I grew up in the same little community my dad and grandpa had before me. I went to church with the same ladies who’d babysat my dad when he was little. We had shirttail relatives everywhere.
Moving to a new town when I got married, looking for a new church, all in a community where my husband’s family was relative strangers, was a bit of an adjustment. Nobody knew me by who my daddy and grandpa were anymore.
But these days, I recognize more faces on the street here than I do back where I grew up. It’s not quite as small a town, but it’s a farming community, and that makes it small enough in its own way.
My husband’s family moved here twelve years ago, I joined them almost six years ago now. I’ve been visiting here for over a third of my life.
We have loyal customers who return each year to support our family farm. We have a church family who has been with us through my husband’s accident and the births of each of our three children. I have made friends with other young moms in the community. And I’ve even found some author and blogger friends nearby.
I’d have moved anywhere to be with my husband, but I’m extra thankful the Lord put us here, in this community I love calling home.