A Letter to the Editor: Thank you to a small town that saved me
My name is Angela George, and I live in Canistota.
My family and I have called this place home since the summer of 2019, when I took my oldest son, then five years old, to his first baseball practice. He was oblivious and I was terrified as we introduced ourselves to new faces, new street corners, and Hawks gear in black and orange.
But then a fellow mother sat me down on the bleachers that faced the sunset and she smiled at me like I was an old friend till I became one. It was what home was supposed to feel like, and I relaxed into a sense of comfort that this was going to be ours.
This summer, my family and I are leaving Canistota for a new future that awaits, but before we pack up and the nostalgia sets in, I want to say thank you to a community that was home for a little while.
We moved to Canistota in haste, a small town west of a bigger town that we were more comfortable in.
There were no street lights, but it was quieter here, our hearts were warmer here – the way you feel at a family dinner – and, above all, it was a private refuge during a divorce and a very scary life change, but it unexpectedly became my safe space over the next five years.
More safe than the reason anyone moves to a small town in the first place, safe in a way no one even knew they were hiding me.
“This little town became my safe space. More safe than the reason anyone moves to a small town in the first place, safe in a way no one even knew they were hiding me. ”
I remember feeling panicked: Why did we come here? I feel so alone. Are my boys going to be ok with all this change at once? But neighbors and families and teachers and coaches – a community unmatched in their unconditional acceptance and love – they just kept showing up and invited us over for dinner and tea and hide-and-seek on the farm.
They didn’t pry or judge or scold, or laugh or condemn or shun us away back into any asylum of doubt. They welcomed us – the way you’re supposed to love another.
As my kids grew and as our house on the bluff became a home, the school invited us to music concerts, Monday night board meetings and to help with concessions at the volleyball games. We could join the kids for lunch, and there were always three chairs waiting for us at parent-teacher conferences: One for me, and two for their dads. We were a co-parenting family that was embraced so tightly, it felt as if they knew to protect us even more than we knew we needed it.
All together, we were infallible, undamaged, and loved.
My entire life and future – as well as that of my children – shifted tremendously within this little town. But we transitioned gently – like a feather in the wind, not a rock to the windshield – because it was a steady, reliable corner of the world to begin trusting myself and trusting the people around me, without anyone knowing I was exhaling.
I broke and healed while they were across the street picking cucumbers from their gardens or picking up their kids after school, too, their mere presence the net they weaved under me as I free-falled into something different.
Our lives are never unchanging. There will always be unexpected newness, a need for a friend more than you might admit.
But this is how a community rescues, this is how you are saved: You take your kids to the pool, you wave to the neighbor who’s walking her dog, you go to the football game, and you treat everyone like an old friend. The rest will carry you.
This town is not unlike any other small town, but it has been mine. Thank you, Canistota, for loving us so well. What a wonderful, beautiful community we will miss.
Originally published as a Letter to the Editor in The Special.
