I was always considered special while I travelled.
The small town mentality that I was raised with went with me wherever I went.
And no one I met really understood that.
Granted, Annaheim is tiny. Lake Lenore is tiny. Muenster is tiny. Spalding is even more tiny. But all these places have a lot to offer.
It was quite humorous when we lived in Alfred, Ontario during the Katimavik program; a program designed to show off the beauty of Canada from small towns to big cities.
It was about the size of St. Brieux with a Subway, Rona, good sized grocery store and a couple of good restaurants.
An okay size to me and it was a beautiful place. It had walking trails all around the town and we did do a lot of walking while we were there.
The local college was a branch of University of Guelph and the township was situated on the highway between Ottawa and Montreal so it had plenty of traffic coming through town.
We were there in the winter and the trails and city streets were snowy and beautiful.
To someone from Toronto, Richmond, London, Sainte John, etc. it was Podunk.
This town had nothing to offer according to my friends that I had met along the way.
Our project leader was also from Ottawa and I do not really remember going out into the community and finding things to do that involved people specifically from the community.
From what I remember she had this same, ‘we’re in the middle of nowhere’ mentality the others did.
Everyone was very vocal about what this town lacked. You’d hear them on the phone to their families complaining about how this was a nothing town.
There’s nothing to do.
There is no where we can go.
Now imagine me walking into this mentality.
I will note that this does not make them bad people. These are some of the closest friends I have ever made. Looking back, I do remember that I was defined a lot by my small towness.
I was from a town even smaller than this nothing town. So what did that make me?
I was an anomaly. A freak of rural Saskatchewan.
For months after we started living together, we were constantly meeting new people.
My introduction to these people was constantly, ‘Becky, tell them how big your town is.’ ‘Becky, you graduated with how many people, again?’
And it was not just the numbers of it all, either.
I was glaringly different compared to the city participants.
I spoke with strangers, it seemed I was more willing to help out, I was very forward with new ideas to try.
I was wide eyed every time we visited places like Ottawa and Montreal, and I was very open about the fact that I was awed by it all.
I don’t remember the exact wording of the comment but someone did point out the fact of, ‘you’ve never even been to a place this big, have you?’
Growing up in a place where you volunteered a lot, a whole program dedicated to volunteering in towns and city you’ve never been to was a dream for me.
But I was this new idea people had to get used to. I blew peoples’ minds just by existing in such a small and isolated place.
I think we missed out on a lot of things that could have presented small town life as something more desirable to my big city friends.
Part of the reason was the timing. We were there from mid-November to mid-February. The town sign boasted numerous events happening in the spring and summer. We just were not there for it all.
But their attitudes towards the place itself played a big role in how they treated Alfred.
If you walk into a place thinking it has nothing to offer you, there is very little that is going to change your mind on the subject.
That was the reason I was treated so differently than everyone else.
How could I have existed in a place that has nothing to offer?
It obviously did have something to offer because I did indeed exist in that place. I thrived in that place. That place molded who I was long after I left it.
