A Tribute to Small Towns

I think small towns are underrated.

Oh, and I don't like calling them "small towns."

I live in Grand Forks, one of the more populated cities in North Dakota.

If you drive about an hour and twenty minutes south, you'll reach Fargo - one of the other more populated cities. If you make the drive from Grand Forks to Fargo (or Fargo to Grand Forks), it's a pretty straight shot, and the highway is hugged by fields and factories belonging to a variety of small towns.

Small towns.

Here's why I have a problem with that description:

Small town is often spoken in a dismissive, diminishing tone.

Small town cannot come close to encapsulating their contributions to society; nor does it contain the life and stories and personalities they hold.

Have you ever noticed how we have many social guidelines for the way we speak about people, but very few surrounding the way we speak about a person's hometown?

Maybe that's because we perceive a detachment between the town and its inhabitants.

Has anyone ever dissed the place you were raised? I don't know about you, but few things get me riled up like hearing someone diss the city that shaped my earliest memories.

It's similar to the way in which we freely poke fun at/complain about our family members to our friends - and yet, if our friends were to tell the same joke/file the same complaint against said family member, we'd be pretty agitated.

Perhaps this mentality is why people take the term "Flyover States" so personally. North Dakota falls under this category. But even within the state itself, the less populated cities are treated like "Drive By Cities."

All too often, we speed by these towns on the highway, just trying to get from Point A to Point B.

That's why I want to slow down - to stop the car, or to at least peer out my window, to appreciate these special cities.

During my time working in local news, I came to realize the profound impact of these towns.

I learned this lesson in September, as my husband and I were flying down the highway, racing to shoot football highlights after a 6 p.m. show.

It was cold, and it was raining, and I was honestly just trying to format my memory card with one hand while throwing back a cold McDonalds espresso with the other.

That's when I saw it - blazing autumn leaves lining the road.

I dropped my jaw and tapped at the window, urging Mark to admire the trees without swerving off the road. Thompson is one of the smaller towns surrounding Grand Forks, North Dakota.

Before football season, I'd never gone outside of my station to shoot footage. I'd heard about these cities, and I'd written about them, but I'd never walked into them.

I knew Thompson took up a big spot in Mark's heart.

He'd often shared how the community rallied around their teams, and how they treated him with immense kindness whenever he came to town.

I made Mark promise me we'd come back to Thompson the next day - so I could take some more time to admire the leaves. Mark kept that promise. We came back with hot drinks and pulled over on the side of the road and stared at the fiery fall foliage.

This town was filled with so many great people - including one of our work friends - and too many times, I had let it become a blur in my review mirror during car rides.

Admiring a place through a windshield can be a solid start - I think we should take it a step further.

What if we stepped into these towns?

Why don't we do that?

Why do we love calling ourselves hipsters, but only visiting the most Instagrammable/trendy locations?

You see, it's easy to admire a big city. Or a medium city.

(Sidebar: I am notttt shading big or medium cities! They are close to my heart and much more within my comfort zone - I just don't think they need anymore hype)

There are more people to pool ideas and events.

There is immediate access to a myriad of activities - always another restaurant to try, a store to browse.

They have advertisements and influencers to point a neon sign toward local hot spots.

We (understandably) travel to places that will flood our Instagram feeds with mountains and oceans and art. We (understandably) highlight heavily populated places and tourist attractions.

But living near smaller towns has taught me how much I have been missing out on while chasing trips to bigger cities.

Grand Forks is right near the border or North Dakota and Minnesota.

One day, a friend invited a few coworkers to visit his hometown in Minnesota.

When we arrived at his house, he and his family warmly greeted us and invited us in for food and drinks.

We laughed and exchanged delightfully longwinded stories until our cheeks and our abs ached.

Then we toured our friend's family farm.

We crunched through gleaming snow, and he showed us big machines he'd be learning to drive while I was trying to ride a bike without training wheels.

Next, we got in our friend's truck and ventured to his favorite hometown restaurant - Mick's.

The second we walked through the door, he was greeted by the entire bar. My other friends and I looked at each other in disbelief. It was the closest I have ever gotten to being in one of those high school movies - my friend was the cool kid in the cafeteria receiving a head nod and high five from everyone he passed by.

The tables were long and open, and he sat us between many of friends he'd known his entire life - they parted to let us join.

My friend knew every special. He told us the best drink - some sort of pineapple upside down cake shot - and the best staple on the menu - the chicken finger sandwich.

He ordered his favorite beer - the one that was made from the wheat he and his family grew on their farm.

We got a taste of his town.

When we returned to our friend's farm, the cold, midnight sky was a tapestry of the brightest stars I have EVER seen. We stood, staring up at the sky. It took our breath away - the cold and those stars.

We looked at glowing planets, and watched multiple shooting stars dance with long tails streaming behind them.

It was better than a fireworks show. My husband had visited the farm a few months earlier, and said they'd even seen the Northern Lights.

Are you kidding me? How was all of this happening in a place I'd only ever just sped past on the highway?

Meanwhile, my reporter friends have been aware of this magic for quite some time.

You see, reporters (if they are good, hardworking people, like the ones I have had the pleasure of working alongside) form powerful bonds with the small cities surrounding their news stations. Reporters are out in the community every day - not just writing or sharing information from behind a desk. Reporters witness and share the ways small towns grow our food, rally around people who are sick, or cheer each other on to football championships.

One of my coworkers shared an especially touching moment that captures the love and commitment these towns so freely and graciously express to their inhabitants. My coworker met with the family of a woman who was dying of cancer. As the woman was battling the final stages of the disease, community members came together and remodeled the woman's house into her dream home before she passed away.

That town may have been small in population - but I've never heard of a place with that much heart.

These small towns are filled with passionate people who care deeply about their communities.

These small towns are filled with fields that bring us sugar beets and wheat and barley and corn and soybeans.

These small towns are filled with teams who play hard and community members who pack together tightly on the stands to root for their friends and children and students.

These small towns are covered with starry skies every night, and if you get lucky - maybe even some Northern Lights.

These small towns are adorned with fiery displays of crimson trees in the autumn, and in the summer, they explode with golden sunflower fields.

These small towns are worth pulling over on the side of the road. They're worth a planned day-trip.

They may be "small," but they have a whole lot of heart.