The Five-Minute Walk That Takes Me an Hour.

Yesterday, I didn’t know the woman who lives in the house on the corner. Today, I know her name, the third cousin she’s named after, where she went to school, her kids’ names, where they went to school, who they dated and/or married, where they all live and what they do for work and for fun. I know which church she goes to, which nursing home her momma “stays at”, which vet saved her dog’s life, who’s the best hvac repairman around here and where to get the best chicken fried steak on a Tuesday. I learned all of this on my two-block walk to the bank.   

I’m not from here, but I sure am glad I came. Sixteen years ago I arrived in Mooresville, North Carolina, a hardened big-city soul. But over time, people’s kindness and small town knack for conversation have helped me soften. I’ve discovered that slowing down and looking up is how all the goodness gets in. In case you’ve never lived in a big city, here are the tenets of a short walk in San Francisco. One: Keep your eyes alert, but down. Any direct eye contact will result in A) you engaging a crazy person or B) someone believing that you are a crazy person. C) There is no C. Two: Walk with a purpose. Dawdling will get  you run over by an Uber or marked as an easy target for a purse snatching. Three: Look mad. A dour face is your first line of defense because it says “don’t bother asking me for directions, money, or a signature on your “Free the sand crabs” petition.

Here are the tenets of a short walk in the South. One: Look up, down, and all around. There are cardinals and mockingbirds and cicadas chirping in the trees, squirrels running around giant oak trunks, maple leaves turning from summer green to fall flame red. And sometimes, there are fire ant nests to watch out for (I found out the hard way)! Two: Walk slowly. After all, it’s hot. And if you dawdle, you can smell the sweet scent of magnolia, jasmine and honeysuckle blossoms drifting on the breeze. Three: Look friendly. You’ll attract welcoming waves from neighbors on their porches and some putin’-it-all-out-there conversations from people you’ll be glad to know. 

The small town South is a story that invites you to read it every day. Each conversation reveals a fascinating chapter in the story. The moral? Life can be richer when you are an open book. These days, when the screen door slams behind me as I head out for a quick errand down the street, I holler to my husband, “See you in an hour!”