I've written before about the joys of small town life, and today the residents of Sinclairville saw it again. Having grown up in the suburbs, I never knew this kind of life actually existed, except on TV. But here I am, living in what may be the best of all possible worlds this side of heaven. Like any small town or big city, we have our problems. People are still sinners, and we squabble, complain, and need to give and receive grace. People struggle with marriages, addictions, low paying jobs and bills to pay, just like anywhere else. But for one day, we joined together to celebrate this little nondescript village in which we live. Folks, today was History Days in Sinclairville!
It began with sermonettes given by the Baptist pastor and myself, the Pledge of Allegiance, National Anthem, and the Lord's Prayer, all led from the steps of the Historical Society on Main Street. Where else will you find that combination in such a public setting. And no one even complained. The parade was pretty short this time, but Fowlers had their candy apple and taffy truck set up, the Masons did a brisk business selling hot dogs and hamburgers alongside another trailer serving up only the dogs. Italian sausage at the other end of the commons and a chicken barbecue in the fire hall sponsored by the library rounded out the refreshments, while various vendors had set up shop all through the commons. Bands played at two different venues, and a gentleman gave free buggy rides to all who wanted them. No celebration of this sort would be complete without a beautiful baby competition, for which I was able once more to avoid serving as judge. Same thing goes for the pie cookoff, although I could be persuaded to judge that.
The weather was a bit uncooperative, with rain that drowned out the Park church band early on, and pared down the entries in the chainsaw competition to a single contestant, Dennis Wilson, who took both first and second prizes home. Art Anderson headed up the car show, which included the categories of motorcycles and tractors. Early on, only one tractor showed up, so I told Art I'd bring up our old 8N if someone would take me home to get it. Fifteen minutes later I was chugging up the road. By the time I got there, a couple other tractors showed up, and a couple more stopped in shortly after.
You know it's Smallville, USA when the late entry, who only entered his motorcycle because Art directed him in as he was headed home, and the tractor retrieved simply so there would be more than one, both took home trophies. First for the bike, probably because it's so unusual, and second for the tractor because it wasn't as good as the first place 1938 John Deere, and was better than the third place 1953 Ford Jubilee.
Fireworks were cancelled due to rain, so Linda and I went to see "The War Room" movie. It was excellent, a real nudge to my prayer life. And now we're home, almost ready for bed. I write all this because it is a way of life that seems to be passing away, and one I am grateful to participate in. All but the youngest of our grandchildren had free reign of the day, wandering the booths, buying taffy, and enjoying themselves without adult supervision and without fear that something bad might happen to them. It was a special ordinary day here in this corner of the world, and I am blessed to be a part of it.
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