; good stories, comfy nap spots for all, and a warm fire.  All taking place in a small town, sort of.