Community

Dear Reader,

I often think about Grandfather in the children’s book Heidi by Johanna Spyri. Angry with God and man, he lived alone in the Swiss Alps. What I didn’t understand when I read the book as a child is that he isolated himself because his heart just couldn’t take one more disappointment. As an adult, I understand and I admit that I sometimes identify with Heidi’s grandfather. There are days I want to lose myself in the mountains and never return to civilization. There’s something about the human spirit, however, that demands interaction. Even Heidi’s Grandfather eventually found his way back to his family and the community at large. In doing so, he experienced forgotten joy.

The Merriam-Webster dictionary defines community as “people with common interests living in a particular area”. According to the New World Encyclopedia, the word community can be traced back to the Latin word “communis” meaning common, public, shared by all or many. As we have continued to work on our house remodel and the new addition, I have been reminded of what it means to live in a place where friends and neighbors take the common good very seriously. When the interior finish work began on our home addition, I found it physically impossible to help with some of the tasks and Mike couldn’t do them alone. That’s when our neighbor, Rocky, graciously offered to help. Another friend loaned us the use of his woodworking equipment and spent an entire day helping Mike plane the lumber. We will always be so thankful to Allan for his help with the wall boards and trim. Phillip sawed the lumber from pine harvested from our farm and also lives just down the road. Mark drove all the way from Staunton and stayed overnight to help with the rough-in for the bathroom. David helped to install the shower. When we didn’t have the expertise or equipment needed to complete the jobs, our community stepped in, surrounded us with support, and made a difference.

Being community-minded doesn’t have to be starting a bingo group for seniors, hosting blood drives, or rescuing stray cats. Although all those things are important and do support community, there are dozens of small things we can do that make a difference. How about making a casserole for the young mother who just gave birth? A note in the mail to a senior who leaves home only for doctor’s appointments can make a big difference in their lives. That man who breaks down right in front of your house needs a ride home. A teenager who has never experienced a flat tire needs help the first time. The mailman can use a kind word because his day has been long and too many people have complained. The weary woman behind you with only two items and a restless child will recognize the gesture of kindness when you tell her to step in front of you in line at Dollar General. The older gentleman alone and struggling to carry his groceries would love a few moments of conversation as you carry his bags for him. The list goes on. It is through mindfulness and kindness that we can take baby steps to build community. I admit that I need to focus more on these small ways I can help others and build up the community in which I live.

I came across a journal entry from 2018 that is the perfect example of how kindness builds community and wanted to share that story with you in this month’s newsletter. I hope you are encouraged by it.

All my love,

Tammy

Finding Community at Floyd Country Store

In October of 2018, we took two of our granddaughters to Floyd Country Store on a Sunday afternoon.  Here, the locals gather to play old-time country music and to dance. Analia, five years old at the time, ran out onto the dance floor. I could see she was struggling, knowing only ballet but wanting to dance. She would throw out a ballet move here and there, but her feet just couldn’t find a way to express this new music she was hearing.  A couple of bluegrass and old-time country tunes later, I whispered in her ear to watch the feet of the other dancers and just try to do what they were doing.   After a while, some older girls gathered around her, dancing, and showing her how to move her feet and soon she was doing a great job of flatfoot dancing and clogging.

Analia’s baby sister, Rory, was only eighteen months old but when the music began, her head nodded, and she began to keep time with her body. She was mesmerized by the music.  I leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Do you want to dance?”  Before I could even get out of the chair, this child who is normally reserved around strangers, ran through the spectators, through the musicians, and into the circle of dancers.  There she stopped and stood dead still.  We watched her as she stood unmoving, staring at the dancer’s feet.  I realized that she was thinking about what they were doing, processing the information, and figuring it out in her head.  She was transfixed.  The song ended and all the dancers cleared the floor.  Rory just stood there.  I motioned for her to come back.  I thought she might be afraid, but she walked through the crowd of people and made her way back to me.  When the next song began, she ran back onto the dance floor.  This time, we saw her little feet begin to move and they were keeping time with the music, a little slow and unsure at first, but certainly on the right track. She was concentrating hard.  As the music continued, she stood right in front of a kind man playing an instrument and looked straight into his face. A man who typically played his music with a serious face, he was looking at Rory and smiling broadly.  As little Rory found the beat, her whole body went up and down.  She repeatedly rocked up on her tip toes and back on her heels.  I couldn’t look away as she danced and the whole group of people danced around her.  As the song ended, I saw that I wasn’t the only one who had been watching her.  There were smiles on so many faces as the dancers and musicians witnessed the moment that a little, 18-month-old girl fell in love with flatfoot dancing and mountain music.  My heart squeezed tight as folks clapped and congratulated her on a job well done.  She accepted their congratulations with a serious face.

 On the next song, a very kind dancer reached his hand out to her and she took it.  From that moment on, they were partners.  With great patience, he danced every single dance with Rory because he knew that’s what she wanted.  When she got too tired but still wanted to be on the dance floor, with our permission he picked her up and continued to dance.   A couple of times, Rory’s new friend attempted to slow dance with some of his lady friends, but Rory would always saunter up and motion to him that she wanted to be his partner.  The older ladies would graciously bow out and leave the man to dance with Rory.   

I tried to apologize to one of the ladies, but she stopped me before I could get the words out of my mouth. She relayed to me that years ago when she had entered Floyd Country Store, an elderly lady had pulled her out onto the dance floor and taught her the art of flatfoot dancing.  She remarked that from then on, she has tried to “pay it forward” by sharing what she has learned with others. 

I thought the swelling of gratitude within my heart was going to spill over into my eyes and trickle down my cheeks in the form of tears.  I blinked hard as I turned to Mike and said, “These people are so good.  Look at them with our grandkids.”

There is a little Country Store in the Blue Ridge Mountains where the sounds of stringed instruments fill the air on a Sunday afternoon and feet keep time on the wooden floor.  It is there that I felt God just as strongly as I have ever felt him in a church sanctuary.   The goodness of His children brought me to tears and I witnessed community, acceptance, love, and goodwill.  

Moments like this seem magical, and perhaps they are, but the magic originates not from an unknown source but rather from the open hearts of regular people who are brave enough to let love shine through them.   

(Essay derived from a personal, journal entry/October 2018. Photo courtesy of Pixaby)

Notable Quote:

“I suppose that since most of our hurts come through relationships so will our healing, and I know that grace rarely makes sense for those looking in from the outside.”
― Wm. Paul Young, The Shack

Writing Notes:

I finished up an article for GRIT MAGAZINE that will appear in their January/February 2024 issue and I received word from GOOD OLD DAYS MAGAZINE that they will be printing a personal essay in their February edition. I am thankful for the opportunities I have been provided. and thankful for you, my community, who continues to support my efforts.