Lessons From a Village Street
Some days, I’m reminded of the old adage: there are more important things.
This morning, I slipped into the local village bookstore, The Country Bookshop, hoping to introduce myself — something I often do when I’m near a Southern bookseller. Just as I was inching toward a few irresistible titles, one of the associates whispered that the president of the local college was standing behind me.
Ah! A familiar face — and better yet, I was caught red-handed promoting the fiction class I’ll soon be teaching at his college. One introduction led to another, and soon a circle of new literary friends had formed, all of us clogging the aisle and filling the air with literary chatter and publishing talk — the kind that quickens a writer’s pulse by Hemingway-esque increments.
It was a lovely moment.
Until I got in the car and my spouse called. I had, in my dreamy, bookish bliss, completely missed my faculty training. I’m not usually late — and certainly not a no-show. I was mortified.
Heart pounding, I called the faculty office to apologize while driving like a bat out of—well, you know. But as I turned onto the main street, everything slowed. Traffic crept forward behind a line of fire trucks and police cruisers. Officers in dress blues stood sentinel on every corner. Flags draped from overhead cables. For a moment, I wondered: Was the President in town?
Then it clicked.
A lost neuron tapped at the edge of memory: the funeral was today — for Deputy Sheriff Rick Rhyne. Until now, our county had never lost an officer in the line of duty. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes to honor his memory. Then I called the faculty office again.
I would train another day.
In that moment, stuck in traffic among townspeople who had stepped away from their lives to honor one man, I thought of Officer Rhyne’s wife. His children. His friends, lining the streets. I felt the smallness of my own worry.
I am doubly blessed to live in a town that stops everything to honor its heroes. There will be other days for work. But few that gather to pay tribute to one solitary brave man — a father, a friend, a protector.
There are more important things than my agenda, my ambition. Sometimes I’m ashamed of what I need to be reminded to remember.
Just one of the new lessons learned, as a village initiate.
There is surely nothing like living in community with other like-minded people. It is also wonderful to live in a community that still remembers to stop and honor its fallen heroes. My Uncle Thomas died some years back and it looked as if the whole small town where we lived turned out to honor him. He helped to organize the first volunteer fire department we had and for years he was in charge of caring for our historical town clock...a duty that has now passed down to one of his sons. The day of his funeral was much as you described, but of course he was a much older man. There was almost a festive atmosphere as the big antique fire truck led the procession sounding its siren at regular intervals...and at the cemetery, as we stood there in silence, the lone sound of a bagpipe playing Amazing Grace wafted through the still air. It is a day I will always remember!!!
ReplyDeleteThat is how today was carried on as well, bagpipes playing Amazing Grace. Thank you for your story, Margie.
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