Village Life and Country Living

I like to write about village life. It’s not only because we live at the edge of a village in upstate New York surrounded by farming country, but also because village life is so interesting. Of course, villages and small towns are settings for cozy murder mysteries, and I write murder mysteries. However, this weekend, I’m writing about village life because of the interaction we have enjoyed with our neighbors. Yesterday, we had an appointment in town (a nearby small city) and decided to swing by our favorite farm produce stand on the way home. It’s run by an Amish family and features fabulous organic vegetables. We bought a pattypan squash, a large tomato, and some pole beans. The young woman tending the stand asked me if the pattypan were for sandwiches. She was the one who introduced me to using pattypan squash in this way. I admitted to having become hooked on these sandwich treats and, as we talked, another customer behind me started asking questions about how I make them. Another convert in the making? That would be my bet, if he tries them.

I’m not saying this sort of interaction wouldn’t happen at one of the supermarkets in a city, or anywhere else, but it seems more characteristic of life here in the village. Like, the other day when one of our neighbors dropped by with a container of fresh blackberries from her garden. I later made a blackberry buckle with them. Delicious. She knows I love blackberries, and we look forward to her company at tea time (an afternoon must at our place). Last summer we were kept in raspberries and blackberries all season by this same neighbor. In return, we sent her home with bundles of fresh kale leaves and bowls of cherry tomatoes from our garden. In fact, I think we should plant an extra row of kale next year with these exchanges in mind.

Last weekend we went to a backyard picnic for a neighbor pushing her nineties. The weather had been brutal, but that day was terrific. We sat outside and feasted on hamburgers, hotdogs, and dishes everyone had brought to pass. It was a good chance to see neighbors we haven’t talked with more than a passing hello all summer. There were also people we didn’t know. We were introduced as “the authors”. I don’t know if anyone there had read my Bobby Navarro novels, but didn’t feel any need to slip into sales mode either.

The other means of village identity we seem to own is that we live in the “old _______ house”. The house has been in existence since 1874, so I can hardly object to its having a more established identity in the community than we do. I remember meeting and talking with the former owner whose family name still defines the house when we first moved in. He shared some childhood memories of a flood when their barn was washed downstream during the night. I enjoyed his visit.

Not everyone in the village likes everyone else. We don’t all share the same religious beliefs, or political orientation. We’re not necessarily dedicated to the same values and beliefs. But, we’re neighbors in the village, and that counts for something. I like that. I think these are times when we need more of that village spirit. We don’t all need to be alike, but we do need to recognize that, one way or another, we’re people of the same village.