What does 'sense of community' mean to you? Is there one where you live? If it wasn't for a blizzard, a sense of community, & a plucky older lady I wouldn't be posting on this page.
Almost 30 years ago we spent New Year with family in the Yorkshire Dales. The weather was terrible, freezing, sleet, snow and gales. It felt fantastic! A lovely sense of coming home... It brought back childhood memories of chapped legs when my socks kept falling down and the rain pelted on to my knees (why didn't we just wear trousers?), of struggling home from school through blustery winds. I loved the feeling of battling the elements. At that point I was still living in London, where I'd moved for work. We never had more than a ground frost yet everyone put on their boots and made a drama out of a little ice, a real contrast to how people deal with bad weather here in North Yorkshire.
While the blizzard was in full battle, an old lady came down the drive of the place in the Dales where we were staying to deliver the local newsletter. Idly flicking through it, I spotted details of a forthcoming village celebration and a request for volunteers.
I wanted to be there. I wasn't from that village but I liked the fact that some one had wanted to spread the word about what was happening in their Wharfedale village enough to deliver local newsletters in a blizzard. Some one loved their village enough to plan a celebration which depended entirely on goodwill and volunteers. I still remember feeling tearful reading about that event. It reminded me of years ago how my mum had cajoled my sister and I into helping her run local events, into wrapping presents for 80 children in the local nursery, into sitting dressed as Mary Quite Contrary on the back of a float in a village procession.
Contrast that with my life in London at that time. We didn't know the names of many neighbours. One time my young daughter and I baked biscuits and took them round to an elderly man living next door. He was so moved, he burst into tears because he never talked to anyone. If the local nursery needed to fundraise they wrote to parents asking for cheques. A "sense of community" was just that - a sense but not an actual thing.
When I read that newsletter I was so homesick for the way of life I'd thought of as normal when a child. I wanted to swap my heels for the comforting feel of wellies. I longed for hills, bad weather, real people and community.
It was very different for my husband. He'd only ever lived in big cities in different parts of the world. He'd never worn wellies. It took me months to convince him (there's nothing more stubborn than a Yorkshire woman), and over a year to find exactly the right place to live but we did it. We moved back to Yorkshire.
The local butchers reminds me of the one from my childhood. Shopping takes ages because people know each other and stop to talk.
Life came full circle a couple of years ago. There was a big snow storm and the temperature dropped to -3. Schools and roads closed. Then there was a knock at my door. It was Liz, a lovely lively lady always full of anecdotes and fun. She was taking advantage of the break in the blizzard to deliver the local Parish News! Time has moved on and the Parish News is no-longer printed: even that has gone digital, but we still have a strong sense of community and every time it snows I remember that blizzard years ago and am glad to be here.