The township snowplow just went up the road past the house, clearing away another layer of global warming. It may seem like an insignificant thing that I know the guy who drives that truck, but in today's tangled-up, anonymous world, it's really sort of comforting.
My road isn't cleared by some nameless, faceless civil service turd who has more loyalty to AFSCME than he does to the people who pay his salary. It's cleared by Jim, the township road man, and I can count on him to plow and salt pretty much whenever we need it. If things get really bad I can call him down at the township garage or, if he's out in the truck somewhere, I can get him on his cell phone.
Try that in your big city or suburb. Good luck getting somebody to answer the phone at the street department, and if you do get through, good luck getting somebody to give a shit about you and your problem.
It's different here because for the most part, this is an actual community, where everybody--mostly--knows everybody else and everybody--mostly--figures we're all in this thing together out here in the boonies. Ain't no suits from the city gonna come out and save us; we have to take care of ourselves and each other.
We have 17.3 miles of township roads in Camden Township and there's nary a pothole on any of those 17.3 miles. And Jim the township road man and the township trustees are damned proud of that. Might seem like real small change to you, but think about my pothole-free roads the next time you bust a ball joint in one of Cleveland's axle-breakers.
There goes Jim down the road, finishing his circuit over here. Snow's still coming down pretty good, so I guess I'll be seeing him a new more times before it's all said and done. Call me silly, but I take comfort in that. As the old Shaker hymn said, 'tis a gift to be simple.
