Why We Show Up for Funerals

"It's all about respect, respect, respect.  It's about taking an hour or two out of your life to honor someone else's.  It costs so little and it gives so much back."  ~Bunny Terry

Last week I read a blog post by another Logan native and it absolutely blew me away.  The post is called, "Always Go To The Funeral - New Mexico style."  To read it, click here.

I have been to most funerals in my first 30 years than most people go to in their lifetimes.  I did a quick count last night and came up with 32 off the top of my head, and that was without really sitting down and thinking.  I've been to several of the same funerals that Bunny mentions in her blog.  I've sat in a packed gymnasium, in a tiny church on a hill, and next to a graveside by the interstate.  I've carried a casket and given two eulogies and cried countless tears.  It was at a funeral that I first saw my dad with tears in his eyes and first heard the song, "I Can Only Imagine," and have seen more examples of unfailing faith than I could even begin to describe.

But what I've learned from these experiences is that rural communities--especially those in rural New Mexico--pull together in hard times.   That starts with showing up for the funeral.  We manage to make something right out of situations that are nothing but wrong. We bring an enchilada casserole and wear our Sunday best.  We love and pray and support the families who have lost their loved one because even if not blood related, many times it feels like losing a family member of our own.

I don't wish the pain of losing someone who you love on anyone in the world.  But if that day comes, I do wish that everyone could have the support of the small towns in Eastern New Mexico where I grew up.  Because as I've said before, those communities are never finer than when the time comes to honor one of their own.  I've watched this sense of community pull people through their absolute darkest hour with prayer and encouragement and a helping hand.

That's why it matters.  That's why we show up for funerals.

Never Finer

“This town of churches and dreams; this town I thought I would lose myself in, with its backward ways and winding roads leading to nowhere; but, I found myself instead." ~Kellie Elmore

A tiny white church sitting at the top of a hill overflows with people.  Men standing outside in cowboy hats and boots.  Women sitting in the pews with their hair poofed and their pearls on.  Flower arrangements fill the window sills.  Old, familiar songs drift out the open door.  How Great Thou Art.  Old Rugged Cross.  Amazing Grace.

Most Sundays, the people inside go to various churches.  But today, no one notices the differences.  Methodist or Catholic, Baptist or Mormon, Epsicopalian or Assemblies of God.  Today, everyone sits together.  They hug each other as they walk in and say the Our Father in unison.  Differences matter not.  They mourn together, they pray together, and they remember together.

Photo via

And then at the quiet, country cemetery, everyone gathers around a grave.  The sun beats down and the ranchers talk about rain, or the last basketball season, or the last time that they all stood in the same cemetery around a different grave.  Because this same community has been here before and will be here again.  Together.

Once the prayers have been prayed and Taps has been played, they load up into their pickup trucks and drive to the old school building for lunch.  Because if there is one thing that small town ladies do right, its a funeral meal.  A spread big enough to feed an army sits out on tables that span the width of the basketball court. And here, people recognize the different dishes based on the cooks.  "Oh, that's Mary's chocolate cake" or "Those look like Pam's enchilladas."  And before the meal, the men remove their hats, the kids put down the basketball, and the priest blesses the food.  Because that's how you start a meal.

Small towns are not for everyone.  There are no fancy restaurants.  You have to drive two hours to the nearest Wal-Mart.  A lot of people there have never flown on an airplane or seen the ocean or owned a passport. 

But they know the meaning of neighbors, and of community, and of love.  And they show it when times get hard.  And if you ask me, small towns are never finer than in these moments.

*Linking up with Rural Thursday.

Finding Mayberry

"Sometimes I dream I'm driving down an old dirt road, not even listed on a map.  I pass a dad and son carrying a fishing pole..." ~Rascal Flatts, Mayberry

If you asked me to picture an idealistic small town, I'd picture Mayberry.  And I'd bet it's the same for a lot of other people.  They'd start to whistle.  They'd think back to Sheriff Taylor and Aunt Bee and Barney Fife.  Those of us who were especially hard core remember Gomer and Goober Plye, Helen, and Thelma Lou. 

Even today, anytime that I'm flipping though the channels, if I see Mayberry on tv, I've got to stop and watch.  I love finding Mayberry.  Why, you ask?

Mayberry takes us back to a simpler time.  When kids rode their bikes and went to the fishing hole.  When doors were not locked, neighbors knew each other, and women got dressed up in their Sunday best to go to the grocery store.  When the town drunk could sleep it off in the jail cell decorated like a living room, fresh baked treats were always hot out of the oven in the kitchen, and the good guy always won.

I feel bad for kids today.  Instead of Mayberry, they get Jersey Shore.  Instead of learning how to be a lady from Aunt Bee, they learn from the latest Bachlorette making out with 5 guys in one night.  Instead of helping each other out, they see neighbors suing each other on Judge Judy.

If you ask me, the world would do well to find some more Mayberry.  We're so busy trying to make things bigger and faster and fancier, that I fear we're losing the good things that are smaller and slower and more simple.  Things like walking down an old dirt road, carrying a fishing pole, and whistling a tune.  I fear we may have worked so hard to make things better, that we've actually only made them worse.

Yesterday, Andy Griffith (aka Sheriff Taylor) died at the age of 86. I know that some people will remember him from Brad Paisley's video about waiting on a woman, or as Matlock, or from his Christmas Special in the 1980's (that my grandma loved and made us watch over and over).

But to me, he'll always be Sheriff Taylor. And he left behind a gift:  The idea that Mayberry might still exist afterall.  And that maybe, just maybe, we'll be able to find our own Mayberry someday.

North/South Football

"Don't live down to expectations. Go out there and do something remarkable." ~Wendy Wasserstein
In New Mexico, a handful of seniors are chosen as all-stars and get to play in a game.  They split the kids up and the north plays the south.  Last weekend was North/South Football for the small schools.  It was a little like the Civil War for me....I had Soldier Cousin playing for the South and the Logan kiddos, including my potential future husband (you know when he catches up to me in age and cuts back on this 10 year age difference...we're cute together in the top left picture, no?), playing for the North.  So I just cheered for all the kids whenever they did something good and spent half the game on the south sideline and the other half on the north. 

That's the thing about small town New Mexico.  All the small town kids across the state know each other.  We know each other's parents and what animals we showed and what judging contests we won.  Take my potential future husband's family.  His family and my family have been friends for three generations.  His mom played against Soldier Cousin's mom in North/South basketball when they were in school.  My mom, aunt and grandma taught his dad in high school.  My uncle and aunt are good friends with his grandparents.  It was sure fun to watch the boys play against each other!

Most of the family came into town to watch Soldier Cousin and, because it is my family, we all stuffed our faces with Mexican food before the game and had cake for Aunt Evil Kineval's birthday after the game.  And we cheered like crazy during it.   A group of people that we knew from Melrose (just an hour or so from Logan) would periodically yell, "Number 50, yea!" and our whole family would go nuts screaming and cheering. Yep.  We were those people.

The Family

Oh, and because it was Cousin Kevin's birthday, we had to give him a little shout out.  Uncle Black Belt even took his fake teeth out to hold them in the picture for the celebration.  Why?  I have no idea.  As Cousin Kevin said, "This is where reality shows come from."  Yep.  Those are our genes.

Nothing says happy birthday like a denture picture.

It was a great night for Soldier Cousin and we couldn't be more proud of him!  He's got about a month before he heads off to basic training, and this was a perfect way for him to wrap up his high school football career!

Thank God For Hometowns

"Thank God for home towns and the love that makes them go 'round." ~Carrie Underwood, Thank God for Hometowns

**For those of you looking for a Costa Rica update.....oh you're going to love next week!  I'll be kicking off the recap on Monday.  Stay tuned!**

I'm not a huge Carrie fan, but I do love her new song, "Thank God for Hometowns."


If you ask me, small towns make the best home towns. Where the whole town packs the gym for a Saturday night ball game. And a line of cars follows the bus up the Caprock if the game happens to be in the rival town. Where people not only know your name, but your parents' jobs, your grandparents' names, and what kind of car, dog, and horse you have. Where people pull together when times get rough, and celebrate together when things go well. Thank God for hometowns.

Hometown friends at Little Brother's Wedding

Hometowns contain buildings full of memories.  Dancing at prom.  Being crowned homecoming queen (much to my own father's dismay.)  Running suicides at the end of practice or the hill in off season PE.  Being awarded belt buckles at the fairgrounds and my diploma in the gym.  Saying goodbye to people who we lost far too soon.  Thank God for hometowns.

Homecoming 2002

But mostly, hometowns are about the people. 

Neighborhood picnic

People who have known you your entire life. People who remember when I almost cut my finger off with my Dad's pocket knife. Teachers who can tell the topic of my junior thesis and which locker belonged to me my senior year.  Moms (not just my own) who can tell you where the scar on my right knee came from.  People who remember my baggy t-shirt phase, my rap music phase, and all the other phases we don't have to mention on the blog.  The ag teacher who knew I was lying anytime I said I was "fine" and let everyone know it.  The nurse who knows she has to use a butterfly needle to draw my blood.  The feedstore and gas station owners who have pictures of me at every fair for a 10 year span lined up on their wall.  Thank God for hometowns.

My first show lamb - I was 9 years old.

People who have your back and support you no matter what.  Neighbors who bought anything I was selling.  Best friend's moms who forged every permission slip I ever needed signed in high school.  Friends who showed up when Gran died with enchillada casseroles and tears in their eyes.  The superintendent who would pull me out of class for driving too fast on the way to school.  The guy friend's mom who gave him the "You don't treat her like your buddy, you get out of the car and ring the doorbell" speech before he took me to the prom.  The guy who hauled our cows to the sale barn who snuck Gran lemon drops and cigarettes in the assisted living home. Thank God for hometowns.

The whole town at State Basketball

As much as people complain about my hometown--the gossip, the boredom, the fact that things don't change--if you ask me, there is far more good than bad.  That town, those memories, and those people, made me who I am.  Thank God for hometowns.

**Linking up for the first time with Rural Thursdays--so excited!

Thoughts from An Outsider #3: State Basketball Tournament

"I think you'll find it's the exact same measurements as our gym back in Hickory." ~Hoosiers

Well unlike my two prior Outsider posts, there was a time that I was not an outsider at State Basketball....but 10 years later, I definately am! Here are a few observations from last week's tournament....starting off with my favorite photo I caught of the event! (Which I'm linking up with Show Off Your Shot.)
1. Basketball Mamas are crazy. We always joked growing up about horse show mamas being a little crazy---you know the type, super competitive, Type A, really intense. Those ladies have nothing on the small town mamas of senior basketball players. After we won the game to go to the State Championship (in overtime, I might add), those mamas were screaming and crying and headed for their babies! The announcer asked the fans to stay off the floor, but soon gave up that cause. I'm here to tell you, when Frosty and LD were headed on that court to find their baby boys, there was not going to be any stopping them! I know how stressful it was to watch those kids play for me, so I can't imagine what it's like watching you own kid play. Although after seeing one of the toughest guys I know in tears when his son won that trophy, I can imagine it's pretty dang nerve wracking!
2. High school girls should not be wearing that. I just have to say that if I ever have a daughter, she will not be wearing clothing from Victoria's Secret when she's 15 years old. Don't get me wrong, I love me some Victoria's....in particular my favorite orange sweatpants that I'd live in if I could....but I'm 28. And my parents certainly did not ever buy it for me. Really, people? Really?

3. Everyone loves to remember the good ol' days. Whether you won the State Championship in 1962 like Ski Trip Jerry, played back in 1988, or would have won had so-and-so just made that free throw that one time....everyone has a story. And at the State Tournament, that's prime story sharing time. It's fun actually to listen to generations of people relive their glory days. I also found it really entertaining to listen to the people around my age at halftime of the game on Thursday. I bet you I heard 15 people say, "If Mr. Franklin was still coaching and we had missed that many layups, he would have had us running suicides on a time out!" And they meant it...because he would have. Those really were the good ol' days in my book. It's fun to think that these boys will look back on these as their good ol' days!
4. It's not always on the ref. I'm glad I'm not a ref. No matter what call they make, half of the gym is yelling at them. Now, I'm a yeller. That doesn't surprise anyone. And when there's a crap call, I'm all for letting someone have it. But EVERY call is not a crap call. When your kid bounces the ball off his own foot out of bounds or jacks up some stupid shot from behind his head and it banks off the glass, that's not the ref's fault. I'm just saying.

5. Family is more than blood. On Friday night I headed to the Pit to watch the Corona Lady Cardinals play for the State Championship. In particular, my girl #14 (who is a total superstar in in the 8th grade, mind you!). And I sat with my dear friend Sis, who I would have been watching except for her crappy knees that keep requring surgeries. On Saturday night, I headed back to watch the Logan boys play, in particular #13 in his last game. I'm not related to any of the kiddos I mentioned above. But you know those neighbors and that showing family I talk about all the time? Well these kids are part of that. Which means that in my mind, we're family and I loved getting to watch them play for the Championship!
6. I'm officially old. You know that it's bad when you look at the boys playing ball and think, "what cute kids" and have to check out the refs, coaches and parents section if you're looking for Mr. Right. Sheesh.

7. I love Small Towns. I think that this may be one of those "you just had to be there" things....but instead it's "you just have to live there" because I'm not sure that I can describe what small towns are like. But if I could show you a picture to describe it, I'd show you Thursday night.

Our boys just won in overtime to make it to the State Championship. The stands emptied out and everyone--I mean most of the TOWN--was on that gym floor hugging those boys and hugging each other and laughing and crying and carrying on.

And back home, anyone who was not able to make the trip to Albuquerque was glued to the radio or piled in the restaurant in town watching it on tv.
We might not have a stoplight, or a movie theater, or a chain restaurant. And people will probably never know where we are unless we pull out a map. But you know what, those people are missing out. Because for all the things we might miss out on, if you ask me, we gain so much more in terms of knowing what it means to be a friend, a neighbor and a true community.
8. It's about more than basketball. Don't get me wrong. Upsetting the undefeated #1 seed and taking that trophy back hom to Logan was pretty dang awesome. But it's about more than just the trophy. These boys started playing ball in the third grade. Here's photo proof of that.

You think back to every practice they have had in the last 10 years. Think of every up and back they've run. Every freethrow they have shot. Every play they've learned. It all led up to this moment. But watching these kids made me realize that basketball really is about so much more than basketball. It's about learning to set a goal, and to work for it. About never giving up and pulling together when things get hard. About being part of a team that they'll tell you is like a family and a community full of people who support them all. And while in my mind, learning those lessons is far more important than any trophy....it was sure nice to see the Logan boys learn the lessons and get a trophy to go with them!

Still Have A Shot At Average

"It's a helluva start, being able to recognize what makes you happy." ~Lucille Ball

I loved growing up in a small town. I talk about that a lot on this blog. I honestly don't think there is a better place to raise kids. So with that disclaimer, let's get to today's blog.

Let me tell y'all something about being from a small town. If you're not married by the time you're like 20, people start to look at you funny. By the time you're 24, they are talking behind your back. By the time you're 26, they're willing to say rude things to your face. I turn 28 next month. I'm scared to see what comes next. I fear they might buy me a habit or a bunch of cats.
And then, just like that, yesterday this blog came along and gave me hope. (Sidenote: the majority of that blog was about average costs of weddings---which did NOT give me hope---completely insane if you ask me!)

The average age that a woman in the US gets married is....drumroll please.....29. Hallelujah--music to my ears--I still have a shot at average! Ya hear that, small town? I'm not destined to be an old spinster forever! (At least not for another 2 years anyway!)

Now, for those of you who found your husband at 20, more power to you. I'm jealous that you get to spend more time with him than I will with mine.

But....and I've got a letter to Mr. Right planned about this in a couple of weeks, so I won't go too deep into this....let me just say that I would have had NO idea who I was or what I wanted when I was 20. Thinking back to the guys I would have wanted to to marry between the ages of 18-22 makes me shudder. (Note: I thought about putting pictures here, but decided better of that idea.) :)

I think some of us are slower than others at figuring out life and ourselves and what we're looking for. I've always known I was one of the slow people. But today, I learned that instead of being one of the slowest people, I've still got a shot at being perfectly average. Oh happy day!

Now we just need Mr. Right to show up and for me to purchase a billboard in the next 2 years and 21 days and this average thing will be in the bag for me!

Family Farm Friday #63: Wrong and Right

"Most good things have been said far too many times and just need to be lived." ~Shane Claiborne

On Tuesday, I drove back to eastern New Mexico for a situation that was just wrong. Parents and grandparents burying a 14 year old kid. A huddle of teenage boys in the back of a gym--not to learn the next play in some basketball game--but to get their instructions as pall bearers. A eulogy that contained a discussion of the unrecognized excitement of getting a driver's license. It was all so wrong.

And then, at some point during the day, I looked around and realized that in the midst of all that was wrong, I also saw a perfect example of everything that is right with rural America.

There was a community--and I mean beyond the town where the kid lived, but the whole eastern side of the state--rallying around a family to share their sorrow. A high school gymnasium packed to the brim. Hundreds of people. All there to show their love and support for the grieving family.

And you know what? There were no divisions among those there. There were different races. Different religions. Different economic classes. Different ages. And not a bit of that mattered. The gym full of people cried together. They prayed together. Afterward they ate together. They were there, for that family, together. If you ask me, that's how it's supposed to be. That's right.

And there was food. In rural New Mexico, when someone dies, we cook. It's an automatic response. The second you get the bad news, you start praying and dumping ingredients into a bowl. It's totally not about the food (although I'm just going to say it....in my opinion it's hard to beat funeral food in a small town!), it's about doing something--anything--to help. Because that's what we do when there is a problem. We offer help in any way that we can. Be it a hand, a tractor, a check, or an enchillada casserole. And that's something right.

There was faith. From the preacher leading the gym in singing Colten's favorite hymn about the roll being called up yonder, to the discussion of various papers and markings in his Bible, to stories about the book of Job and prayers for the family. And there was a heartwrenching, beautiful song about saving a place in Heaven. In tragic times, people seem to either cling to their faith or walk away from it altogether. We're clingers.....and that's right.

And, finally, there was love. You could feel it in that gym. You could see it by all of the hugs being shared by everyone there. You could see it in all of the eyes welled up with tears when "When I Get Where I'm Going" blared from the speakers. You could see it when his two teenage sisters walked up to the stage, hand in hand, to speak about the lessons they had learned from their baby brother. There was love in that gym...and it was right.

In times of such profound sadness, such wrong...maybe it's the right that gets us through.

Family Farm Friday #57: Keys

"The everyday kindness of the back roads more than makes up for the acts of greed in the headlines." ~Charles Kuralt

My parents' neighbor, David, lost his house to a fire last week. We are pretty much fired out around our neighborhood, let me just tell you guys. If you remember after the last fire, I wrote this blog about neighbors coming together.
Well, it happened again. My dad told this story and it just really touched my heart.

After the fire was out, David was standing on the rubble and ash that was his house and all of his belongings looking to see if there was anything he could salvage. Picturing this scene just makes me sick to my stomach.

Then up walked the daughter of another neighbor. She stuck her hand through what was left of the wall in the front of the house. In her hand was the keys to her dad's house that is right down the road. Her dad's house is empty now, as he is living in a nursing home. She gave those keys to David and said, "Here are the keys to Daddy's house. You stay there as long as you need to."

My Dad said it best when he said, "Though I have seen so many acts of kindness in this neighborhood for years, I will never forget what she showed us all today."

People knock on small towns. My "city" friends kid that we just got running water and ask what it was like for me to have indoor plumbing when I moved to my current house. We don't have fancy restaurants. We don't have concerts during the summer. You can't run to the mall on a Saturday afternoon.

But what we have is a community of people who truly love each other and who would give the shirt off their backs (of the keys to their houses) when someone needs help. If you ask me, that's the way it should be. What we do have is worth so much more than what we lack.

By the way, there is a fire fund set up for donations for David (who is one of our volunteer firefighters and who literally lost everything he had) at our hometown bank.

If anyone would like to donate, you can send a check to: David Peacock Fund, Citizen's Bank, 211 E. Main, Tucumcari, NM 88401. Any help would be greatly appreciated.

(If you have any questions about that, shoot me an email at tiffy83@hotmail.com or leave me a comment below.)

Family Farm Friday #51: That's Being a Neighbor

"I won't forget that Sunday, when God filled the neighborhood. It might have been a little old fashioned, but done us all some good." ~Conway Twitty, Me and My Neighbor

First off, I have to tell you that I'm super excited because my Family Farm Friday blogs have been featured on a list of examples of good "agvocacy" blogs! So exciting....and because I read most of the other blogs on that list, I'm super flattered to be included with such great bloggers!

Okay for today's post, this really will be the last post about the grass fire that you've read about here and here.

At church last week, the priest said that God does not do evil things, but that He will use the evil things that we do in order to further his perfect plan. Have you noticed that sometimes, actually I think a lot of times, we are reminded how good people are when bad things happen? People come out of the woodwork and show kindness and concern and compassion. This made me look back on the last couple of weeks. Our neighbors and surrounding communities did just that after the fire.

Once word spread about the fire, it was like an AT&T switchboard at our house. We got so many phone calls from friends just making sure we were okay. We got calls from the local feedlot saying that if we needed a place to put cattle, we could bring them over and they would not charge us any board, and that we could just pay cost for feed. We got a call from a local businessman who offered to bring out his crew to help repair any fences that needed to be fixed right away. A waitress at the hometown restaurant offered to help anyone with a place to stay if houses did end up being lost. One man showed up at our house to apologize that he was not able to respond to the fire when the department was paged.

(The photo above is of our fire deparment a LONG time ago--40 years or so? Even today I could tell you stories about just about every one of these men and of what they've meant to my family over the years.)

I'm here to tell you, I don't think that any community does a better job of pulling together after a crisis than small town America. I think that one of the biggest reasons for this is that we all know each other, and we have known each other for years. We know everything about each other---we remember when good things happened and everyone celebrated, and we remember when tragedy has struck and everyone showed up to mourn (and bring a pie and an enchillada casserole...because that's what you do). You've read a little about this before. When you grow up going through things with other people in that way, it's not something you forget. Chalk up another one to small town life.

Logan New Mexico: Back Where I Come From

"Well in the town where I was raised, the clock ticked and the cattle grazed, time passed with amazing grace....I'm proud as anyone, that's where I come from" ~Kenny Chesney

Today I am linking up with A Little Bit of This & That to tell you where I'm from! Such a great idea for blogs....be sure to go over and check out where all of the other bloggers are from!

I know a lot of the bloggers participating in this little game talk about their cities, and all the fun things there are to do. Well.....I can't really do that because I'm not from a city with lots to do! Instead, you're going to get an earful about growing up on a farm and in a small town! Because I have blogged about several of these topics before, I am doing my best to put links to prior blogs in case you want to red more in detail!

I grew up on a farm and ranch near the village (yes, it's really called a village) of Logan, New Mexico.

We raise cattle and sheep, but also have horses and used to have pigs. We grow wheat, barley, milo and alfalfa. (You read all about the farm on Family Farm Fridays!) I'd say my childhood was pretty much ideal, the kind of thing that you would have seen on the Andy Griffiths Show had Mayberry been a farm instead of a town. (Hear all about it in my very first 4-H speech!)

Growing up we had awesome parents who have been married for over 30 years now (you previously met my Mom on the blog and my dad will be coming soon), wide open spaces, lots of animals, great neighbors, and my Gran lived next door. Little Brother and I spent lots of time outside running around, helping with the animals, riding horses, driving trucks and tractors, irrigating....you name it, we did it! Gran was always our partner in crime. She lived right next door and was seriously the most fun lady in the world! She was the kind of grandma who would bake cookies for a tea party one day, go on a cruise for vacation the next, and be out herding sheep the next.

Our neighbors were a big part of our life growing up. There were about 5 or 6 families living down "our road" that were like extra sets of grandparents or aunts and uncles. They always had food for us when we came over, helped us with our homework, and bought ANYTHING that was drug up to their door for sale! We would either ride our horses to their house, drive Gran over for a visit in her little pick up, or walk if it was a closer neighbor (including Mr. Maes whose wife made homeade tortillas every afternoon at 3:00 and you would see two blonde headed kids headed down the road!)

I went to elementary school and junior high in a nearby small town called San Jon. My mom was a teacher there and I still have lots of friends from that time in my life, including Teacher Friend, The Cheerleader and First Valentine, who you have read about several times before.

In elementary school I played "bitty ball" (which is our version of little kid basketball), showed lambs, participated in spelling bees and that sort of thing, and used to frequent the principal's office for my recess antics. My friend The Cheerleader and I were about the biggest tomboys that you have ever met and I swear to you once we were playing football with the boys and Teacher Friend's brother got a bloody nose from someone tackling him. They sent all the boys, Teacher Friend and me into the principal, who seemed very confused as to why the two girls were in his office....

When high school rolled around my mom retired (the first of like 5 times) and Little Brother and I started going to school at Logan. Logan was closer to home, but the big reason for that move was that we were following Mr. Franklin who had also left San Jon for Logan (You have also read about several times......I am not quite sure what he would think about being one of the leading characters on a blog!) That move ended up being pretty smart.....we both ended up winning multiple state FFA championships and getting judging scholarships to college. In addition to being active in FFA, I also played volleyball and basketball, and was involved in several other school activities (realize that with like 75 kids in the high school, we all did everything!)

High school in Logan was probably completely different than high school for most people. (You've read about that before!) Our whole school (I'm talking K-12 grade here people) was in one building. And there were about 210 kids total. My graduating class had 20 people in it. Here we are: To say that everyone knew everyone is an understatement. Everyone not only knew everyone, we knew everyone's business, their families, what they liked, who they were dating, what their dogs names were and where they were on Friday night! There were times I swear that teachers would be calling our parents to tell on us before we had even done the wrong thing that was coming!

The other thing that I've realized was different about small town high school is that we were all really good friends with the other small town kids around the state. This happened mostly through 4-H and FFA, but some too through playing sports against each other. For me, this included BFF and one of the famous Animal House Boys from college.

A lot of people don't get the chance to even meet everyone in their own school, much less to have friends from all over the state, so we were lucky like that! (I've written about this before as well!)

Anyway, hopefully this gives you a small, quick look into where I'm from. I think that growing up where I did, how I did is a huge part of who I am. As I wrote this blog, I realized that when you grow up in a small town and look back on that, it's not about buildings or places or events. Instead, it's about the people. And maybe that is the biggest gift a small town can give you!