Becoming the Village Crier
This is how we honor our mothers. And learn to be like them.
Last night at the dinner table we all lamented the changing times. My daughter’s senior year hangs suspended on a thinning thread and she’s grieving the loss of the milestones she’d anticipated: projects, classes, prom, and graduation. All of these things feel swept out from under her. We talked about the needs that will come for our elderly neighbors and those who may get sick. To this, my daughter said, “Grandma would know what to do.”
Since my mom’s death in November I’ve missed her immeasurably. And now, in this time of international crisis, I need her creativity and optimism. She was the consummate community organizer.
In December, about a month after her passing from ovarian cancer, I agreed to continue a community e-newsletter that she had created and maintained for many years. She called it The East Barnard Village Crier. She wanted to offer a forum for our little community of several dozen houses out here on a labyrinth of dirt roads. At her death, she sent it to 200 email addresses in eight separate batches (so it wouldn’t end up in people’s spam). About half of the list are folks living elsewhere who once made East Barnard their home and still want to stay connected.
The Crier, as it’s referred to locally, became the place to share events, news and pictures (in February our neighbor Floyd celebrated his 100th birthday), signs of spring, reports from annual summer and fall dinners, invitations to potlucks, and the favorite: the daily mud season road report. This is a vital service of The Crier because our village is five miles from pavement in every direction. It’s also pretty entertaining reading for the people who don’t live here anymore and remember all the times they were stuck or helped push someone out. Which five miles of mud you choose to drive on a given day may determine whether you get out at all. Some routes become impassable while others stay perfectly drivable.
In the early days of The Crier, our neighbors shared their road reports with my mom and she’d compile and send them out in a timely fashion. Now this is my job, and I’m doing my best to keep up with the emails. I moved my mom’s address list into MailChimp so I could send one message to the whole group at once, and I’ve been thanked for carrying on the tradition.
Over the coming days, as our little village folds in on itself, The Crier will be one of our ways to connect and share needs and offers of help. Along with which road to take, I’m including the latest news releases from the governor and services available to senior citizens. Sprinkled in the middle are pictures of the first crocus and snowdrops coming up through the rotting snow.
And I’m imagining the more creative ideas my mom would have conjured to keep the local kids happy or aid the most isolated neighbors. Then trying to think how she’d implement them in this time of needed social distance. It’s a puzzle, and one I’ll take on. With the help of my husband, daughter, brother, sister-in-law, and dad, who all live near me on these muddy roads. With the help of my neighbors who knew and appreciated my mother.
My husband came up with this first idea. This weekend, we’ve put a bunch of books out on the community picnic tables across the road and asked others to do the same. The tables are filling up! A book swap will keep our minds engaged as the libraries are closed for the foreseeable future. One thing at a time. Mom would approve.
