In Defense of Small Town Life

It’s been awhile, long enough that I feel settled into my new life in the Ozark Mountains.

The stress levels are much lower here. Almost everyone is kind. There’s a creative spirit in the air, a love and wonder for the nature that surrounds us.

Instead of being in rotting city full of angry, stressed out people, I now live in a small town full of God-fearing folk who often take a moment to step back and enjoy life. Instead of being surrounded by bleakness and failing businesses, I’m surrounded by family-owned upstarts and exciting milieus.

If I want to see signs of societal rot, I can head to to a particular city and will find exactly what I’m looking for, especially if I immerse myself in their downtown college culture; If I want to see hope for the future, I can look nearly anywhere else. Even South of us is a much more based city.

Nothing’s perfect, of course. There’s no stopping the propaganda that enters peoples’ homes through streaming services and the internet. And there’s no stopping the influx of brainwashed urbanites a state over who want to take a crack at homesteading because it’s trendy. (I strongly suspect pop culture gurus decided to make country living more popular to spread the rot.)

But the people here are, for the most part, made of stronger stuff. They can’t turn the tide, but they can certainly slow it down. Maybe even break it enough to outlast the latest death cult trends.

Most places here remind me either of the small town I grew up in, or what my old city felt like back in 1991; maybe sometimes a little edgy, but otherwise very friendly and welcoming. I almost cried the first time I visited a local park and saw all the like-minded people smiling and having fun. There’s still a unified culture here. There’s still joy.

In a world corrupted by instant gratification and division, the people here have somehow held onto that societal joy I remember growing up with, but could never show my children.

I don’t watch TV, but apparently there’s this popular show called Ozark, painting a picture of vast corruption and drug use. A portrait of depressed people living secret lives of organized crime.

I don’t know how so many people watched this show, as it started airing well after television and streaming got completely insufferable. But it was popular enough that when I tell people where I live, their programmed minds immediately think of this Hollywood-produced shlock and ask if the real Ozarks are anything like it.

No. No it is not. Everything I’ve heard about that show is not even close to what I observe here. I’m now certain that show was propaganda, and one result is that people now come to “flyover country” looking for meth heads. And the moment they see one, all the confirmation bias in their heads go off.

They also look for signs of xenophobia. Let’s put it this way: If you’re a genuinely good person, they’re going to welcome you like family. If you’re some yuppie who brought your politics with you, there’s going to be a well-deserved adverse reaction.

A solid society knows what ails it … and what threatens it. That’s how a society preserves itself. It’s a natural phenomenon that only programming on vast levels can undo.

Let’s compare:

My old city was in a corrupt state, fighting a losing battle in the voting booth and at every societal front. My city had about 120,000 people living in it, yet it had its fair share of shootings, theft, and an un-Earthly ratio of HIV-infections per capita.

Even the house I used to live in about seven years ago–the happy home where I raised my children–has not only since become a drug house, but is also the site of a double homicide. …I wish I was joking.

Everyone was so stressed out in my old city, many were outwardly insane. Road rage and yelling were common. Engaging any stranger in discussion was a measured risk. Almost every billboard was filled with propaganda. Almost every business worth patronizing had closed.

But here? The worst city around has maybe two rainbow flags in plain sight (which didn’t seem to be sanctioned by the city), there are next to no people wearing COVID masks, and even at night, walking around downtown feels relatively safe.

Also consider that this city has a much larger population of about 170,000, yet its people somehow bucked the trend and aren’t acting like animals. There’s hardly any vandalism in sight, yet my old city’s downtown (pop. 120,000) is full of failing businesses, broken glass, and graffiti.

Now when someone gets addicted to meth, it’s a tragedy on many levels. It’s a tragedy to the user, to their friends, their family, and even their society.

But trying to compare your occasional meth addict to street beatings, car jackings, gang wars, and home theft is the kind of mental stretch that only well-targeted propaganda can bring.