Small Towns Have a Harmony All Their Own

Reflections of the music of neighborly stories and the history of togetherness.

A small town is like a song everyone knows by heart—familiar, catchy, and shared by generations. Those who grew up there can sing every word without thinking, each note carrying memories of laughter, struggles, and traditions passed down over time. The baritones, basses, and altos know where to come in with harmony alongside the leads, and even the tone-deaf know how to make a beautiful chorus of memorized lines and phrases.

But for newcomers, there are verses they haven't heard and meanings they may not fully grasp yet; they hum along, learning the tune, as the town’s melody weaves them in slowly, verse by verse.

I’ve been weaving myself into the small-town music here for nearly nineteen years. I can’t sing lead, but I know the harmony parts now.

Photo by Dave Hoefler on Unsplash

The Music of Home

This past weekend, that melody wafted over me in a literal way. Hometown-raised author and singer

Michael Perry

came to town to put on a reading and benefit concert for the town’s park fundraiser.¹ When Perry took the stage, he included stories of youthful adventures and life lessons learned and applied just blocks away on Main Street.

Where once the names or situations were all strangers to me, now, I chuckled along in the places where I knew just which so-and-so it was that runs the gravel pit and which last names have been in the community since the town’s history. They are legends now.

When the band—The Long Beds—joined Perry and filled the boxy corners of the gymnasium with toe-tapping originals he’s written over the years, it felt familiar to tap along, even though I didn’t know the lyrics. I don’t know if it was being in the same gymnasium where he was once a student or if it was the presence of community, but it all felt like home.

I live in what was once a church and parsonage that has since been attached together and all turned into a single-family home. Here’s a little piece of history from long ago.

Going Alone

My husband couldn’t make the concert. Being an introvert means I usually have to push myself to attend much of anything. Midlife has amplified my desire to stay home and skip social events. I’m not at all shy, but I’d have loved to stay home, all snug and cozy. Burrowed into my work or a book.

But something said, “Go.”

I scanned the crowd for familiar faces. Many of them were familiar. The glory of a small town of 550 people is that wherever you go, there are people you’ve seen before, even if you don’t know their names. I spotted my next-door neighbors. I’m ashamed to admit that I seldom talk to them. Too burrowed into my own stuff, I guess.

There was an empty chair, and I invited myself to sit with them. Chatted for fifteen minutes before the concert and during intermission. My face enjoyed the smile muscle workout between conversations and Perry’s humor. Clusters of others all over the room contained similar joyful sounds.

Never Truly Alone

I can’t even put into words what it means to live in a community like this. I attended alone, but in such a town, you’re never truly alone. The community’s heartbeat is yours too, a shared rhythm of moments big and small that bind everyone together in the song of life.

I’d be willing to bet money—if I were a betting girl—that there is plenty of discord in our philosophies on life, politics, religion, and family in that room. But that can’t stop the harmony.

Together, we create something deeper than the sum of our parts—a song that carries laughter across front porches and over fields, whispers comfort through hard times, and weaves joy into everyday moments. It is a song that belongs to everyone, and as each note rises and falls, we are reminded that there is always room for someone else in the chorus—even the off-key ones.

The originals will come and go, and transplants like me will find a home, raise our kids, make some friends, serve on the school board, and even watch our offspring rise up to teach the generation after them. I know because it’s my story. My sons teach in the school from where they graduated. And the song plays on.

Thank you, New Auburn, Wisconsin, for teaching this introvert that I’m part of the music too.

1. Check out https://sneezingcow.com or find Michael Perry on Substack at Michael Perry’s Voice Mail.