Have you ever found yourself waking up in the morning, just seconds before the reality of the new day sets in, and just wished during the night, a time machine had taken you back to being twelve-years-old again? I do—and quite often. At that age, the most important decisions I had to make in a day were where I would ride my bike and what I would make for lunch.

Except for the birth of my daughters, my childhood days in my small town of Bloomfield are probably the most memorable experiences of my life. Those days were so simple, so innocent, a time where no one talked about “being stressed” and the word “multi-task” was not in our vocabulary.

Cell phones would not have been necessary as my mom always knew where I was, and never worried about me heading off on my bike as I set out on a new adventure on the country back roads. I so often long for these vivid images to come to life again, and I am once again at home, hanging out on the corner with my friends, just deciding which direction to take and what we are going to do. Nostalgia is a very powerful feeling.

I have not found one universal term for the way people think about their small towns; I have found however, by just talking to people about their childhood and their small hometowns, there is, without a doubt, a smile that comes across their face with every memory. What I have learned is that Small Town Sexy means different things to different people depending on the kind of life they have led and the experiences they have had.

Small Town Sexy is:

• Realizing you are a small town addict, and not wanting an intervention.
• Knowing that despite your size, you can still conduct big business.
• Celebrating your heritage for all to see.
• Knowing that the size of your town has no merit to its success.
• About people coming back, and others discovering small towns for the first time.
• Getting involved in the decision-making process.
• Enjoying the thrills of your big city neighbors.
• Embracing the unique individuals who make up community and accepting the fact that not everyone is into small town life.

I find myself back to that one essential question, what is Small Town Sexy? It now has become quite clear:

First, Small Town Sexy is a feeling. It is that feeling that comes over you when you close your eyes and think about your life there. It’s a nurturing calm that for an instant takes you back to a “good place.” A place where the air was clean, the sky was blue and was never measured by size but by the quality of life you led.

Second, Small Town Sexy is people. Though we are scattered from coast to coast, there is a connection, a kindred spirit if you will, that makes us all part of this wonderful small town society.

Who are the people that make small towns sexy?

• We are mothers, fathers, teachers, students, doctors, volunteers, and entrepreneurs.
• We are rich snobs and we are rednecks.
• We have GEDs and MBAs, we are retired and on unemployment.
• We live downtown, on farms, in mobile homes, and sometimes at the end of dirt roads.
• We drive cars, trucks, hybrids and four-wheelers and we have been known to drive a tractor to our senior prom.
• We have old money, new money and some of us have no money at all.
• We are all the people of Small Town Sexy.

Small towns are some of the most inviting places you will ever go. They are places where people still ride bikes, and not because it’s the “green” thing to do, but because it allows you to see things that can’t be seen from the windows of cars.

Small towns are where the smell of freshly mowed grass lingers for what seems like blocks, and where people know your name in the local hardware stores, and all you have to do to pay is say “charge it.”

In small towns you will find old signs still painted on the sides of barns, stores that close at five o’clock and a church on every corner.

A small town is like a favorite song playing on the radio. You just can’t get it off your mind no matter how hard you try. They are not ritzy or glitzy, but are simple and genuine just like the people who live there. They are small in size, but enormous in spirit and are always alive and full of personality.

Can you live a happy, SEXY life in a small town? You can live a happy, sexy life in any town. I don’t think the size of the community you live in is going to determine whether you are happy or not. There are too many other factors that will do that for you. Are you in a happy relationship? Are you financially stable? Are you healthy? Those things get you up in the morning and help you sleep at night, not particularly the town you are waking up in. But, loving where you live and the environment that surrounds you every day, has everything to do with your peace of mind.

Let’s face it; chances are many of you will never move to a small town. That’s absolutely no problem—we understand and we love you anyway. If you don’t plan to live in small town America, let me encourage you to do the next best thing. Step away from the computer, turn off your TV, get out of your office and get away. Get away to the amazing “Byways of America” and experience the wonderful world of small towns. Life happens fast. Don’t let it pass you by.

Do I ever wonder, what if? What if I got a “do-over” and had the chance to change my decision about coming home to small town America after college? I wouldn’t be honest if I said it doesn’t cross my mind on occasion, but I have never regretted that decision, not once. Especially, when I look out my “window to the world” and see this truly unbelievable slice of heaven looking back at me. My days in small town America would not be complete without scenes I see each day out of my window, including the shopkeepers preparing for another day of business, the stay-at-home moms talking as fast as they’re walking, and those wonderful men, hurrying into the local diner for a morning of local news with their coffee.

I know that my life at age twelve is gone and my memories are all that I have of those good times. Because today, in reality, the buildings seem smaller, the Tobacco Festival is gone, and there is a whole new set of girls standing on that infamous corner watching the cars go by just waiting for the moment when they are old enough to leave. And if they are lucky, and the passion in them is as strong as mine, they, too, will find their way back to small town America just as I did.

I am not sure I have lived my best life yet, because I have a lot of life worth living, but what I am sure about, is that the life I look forward to living will be in small town America. And that, my friend, is Small Town Sexy.

Photo by Brady Dale

I could say a lot about the small towns in the coal-mining area of northeast Pennsylvania.  I am a product of the region–my grandparents came over from Italy to work as laborers in the mines, and eventually settled in the towns of Pittson and West Pittston.   Pittston welcomed laborers from southern Italy, and West Pittson welcomed the higher-standing northerners, at least that’s what my Aunt Rose tells me.  One of my grandfathers was from the north and one was from the south, so they settled in the appropriate towns, separated by the Susquehanna River.  Regardless of their class, both grandfathers worked in the mines, and, in the case of  my mother’s father, Cesare, died in them.

I’ve been traveling to this region during the holidays for my entire life to visit with my extended family, but I’ve never done much exploring beyond the homesteads.  However, this past Christmas, an old friend from high school said he would be in the area.  Rick and his wife Anna would be visiting Anna’s family in Hometown, PA.  Since we both liked to explore historic small towns, Rick suggested meeting up in the nearby Jim Thorpe for lunch.

The first thing you assume when you visit Jim Thorpe is that the town’s namesake, the famed Native-American Olympian and overall sportsman, was a native of the town.  You would be wrong to assume that.  The town, originally named Mauch Chunk, was looking to rename itself to attract businesses in 1953, the year of Jim’s death.  After negotiations with his widow, the town “bought his remains,” erected a monument, and renamed the town in his honor.  He was from the midwest, although he did attend the Carlisle Indian Industrial School in nearby Carlisle, PA.

Jim’s name was pretty well-known around that time, but I have no idea whether the scheme caused a positive blip in the economic health of the town.  Now, what I really want to know is how they got their original name, Mauch Chunk.  Can someone help me with that?

There are several other historical nuggets that really caught my attention during my brief visit here.  One of the trials of the Molly Maguires took place in Jim Thorpe.  The Molly MaGuires were a secret organization of Irish men who banded together for protection during the conflicts the miners had with mine bosses during those days.  In the late 1800s, labor unions were on the rise because the workers needed to improve working conditions–12-hr workdays, child labor, fires, etc.  The mine bosses would use mine police and private security forces, such as the Pinkertons, to control strikes and the overall population, and the miners would counter with their secret organizations.  Anyway, there was a whole lot of violence in those days.  The MaGuires would probably be considered terrorists in today’s terminology, since they were a little on the rough side, handing out coffin notices and such.

Anyway, they were infiltrated by a Pinkerton detective, and several of them were eventually brought to trial for murder.  Four were hung near the old prison in Jim Thorpe, which still stands.  One of the executed man’s hand prints is reputedly still on the wall of the prison there, in some way proving his innocence.  There is a Sean Connery movie about them, called the Molly Maguires–it’s worth seeing if you are into this kind of stuff.

Anyway, we ate lunch at Flow, which is located in the Carbon County Cultural Project.  Lunch was good, we had a pizza appetizer, and I had a veggie burger and some coffee.  The waitress was very nice as she explained all she knew about the shocking truth that Jim Thorpe never lived here.  The Stabin Morykin Gallery adjoins the restaurant. The building is an old wire mill, which later became a silk mill and dressmaker’s factory.

There are a few B&Bs and hotels in town and other interesting restaurants.  This town is very picturesque, running along a mountain ridge on one side and a stream on the other.  One other cool fact about the town is that they have a gravity railroad, which served as the model for the first roller coaster.

We would definitely like to offer them smallwander membership.  There are several other nearby towns that are worth visiting as well.  Stay tuned as we explore this region further.

At one time, Fredericksburg, Texas was the Lone Star State’s best kept secret; nowadays the town and its surrounding locales support over 5 million tourists a year.  Finding your way to Fredericksburg is easy, especially if you’re already in Texas.  You can ask practically anyone in any Texas town and they’ll smile before giving you some fairly precise directions to this Hill Country haven.

December is the best time to visit Fredericksburg, although any other time of the year is great as well.  Many cultural events, live music, and winery tours can be easily accessed from this beautiful little town.  The area is now number two only to the Napa Valley as far as wine destinations go.

Fredericksburg was one of the original German settlements in Texas, and English-speaking teachers were introduced to the public school system in the town after the turn of the twentieth century.  It is home to World War II veteran Admiral Chester Nimitz, and a museum dedicated to him is housed in the old Nimitz Hotel building.

The town is full of history and as the seat of Gillespie County, is home to archives and several museums dedicated to the cultures that helped make this town so great.  Known for its many houses of worship, people come from all over to see the “City of Steeples.”

Visitors to the town can find accommodations of varying degrees of comfort, from your standard hotels to guest ranches and bed and breakfasts.  Gorgeous views and fantastic restaurants, as well as breweries and antique shops attract many people as well.

People who love the outdoors will find no shortage of things to do as well.  Hiking, fishing, and even rock climbing at Enchanted Rock State Park can be added to the traveler’s agenda.

Certainly, Fredericksburg is no longer a secret, but certainly a place worth visiting whether you live in Texas or have to go out of your way to get there.  December is full of some great events for people of all ages and interests.

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This post was contributed by Kelly Kilpatrick, who writes on the subject of discount airfare. She invites your feedback at kellykilpatrick24 at gmail dot com

By Jayson Delisle

Midweek in early October, we drove slowly into the historic district of Smithfield, Virginia after a day spent traveling the quiet backroads from North Carolina.  The cotton fields, brightening the edge of the two lane road, diminished just outside of town.  Main Street ends at Wharf Hill’s overlook of the green marshland where the Pagan River, slides to the James, and, beyond, the Chesapeake; the Atlantic.  This was a river town in a time when the roads were rivers and rivers meant prosperity.  Prosperity remains in Smithfield thanks to the Southern breakfast staples of salt-cured and wood-smoked Virginia Ham.  You can’t miss it here.

We parked on Main Street in historic downtown, as the gray clouds and scattered showers packed up for the weekend.  Heather put on her walking shoes while I quickly ducked into the well-stocked visitor’s center to gain my bearings.  OK.  We are in “Isle of Wight” County.  Think England, think colonies.  In America, towns don’t get much more historic.  Remember now, the neighbors are Jamestown and Williamsburg.  So what separates Smithfield from these regal relics?  As a local shop owner casually confided, “…the Williamsburg locals come here to get away from the crowds and the commercialism.”  Heather and I glanced briefly at each other because, in full disclosure, 1) we were headed to Williamsburg and 2) we obviously have an affinity and appreciation for small gateway towns.  During our short stay in Smithfield, we held on to the shop keeper’s comments as we took our time exploring by foot.

Boutiques of many sorts and sizes lined the pedestrian friendly thoroughfare.  Grand Victorian homes now housed quaint and colorful shops selling eclectic apparel and playful pet products.  We toured art galleries and open studios and chatted with the creative folks.  Photo opportunities abounded.  A large, bronzed Benjamin Franklin sat on a bench reading his paper.  Another bench-bound sculpture down the block was of an elderly valentine couple.  “Sit and stay awhile” they implied.  The Ice Cream Parlor and lunch counter hummed with late afternoon activity.

A helpful shop owner offered some recent history regarding a bout of storms that left the beloved Isle of Wight Museum wet and worn.  The town was now anxiously anticipating its grand reopening.  It is comforting to hear the townspeople cherishing their history and their renewal.  The sun was coming out.

As our planned time elapsed, and our curiosity yet remained, we decided we would return through Smithfield, to have a meal (and ice cream!) and visit the historic Ivy Hill Cemetery on our way back from Williamsburg.  You have to wander these old towns to experience their charm and learn from their locals.  As we headed out, towards the free vehicle ferry across the river, we slowed near the immense ham processing plant.  Shifts were changing and the lifeblood of the town was coming and going.  I’ll think of these people and this old river town next time I’m enjoying my morning ham biscuit.  And next time we’ll bring the canoe.

An excerpt from an article from the Orange County, NC Visitor’s Bureau…

By Michael Malone

In Casablanca, “Everybody comes to Ric’s.” In Hillsborough, everybody comes to Churton Street, where now, on curiously balmy winter days, sidewalks bustle with outdoor diners under umbrellas and with shoppers carrying parcels. Everybody comes, and more and more, they fall in love.

Hillsborough, the seat of Orange County, has a past. Its downtown blocks commemorate so many crucial scenes in our nation’s founding that drivers do not have time to read the historical markers, even in traffic, as they go through town. It had a past in 1000 A.D. when Occaneechie Indians lived and traded here. It had a past when Revolutionary firebrands chased away the Royal Governor and fought the Battle of Alamance, years before Paul Revere galloped into Concord, Massachusetts, yelling that the British were coming…

[The complete article]

[For general information about Hillsborough, visit www.ci.hillsborough.nc.us or www.historichillsborough.org. For specific details on Hillsborough, visit smallwander.com.]

Floyd Allen

Smallwander.com stopped by Mt. Airy on March 13 for a brief visit. Members of the team hit all the hotspots suggested by the Visitor’s Center. You of course know that Andy Griffith grew up in Mt. Airy, so we checked out The Andy Griffith Collection located at The Andy Griffith Playhouse. Be sure to eat at Snappy Lunch, the only true Mount Airy establishment mentioned on the Andy Griffith show.

I personally appreciated the Mount Airy Museum of Regional History, where I learned about the Hillsville Massacre. Unbelievable. If you do anything, stand in the top floor of that museum and read a copy of the original newspaper article about this courtroom shootout in 1912 in nearby Hillsville, which left the entire law dead in the county. But, it really is more of a family-friendly place. Learn about the amazing Eng and Chang, the original Siamese twins.

And, make sure you visit the largest open-face granite quarry on the planet, the North Carolina Granite Corporation. I’m really just scratching the surface here.

<The following article was written in the summer, and is reprinted here to archive it in our new blog.>

I just returned from a three-day weekend vacation with my wife, and I feel great. I needed a respite from the daily doings, and for me that called for equal parts relaxation and adventure. A mid-July Friday morning promised heat and humidity in the piedmont of NC as we motored happily eastward from the Triangle. Our elbows rested out the windows and caught the morning breeze as did the tips of rope that held our big red canoe atop our little car. We cruised on like this under a clouded sky towards the Pamlico Sound and two old towns.

As we neared Washington we pulled out the large, trusty NC Atlas and Gazetteer as well as a tidy collection of official tourism information we had ordered from the town. The town’s info poetically and enticingly directed us to the waterfront loop where the local docks held bobbing sailboats and other sea craft at the ready for the weekend. With the car windows still down, we took in the sights at a very slow pace. Driving an initial loop around town gave us a sense of place. I checked the large map to make sure we had encircled the town and then settled on a free parking space on East Main Street, curbside to a welcoming set of steps lined with perfectly potted flowers leading up to one of the many charming front-porch houses. The sidewalk safely took us two blocks into the heart of town, passing one of a series of large, colorful Crab Sculptures alike in dimension and size to others on the streets but each rendered uniquely by different artists and businesses. I’ve loved this public art concept seen across America in large cities like Dallas and Baltimore, as well as in some lucky small towns of North Carolina. My wife posed gleefully with one of the more outlandish creations.

Historical markers on the homes and on the street posts told the history of the town named for General George Washington. Three-story red-brick buildings, several studded with the old cast iron star plates, stood opposite each other on the broad mainstreet, and housed a variety of businesses, including antique shops, a serious book and toy store, a sportsman’s outfitter, a handful of little art boutiques, a good selection of eateries and even a furniture store whose wooden rocking chairs lined the front walk and served as a gathering place for locals and visitors alike.

Posted flyers on windows and on street corners proudly notified us of town activities including a Friday Music Series and a Saturday Street Market. A smiling public works employee told us they were preparing to close the street to vehicle traffic for the evening as pedestrians would soon be converging on the town for an evening of music and entertainment.

We had a late lunch at the casual “Down on Mainstreet”. The high-ceiling, multi-sectioned café and bar served us a tasty appetizer of tender, battered “grouper fingers.” We read about local sights including the NC Estuarium, (an educational center focusing on the rich ecology of the local estuary) and the historic Turnage Theatre Performance Center as well as the beautiful Coastline Train Depot now housing the Beaufort County Arts Council.

As we walked back to the car we talked of the livability of this downtown, and how sustainable it appeared. The impressive renovations and ongoing preservation of the town’s history was very encouraging. It is certainly a good day trip and more if a performance is in town. Don’t pass this one up on your travels along the Inner Banks of NC.

Now, when you go to Washington, plan to head a dozen miles eastward to Bath, the first incorporated town in NC. We chose to stay at The Inn on Bath Creek after reading online about the quiet little historic village. While Washington offered entertainment, shopping, and dining, Bath’s charm rested primarily on its unhurried and unpretentious yet unmistakable historic presence. Crossing the bridge over Bath Creek forces you to slow down and view the lush cypress tree-lined creek that widens gradually to meet the Pamlico River. It was here in 1705 where, Surveyor General, John Lawson recognized the beauty and bounty afforded by the small peninsula of upland overlooking the creeks and rivers.

Once we slowed down on that bridge, we had no inclination to speed up again for the rest of the weekend. The large Willow Oaks,shading the straight and wide South Main Street, cast shadows down to the water’s edge. Among the trees sits the old town core composed of church, home, and empty store front.

While walking, you hear the sea gull cries mingling with the clink of shipmast riggings. A dog happily barks at children playing on the lush green creek-bank of a nearby backyard. As in Washington, we again drove the perimeter of town to sense the size. We rounded the peninsula point where loblolly pines shaded a picnic park with a broad view of the creek. The evening was cooling nicely. We checked into our B & B and promptly set out on foot to explore our weekend retreat. Our yard had two guest bicycles racked and ready for a morning pedal. Kayaks hung from the car port. An elderly couple walked casually down the street and waved at us and resumed their exercise. There were no sidewalks, but rather a wide, level thoroughfare which seemed to self-govern the speed of all who traveled. There was a certain joy of freedom in not worrying about which side of the street to walk on as we crisscrossed at will and whim. Being one who often treads a crooked line, while spying distant birds through the trees, I felt safe and unrestrained in Bath.

We found two restaurants in town, both locally owned. One, within walking distance of the heart of the historic district, sold creative pizzas and Italian ice (and ice cream!) while the other, about a half mile up the road, served country comfort food and deliciously battered seafood.

The following morning, we found the visitor’s center which sits underneath the maritime live oak trees, behind the historic Palmer-Marsh House, and showcases the town’s history with artifacts, maps, a nice 15- minute video, and a staff-guided walking tour. Within 2 hours, by foot and bicycle, we did it all including the self guided tour of the state’s oldest existing church. Back at the Inn, the front porch Adirondacks were waiting. And soon we were each reclined with something to read. I checked out some maritime maps to plan our canoe trip for the next day.

Nearby, the Goose Creek State Park offers camping and general recreation. On our final day and in our big red canoe, we spent three sunny hours exploring the quiet reaches of Goose Creek, another little gem along the inner banks. With our weekend now complete and filled with adventure and relaxation, we headed west for home. We will return to that historic quarter of North Carolina and check in on those two old coastal towns from time to time. –Jayson Delisle of Smallwander.com.

I knew of Appomattox only from the history books. And I’d forgotten most of that history. My wife and I chose to learn a little more with a planned side-trip in Virginia on our way north from North Carolina to Pennsylvania. We allocated 3 hours for the side-trip.

So, while cruising through the colorful Virginia countryside on a cool, fall morning, we left the highway and approached the historic town(s). First we passed a large historical marker notifying us of the upcoming courthouse, and then we passed the courthouse square on the “edge” of town. This is where things get interesting, or confusing, depending on your angle. I’ll challenge the reader to follow the lineage of the local town names and courthouses…it is not as simple as a solitary “Appomattox Courthouse.” But therein lies the motivation for exploration, surely enough to fill a 3 hour side-trip.

Simply put, we started in the Town of Appomattox (where you can get a bite to eat and do other town things), then we drove a couple miles to the Appomattox Court House National Historical Park (where Lee surrendered to Grant, and where you can now walk the same grounds they walked). Here are some of the details, starting with the town.

The Town of Appomattox has a Main Street, bordering the railroad tracks, complete with a sturdy depot housing the visitor center. Parking was on either side of the two-block, one-way street. We walked along the store-front sidewalk opposite the depot as we waited for places to open up at 9 am on this Saturday. The door to Baines Books and Coffee was open. I don’t do coffee, but I liked the ambience of this large, yet cozy meeting place/market space. On request, the owner advised us of a couple local breakfast spots. We chose “The Corner Grill” and walked the block and-a-half around the corner. In the company of local families and a few camouflaged hunters, we enjoyed affordable food, and friendly service. Back at the Train Depot we toured the visitor center and watched a short presentation on the town’s history and significance. Antique shops, a shaded park, tea room, and county museum represent other touring options. The locals also have access to a large library, perfect for reading about all the local history. We chose to see the history in person.

Down the road and over a century back in time, we spent another 2 hours walking the grounds and buildings of the National Historical Park. This was the village where Lee and Grant talked surrender in the parlor of the McLean Home. There is a small fee, and if you like history and pastoral views, it is well worth it. Hopefully you will get as nice a day as we enjoyed. Our camera captured a well-stocked general store, a fortified jailhouse, the split-rail-fence-lined stage coach road, and the vibrant fall backdrop to it all. If you are passing through, see these places for yourself! – Jayson Delisle of Smallwander.com.