I love my town

It may be the magic of the month of October and the appearance of pumpkins sold on every corner, but I fell a little more in love with my town this weekend.

I love that I live in a community that supports two auto parts stores, two dollar generals, four grocery stores but only one drive-through fast food place. I find comfort in the oil marks on parking lots and that every 4th car at night is missing a headlight.

My little town is a strange and magical mix of old, hard-working farming families and the newcomers. There is a huge latino population, the locals who've lived on this land for generations, and the occasional yuppie who bought a house cheap here and works in the city. Many of us fall somewhere in between.

On my way home, I pass the old plantation house that sits large and ornate between the funeral home and a new well-lit neighborhood.

Poverty is obvious in my town. Businesses focus on people who fix their own cars, buy cheap clothes, and need spanish-speaking store clerks. One block away from the main street, you can find drug dealers and hookers waiting for clients. Two blocks away, you find a sweet old lady selling pumpkins from her well-manicured yard.

I love the Spanish music that plays at night from my neighbors' houses. I love the old men who sit in McDonalds all morning talking and flirting with any woman who walks in the door. I am much more patient when I am stuck behind a tractor driving 5 mph than I was driving in traffic in the city.

This town sometimes breaks my heart with racism, backwards thinking, and occasional hopelessness. I often curse the fact that EVERYTHING closes early and that any single men are missing teeth or high school diplomas.

Today, though, I love my town. For now, I feel like I am home.