“Somewhere, USA”

The air here was always fresh. Taking a step outside was taking a step into wild forests, criss-crossed with trails. Mountains reached towards the sky in the distance, seeming shorter from here than the locals would otherwise tell you. The summers were warm and bright, and the winters cold and harsh. The people would tell you that the in-between is the worst. The ground “coming alive”, slick with mud from snowmelt and knee deep in some spots.

The people who would tell you are few and far between though. The few clustered neighbourhoods around the center of town contained only a few families each. Small houses and large yards were always in style and some even had acres of land made up of those wild forests and trails. 

A single general store was present, selling food and basic necessities. A U.S. Post Office was also combined with the general store, sharing the same building. Across the road was town hall, its granite pillars the only evidence of any order in the otherwise haphazard construction of the surrounding buildings.

A bar, a salon, and tiny farmstand were the only other establishments surrounding the main road. The locals adored the bar as one of a kind in service and drink. The few chairs at the hair salon were almost always empty, but the open sign still always hung outside its door. The farmstand sat on the corner of the main road and another, allowing for tents and tables to be erected every Saturday for the town’s farmer’s market.

To anyone else, this life was lonely and sad. No one came. No one left. Those that are there still insist they are the ones who win in that deal. “The isolation has its perks.” they say. And so they stay, as one interconnected community— disconnected from the rest of the country.