I like small towns.
I like tractor supply stores, shovels that come with warranties, and the jolly new wheelbarrow.
I also really like my Honda C-RV.
I really, really like it. I like that I can tell the extremely pleasant check-out guy that I do not need any assistance, and I can just wheel my barrow full of 5 gallon buckets and canning jars and shovels out to my car. I like that the grandpa in the parking lot with his new mower-belt admires my wheelbarrow. And I like that I can open my trunk, put down my back seats, and unceremoniously stuff everything in back without ever:
(a) going up on tip-toes
(b) “trying to figure things out”
(c) pretending I know what I’m doing in a parking lot full of farm people while I struggle to get the seats down
(d) cramming, finagling, re-arranging, shuffling, adjusting, pushing, lining up, trying a different angle or otherwise “making things fit”
I like that I did it all without any hesitation, even though I’d never done it before. I like that there are so many real-true farm people in the area that the cashier asks you if your tax-exempt the way other retailers ask you for your zip code or phone number. I like that I can be a go-fer for various projects of fairly large magnitude without driving a honking big pick-up that had better be able to run over other vehicles without a problem, because, who knows, I might be doing that when I park it. I like that after unloading said supplies, it takes only seconds to get the seats back up, and I can haul a car load of peoples, childrens, and other humanoids without the slightest hint I was using the vehicle for a hauling cart.
I like that I can stop on my way home from work and get not only all the needed supplies for digging out a basement, I can also get the jars for my 11 yo brother to experiment with making elderberry syrup to pour over ice cream. And I like that when I ask the helpful clerk where the canning jars are, I like that he apologizes that there aren’t many left this late in the season, even though there is still plenty for what I came for, and even though, of course there isn’t—everyone’s bought them up by now, and any ninny should expect that. Then again, maybe I look like a ninny, in my work clothes.
I like that I don’t get in trouble for buying the last two shovels on the rack, but I feel sorry for anyone else who’s in a hurry for a shovel.
I like that not only is my small town is full of ornate old houses from back when people were used to having servant-types to paint all that dang wood-work, it is also populated with “classical” cars. I think it’s almost cute that they have a “City Fire Department.” I admire the fire department, but I am still struggling to see the city. They must have hid it somewhere pretty well.