Small Town Blues - Middletown, MD

I grew up in an idyllic little dairy farming town in Maryland. One side of my family had been in "God's Country" for at least three generations. I spent time on farms during my formative years. Small schools. Medium sized church. Everyone seemed to know me or someone with my last name. I loved the place, but it was a love that did not last. The place changed and I changed, we could no longer co-exist.

"God's Country" changed. As the Metropolis of Washington-Baltimore encroached, farming died away as a primary occupation. It was replaced by the federal government and its ancillary business, such as real estate development. The salt-of-the-earth farmers I respected saw their sons and daughters become bankers, bureaucrats, computer scientists and home builders. I spent some time after college trying to find an occupation for myself there. I dallied with banking, real estate sales and more banking. It seemed like I would become part of the problem, not part of any solution. Blech.

I changed. As I became a juvenile delinquent, I found myself more alone than I could imagine. The things that troubled me as an adolescent (identity, drugs, spirituality, the nature of love) could not be discussed or counseled in this small town. The church and the school were the primary devices for dealing with any and all issues. Neither of these institutions was equipped to deal with anything of consequence to me. The intimacy of the social networks made confidentiality and honesty impossible. It was a self-defeating, incestuous rumor mill.

So, I moved on to another small town many miles away from the original. Now I'm an outsider with no ancient family ties to the land. I like it here. Everyone does not know my parents, uncles, aunts and cousins. This town is growing, but not very quickly. But I still like the size and the illusion of intimacy here. That same illusion I had as a child.