That Small Town
By Donna (Varner) Presnal
Originally published in The Front Porch Magazine, Summer–Fall 2014, page 40.
Cover photo: “Welcome sign in Caldwell, TX” by Hot Furnace, Wikimedia Commons, CC BY-SA 4.0. Original photo, with display cropping by Wix. The image remains under CC BY-SA 4.0.
Almost every time I came to see my Mom in Caldwell, we would take a drive and visit with old friends. As we stepped back in time, the tall ancient trees, colorful flowers, and quiet peace of our destination added clarity to our thoughts.
“Let’s stop here a minute,” Mom would say. Then seeing a treasured friend’s name, she would recall the early morning “Come as You Are Breakfast.” The party was a spur of the moment event. One of the neighbor moms would call early that morning. We would all pile in the car and drive to someone’s house for a fancy breakfast. The catch was that we all had to come as we were. The gown and robe clad parent, all with kids in pajamas, made for a memorable get together.
At other times, as we stepped into the past, we saw the family home of familiar friends, for a happy reunion of fellowship, food, and games. The dads enjoyed a hardy game of forty-two dominoes, while the moms played competitive bridge, and a huge pot of spaghetti simmered on the stovetop.
We roasted marshmallows on a stick standing around a big pile of burning brush, caught lightning bugs in a jar, and played baseball at twilight. After dinner, we would gather around the piano and sing old favorites, or play board games, while listening to the familiar tunes.
Next stop, and just across the street from where Dad rests, we might open the front door to accept bread pudding from a good friend, my sister-in-law’s mom. The best cook around.
The memories of school events, beauty pageants, and band concerts came alive as we visited former teachers, classmates, and town people. We laughed together about our out of town trips, including one to sing for the soldiers at Fort Hood, as part of Katie’s Chorus.
As we passed the town doctor, Mom reminded me that I was born in the third house from the corner, on Fawn Street. The only doctor in town at that time delivered me at home after the Friday night football game, saying he wouldn’t come until after the big game was over!
We also ran across the flirtatious lady who went to the cute young Italian doctor some fifty years ago to get “extra examinations,” a choir director who was a little loose with her affections, and our sheriff with a heart of gold. He was our protector and friend.
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The director of a local bank will always have a place in my heart. Once right after I was married, I needed money to meet my husband, then in the Army. He was going to be on Rest & Relaxation, in Hawaii.
Instead of my dad giving me the money, he told me to go talk to the director of the local bank. I did go talk to him, signed a note, and he loaned me the money. I believe it was $300 for a ticket to Hawaii including expenses.
That kind man gave me the money because of my Dad. He knew my Dad would honor my debt if I did not. I did pay the sum back, but I was aware that I received the money because we lived in a small town where neighbors help one another.
We recalled our close neighbor in Chriesman, his colorful family, and living on our dairy farm. The milk cow who got stuck in the wood fence was a reminder that sometimes we need to choose a side, and stick with it.
Because we lived about a mile from the bus stop, Mom drove us, in the golf cart, to the main road, where we caught the country school bus. Her story is that she couldn’t ride a bicycle or drive a golf cart without going straight into the object she was trying to avoid; she did have a run in with the occasional tree.
One of our favorite teachers, who was a combination bus driver, coach, and history teacher, picked us up each morning for our long ride in to the metropolis of Caldwell. He was a no nonsense man, with a soft heart. Our bus mates and classmates are lifelong friends, some of whom already rest in this quiet, forever sanctuary.
Our social calls to old friends at the cemetery renewed and comforted us. These beloved people are the men and women who were our firemen, our preachers, our teachers, and our friends.
Driving out through the arched gate, we stepped back into the present, our spirits lifted. It was as if we had been covered by a quilt that may wear out, but continues its warmth forever. I wish they knew what a difference they made.
In his play, Our Town, Thornton Wilder reminds us that “Everybody knows in their bones, there’s something eternal, and that something has to do with human beings. People can share this eternal nature through their daily interactions with one another.”
About the author (2014): Retired teacher and former Caldwell resident.
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