A quiet little town
Jack Atkinson

Some people thrive on the hustle and bustle of the big city. I endured it for 30 years. How nice it will be to get back to quiet little Garfield where nothing ever happens. This myth was shattered this week when a domestic incident erupted into a full scale Faluja. Twelve law enforcement cars, and even the feds arrived to help our local law enforcement. I was on my golf cart hearing the familiar whine of the engine when I heard multiple sirens. Of course we all stop what we are doing and go check it out. I was not sure if it was police, fire or ambulance, my hearing is just not that refined.

Several times a week the church bell in the 1907 Methodist Church rings out to announce the end of Sunday School, and that church is about to begin. It rings sometimes on Wednesday nights to remind the youth of their meeting. The Baptist have a large bell on display on their new church grounds. It would not fit into the new church's steeple. Afew days ago, the Methodists and Baptists of Garfield met together in one of our two yearly combined services. This time the Methodists hosted the Thanksgiving service and provided the food (I would hesitate to call it snacks). Brother Joe Brock, the Garfield Baptist minister brought the message.

This is the season of harvest. The cotton pickers and peanut machines whine on. The great blower at the pecan plant goes on for hours blowing out leaves, twigs and "pops". Such are the sounds of a quiet town. There are lots of activities, business and agricultural, which make these noises.

Seasons are changing and the Christmas rush is on. Mr. Joe has his large Christmas display up and on. He has competition now from his brother-in-law, Jack Frost. Up on the hill in Miss Sally Brown's old house the large wraparound porch is decorated with red bells. Both displays have the entire new fangled pump up balls with snow, deer, and Santa's. None of these make noise, but I am sure singing angels are available somewhere.

Several years ago after 9/11 I told someone that I had seen two Arabs with robes and head scarves lurking by the fire station. There was momentary alarm until I said; they are the Middle Eastern wise men in the community Nativity scene. Years ago, before the marvels of life size plastic Nativity characters, the church youth group persuaded Mr. B. R. Smith to cut plywood backs for our semi life size paper Nativity. We used old pine slats from the sawmill to build what we thought was a manger scene and put up these one dimensional, plywood backed Nativity.

One day a year, at the Garfield Washpot Festival, there are throngs of people, lots of activity, a parade with sirens and bands, roaring lawnmowers for the pull, and bands blaring out for the dance. Generally things are peaceful. Horse rider's because some of the dogs to bark but the horses bring us back to a rural village. The same can not be said for 4-wheelers which roar throughout the town and they spread the red mud from "Clay Hills."

Many of the families on Railroad Street and Avenue sit on their porches year round. There are no secrets in this town. Word travels fast. The drama from household to household, citizen to citizen are there, known but not for print. So on two occasions this fall, law enforcement have acted with drawn guns. This is the outward drama that can be reported. Imagine what can't be!--Jack Atkinson is a guest columnist and a resident of Garfield.

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