Small Town Girl at Heart

When people start to get to know me nowadays, they are often quite surprised when I tell them where I’m from originally. It comes as a bit of a shock to me too. I don’t see myself as a big city girl either. With my signature cowboy boots, denim and some sort of plaid, I am most certainly the redneck of the group. I love country music, rodeos and backroads. I would rather have an invasive medical procedure than have to shop for clothes. I will go to great lengths to avoid a large crowd. I much prefer my sixty-five kilometer commute on a mountain highway over a fifteen kilometer commute on crowded public transit. My idea of a glamorous weekend away is a cabin at a dude ranch surrounded by trees, livestock and quiet. All of which is in complete contrast to where I started.

I grew up in an urban metropolis that was constantly and rapidly expanding. As a kid, teenager and young adult, I loved it. The excitement, the stimulation, the options for entertainment, the convenience; it was all enticing. With public transit quickly evolving and extending its reach, the options were endless. It was hard to be bored. As I entered my late twenties and as the city began bursting at the seams while it failed to keep up with its proliferating population, its charm wore off. Everything was constantly under construction. The noise seemed to permeate my soul, never letting up. The cost of living was nausea inducing. The crime rate was soaring out of control. Then there was the traffic, the overloaded buses and Skytrain and oh good God the line-ups. The pace of life kept speeding up. It became increasingly more difficult to get out into nature. And even then, the hiking trails and campgrounds were packed with people. There was no escape from the incessant madness.

Some people thrive in this type of fast paced, vibrant, loud environment. They are energized by the electricity of it all. Turns out, I am not one of them. I have enough hyperactivity going on in my own mind, I don’t need the additional outside stimulation. I dreamt of a world in which I didn’t spend more time in traffic than at the destination itself. Where I didn’t have to battle a mob in order to get groceries. I wanted to hear birds again. I wanted to ride my bike without having to dodge another cyclist or a pedestrian every thirty seconds. I needed to breathe.

In 2015, When the opportunity came up for me to be placed in an internship in a less robust city (with a population of about ninety-thousand compared to the about two and half million where I grew up) three hours away, I was all over it. Besides a quick rest stop here and there on road trips, I had never spent any time in this city. I didn’t know much about it. My aunt, uncle and two cousins lived just outside of town, but I didn’t know anyone in the city itself. Didn’t matter, I needed a change of scenery. Not really a small town, but substantially lower key than where I was. Sounded good to me.

I still vividly remember my first Friday night in the new city. Luckily, a good friend of mine made the move with me as she was also doing an internship. That first Friday night, we decided to go check out the “downtown strip”. It was about nine o’clock and nothing was happening. There was a sense of abandonment, everything seemed still and quiet. It was almost eerie. As we walked the length of the strip, (which was accomplished in about ten minutes), we probably saw a total of five other people. While this is the way I remember it, my account may not be entirely accurate. I may have been hit with a sensory deprivation shock of sorts. There were no beeping or swooshing sounds peppering the background as bus doors opened and closed. Not a flock of half dressed nineteen-year-olds to be seen. There were no bouncers standing outside preparing for another busy night. No one was getting arrested. We didn’t walk through a single cloud of Axe body spray or see a single person dodging traffic as they ran across the street calling out to a group of friends on the other side. No crowd of stoners on skateboards. We didn’t see anyone urinating in an alley. No one was playing a guitar or a set of bongo drums. It was a world away from what I was accustomed to.

When my internship ended, I was offered a job and I gratefully accepted. No way did I want to return to the insanity of the big city. My then boyfriend, (now husband), was also grateful to have a reason to leave the big city and quickly joined me. For about four years, I settled into this new city and my new way of life nicely. I loved the proximity to nature, the sense of community, the shared love for outdoor activities, the slower pace, the tiny line-ups and the cute coffee shops and breweries. But then, at about the five year mark, there was a very palatable shift. The streets got busier and louder. Construction became prevalent. Line-ups got bigger and traffic became an issue. Crime and drugs escalated quickly. The trains seemed to take a rapid leap in both frequency and volume. The constant rattle of loaded down, rogue shopping carts being pushed across the sidewalks and parking lots was maddening. And then the pandemic hit and I was trapped in an apartment in the middle of it all. I’m not sure if the city truly changed this drastically or if I changed. Probably a combination of both. Regardless, this modest city had somehow become too much for me. It was like I got a glimpse of what life could be in a smaller city and I wanted more. Or I guess, more accurately, I wanted less.

When my husband and I started house hunting in 2021, the plan was to acquire some outdoor space and remain within the city limits. Being very much a sellers’ market at the time, we got outbid on multiple offers, became increasingly more frustrated and unintentionally began looking outside of town. We started with communities within a twenty to thirty minute drive. When these communities proved to be just as competitive, we expanded our search. I’m so glad we did.

It took us about ten months of persistent house hunting before we found our house. We ended up in a small town sixty-five kilometers outside of the city. Never in a million years did I think I would end up living in such a place. Not because I had any ill feelings towards these small towns, I had just never pictured myself in one of them. It didn’t take me long to see it was the perfect fit. It has everything we need, just on a much calmer scale. I can jump on my bike and be on a peaceful back road in less than five minutes. We can be on a number of different lakes in twenty minutes. The only traffic on our street is a few people walking their dogs, the occasional kid on a bike, a family of deer casually strolling by and, on the rare day, a neighbour on horseback. We can sit outside and not be bombarded with the mind numbing clatter and squealing of the trains. My husband finally has the space to work on the truck and putter in a yard. I don’t think I’ve stood in a line-up more than two people deep since moving here. The only time I hear shopping carts is at the local grocery store. I can hear birds, lots of birds. I thought the long commute to work was going to be rough. Honestly, there are days, especially in the winter, that it is rough. But most days, I really enjoy the drive to work, listening to music and taking in the beautiful views. It's a great way to clear my head before diving into work mode. It’s almost a form of meditation for me. Some days, the drive home can be tiresome, but I always feel the stress of the city melt off of me as I drive, so it’s worth it. Coming home always feels like arriving at a weekend getaway in the woods.

While people tend to be surprised to hear where I’m from originally, they aren’t surprised to hear where I live now. Assuming they know where it is, the consensus from people seems to be that this town suits me. I have to say that I wholeheartedly agree.