Seven Fenns: Exactly What It Should Be

I so absolutely love our little town--the one we were all raised in, same as our dad, same as his dad...and so on. A small rural town surrounded by grassfields, cornfields, blueberries, hazelnuts (or filberts, depending on who you talk to), cows, Christmas Trees and million dollar views. We're nestled in the gorgeous countryside between the state capital and the state's largest city--just far enough away from the 'city' to be arrogantly relieved but close enough for things like Costco and state-of-the-art healthcare and airports. The ocean is a mere hour and a half drive, the desert two, and the mountains one.

And it's exactly what it should be.

On Friday nights the pizza places are jammed before and after the football game.

We rally behind the family who loses a home to fire.

A bond enables the high school to be a safe, stunning, and educational work of art.

The local FFA hosts a 'drive your tractor to school' day and the town itself has a Poetry Festival, Fine Arts Festival, Founder's Festival, Strawberry Festival, a Pet Parade and truly believes and celebrates that Santa lives in our town.

Our families boast astronauts, state legislators, NFL players, and internationally renowned doctors, researchers, and writers. We have food carts and are the gateway to two of Oregon's top tourist attractions.

And yet we're still exactly what we should be.

With penny parking meters, antique stores, and a Homecoming Parade that shuts down two state highways.

We're proud of our town. Believe it's the best. And wouldn't trade it for anything.

This last weekend when my little family and I were sitting at a wooden picnic table at one of the festivals, eating a Hawaiian Chicken Bowl, Elephant Ear, and Root Beer Float, one of the food carts was blaring a country song that made me look at the moment through a different set of eyes and whether it was the pregnancy hormones, or the picture I'd seen on the news of a father using his body to protect his infant son when the bomb sirens screamed over his Israeli town, I was incredibly overwhelmed with gratitude for how lucky our family and our little town are.

And so I teared up (re: sobbed) and my husband freaked and we got another elephant ear and that country song played in my head the rest of the night as images from the day constantly replayed in my head.

When you hear twin fiddles and a steel guitar
You're listenin' to the sound of the American heart
And opry music on a Saturday night
Brings a smile to your face and a tear to your eye