Not to sound like John Mellencamp, but I was raised in s small town. One square mile. It is zoned a village. And in the 60s, 70s and 80s, it really lived like a village. Everyone knew who you were. You felt safe riding your bike all over town. And most adults were not shy to scold, remind, coach, lecture any kid in town.
My parents moved to this town in the 50s. They had a circle of solid couple-friends. We called them Mr. and Mrs. We were friends with their kids. To my five siblings and me, it felt like just an extension of my family. My siblings and I – we know we are blessed to know this type of world. This type of town family.
The inner circle: my parents, The McCambridges, the Borzicks, the Charnigas, The Jones’s, The Shanes. Then there were other couples connected through hunting & fishing. Trust me when I tell you, these were and still are all good salt-of-the-earth people. And some vibrant personalities. I have great memories of deep belly laughs, cigars & cocktails, accordion polka music, great “hunky” foods, lots of story telling, some “blue” language, ladies working in concert at potluck parties.
I also have memories of men working days to build baseball fields or fence the high school track, ladies working at school and church events, both serving as scout leaders & coaches, volunteering for PTA/PTO, band boosters, athletic boosters and loyal homecoming parade porch parties. I have memories of this circle helping neighbors with broken plumbing, erecting garages or shingling roofs, baskets of shared vegetables from fruitful gardens, transportation, meals or even installation of extra phone line for those ailing. They’ve organized meals for too many funerals, visited too many hospital and nursing home rooms, and they send notes and make phone calls to you weeks after the rest of the world moves on.
They had a lot of fun. Those living still do. They did a lot of good deeds – big and small – in the community, for strangers and for neighbors. Those living still do. They were the first examples of Marching Forth in my life. They were my first model of philanthropy. No one talked about it, or even gave it a name. They just did. They didn’t sit and wait for someone else to step up to help. They just Marched Forth.
The men are all gone now. I still grieve our loss. But I still hear their laughs and see their faces.
Today is the funeral of one of the first of our ladies to leave us, Mrs. Jones.
It’s particularly tough to lose one of the women. As a young gal, I was amused, annoyed, intrigued, mentored and cared for by this group of females. When I picture this group of women, I envision them as this big tall group of mighty lush trees that circled me like a clearing in the forest. They were/are larger than life, strong & beautiful. They have weathered strong winds & damaging storms. They have provided shelter to those in need of comfort. They truly breathed life into our atmospheres.
Mrs. Jones. She was the embodiment of grace and poise. She appeared reserved but had a ready laugh and rarely blushed at my Mom’s racier jokes. (smile) She was always dressed smartly and she never ever said an unkind word about anyone. I don’t think I’d ever heard her raise her voice. (Not even when my brother threw that burning candle at me and covered me with hot wax on her porch. Maybe I could only hear myself yelling. ) She was a Lady in the truest and most romantic sense. She was the willowy tree – lean, breezy, yet deeply rooted. We will miss the shade of her love. But we'll grow tall & strong into our roots & to the skies - just like her...and because of her. And many others.
Though a tree grows so high, the falling leaves return to the root. ~ Malay proverb
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