Small Towns

After buzzing with excitement to share Geode, the story of the small town of Umbra River, it is out in the world, available, and bringing in so many wonderful comments and conversations. The characters take you on their personal journeys, and the dark, historical significance of their town. All the while immersing the reader in the beauty of the setting and the personality of this picturesque burg named Umbra River - the Spanish word for shadow. Read Geode to find out what made Umbra Rivers a shadow town.

I grew up in a small town. My father was born there and my mother’s family moved in when she was six. My paternal grandfather was a machinist, instrumental in building the local oil refinery, and my maternal grandfather moved there to open a butcher shop in the local market. Both grandmothers were housewives and great cooks. My paternal grandparents, Grandpa a 2nd generation Irish immigrant, and Grandma who grew up on a ranch near Salinas, California and commuted to school using a horse drawn buckboard, married in 1906 and moved to a small house on the refinery property where my dad was born. Their house had a view of the Southern Pacific Railroad tracks. During the 1930s Great Depression when out of work folks were desperate for jobs – who were dubbed Hobos--hopped into box cars to avoid the expense of a train ticket. Also, they had little money for, or access to, food.

It was well known that the hobos left a mark somewhere at the front of a property where others could expect to be welcomed and fed. Because my grandmother was recognized in this way, her dining room table frequently hosted many hungry job seekers. She died when I was six. I wish I could have known her longer.

My maternal grandmother played piano beautifully. I heard her play only once. Grandpa didn’t like her playing. When I inherited her sheet music, I couldn’t believe their level of difficulty. Another regret. I should have insisted on her playing for my cousin and me. Before marriage, she made a living as a tailor. She made and altered clothing for men and women. How I would have loved to have been taught by her.

Several of my high school friends were children of my parents’ high school friends.  A walk down Main Street was often a time-consuming maneuver. Always, folks stopped to greet and catch up. On the occasions I strolled Main Street with either of my parents, we were hailed, hugged, or backslapped several times within five blocks.  As I grew older and more independent, I frequently heard my mother on the phone responding to a report about seeing me in town. Once, I was ratted out for having curlers in my hair while at the local market. Those of you of a certain age – remember hair curlers? Remember how we were never to show up in public with them in our hair?

This was my experience and what a surprise it was when I found out all towns aren’t small and friendly. What’s more, many have well-hidden secrets. I am happy not to be privy to my hometown’s secrets. They must have been well hidden.