Today, in Boulder, MT, I can go get a delicious chicken fried steak from a restaurant owned by a fellow who I went to high school with and who was my wife’s date to senior prom. I could then go next-door and follow that up with a delicious cinnamon roll made by a gal I went to high school with at her shop. Two minutes from there I could be fishing the same holes I used to go fish on my lunch breaks in high school. There would probably already be other kids fishing there, and there’s a good chance they would be friends with my kids. After that, I could head to the bar and order a steak and a beer from a guy who serves on the same fire department as me. To wind down, two minutes from there, I could take a walk through the cemetery and visit friends now gone. And after that, I could drive a mountain road 15 minutes home, past places I’ve hunted and harvested deer and elk many times over the last 3 decades, and where my kids will too. I would waive at every car I pass, they would waive back too, and I would know most of the folks I crossed paths with, though admittedly less so every day it seems.
There are pros and cons to small towns, and I don’t claim that they are better than other places, but a very big positive is the power of community when Dunbar’s Number is difficult to exceed locally, and a familiarity only surpassed by family is on offer in every little corner of a place.