Following a lovely breakfast with the family, I decided to take a drive to our adorable little downtown, despite the already intensifying heat. At my favorite bakery, the clerk was assisting the last of the people who’d been ahead of me. A 60ish, affluent looking couple, the man was paying their tab and turned to ask his wife if she had exact change, but she didn’t. She suggested that they leave an item and my purse already opened, I quickly asked if I could throw in the change.

While he was thanking me and laughingly saying no, with eyes rolled towards heaven, his wife dryly explained that it was his way to get her to pay. “He’s always trying to get me to pay for something!” And he laughed and added that since he was paying the bulk, she should “throw in the thirteen cents.”and we all laughed in the way of couples who had long running inside jokes and familiar ways of teasing each other. It was something that Ray and I did often and I knew that these people had loved each other a long and comfortable time.

As I left, I nodded to a woman on the bench outside and decided I’d take a walk around the area and get to know some of the side streets. Making my way towards the river, I saw that the venerable fish market I’d first visited with a friend during my first walk around town was closed for the weekend, so I continued walking in a large loop to eventually head back to my car.

Less than a mile later, pain began whispering to me and although still morning, it was fast approaching 90° and humid. Our quaint downtown has convenient small benches interspersed around the shopping area and while I didn’t sit, I did stop to rest a minute, leaning on my cane and straightening and stretching my back. It’s been a while since I’ve walked for any length of time, and my body was reminding me that elliptical machines and home workouts were not the same as walking these mean streets.

Looking towards the curb, I noticed a woman on the other side of the street who’d started, but then decided not to try to make the soon to be changing light, but to wait the extra time for the next one.

Walking towards the curb, I knew that it would take several minutes before the light changed in my favor, so I stepped back into the shade to wait the three or more minutes it would take with the heavy weekend traffic. As the light changed, the woman stepped into the street and I hastened toward the crossing. As we passed each other in the street, the woman looked me in the eye and said in the dramatic tones of a movie athletic coach, “You’ve got time-you can do it!!!” and we both laughed loudly as we quickly scooted in opposite directions.

And that’s the sweetness of being back in the South and in a still small city. I live in a town where people speak and sometimes pass the time of day with strangers. Where cars stop to let pedestrians cross, or a car pulling in or out of a parking spot. Where neighbors will water your plants if they haven’t seen you outside. It’s far from ideal, with racist leaflets appearing in some neighborhoods, farms and wetlands being lost to overdevelopment, and a lack of appreciation for local culture. The schools aren’t good, wages are low, costs rising, and hospitals are understaffed.

The problems are real. But this is also a town worth saving, with its quirky Christmas traditions, its breathtakingly beautiful trees and skies, and the lovely people who randomly speak and lift a stranger’s spirits. It’s a place where, not two hours after telling my disco-ball-glittery-sneaker-wearing granddaughter that she would have loved Disco, that I can see these beauties in a local shop window:

Quirky, quaint, backwards and progressive- yup, that’s my town. And yes, I think this just might turn in to being a home.