The other night we took our New York City guests to dinner at Jimella’s.  Hostess Nanci greeted us and immediately ‘recognized’ Penny as Louise Espy’s daughter, welcomed her to the  restaurant in particular and to the peninsula in general, and offered condolences on her reason for being here which was to bury her mother.

Even before we were seated, we were waving at folks at a nearby table and, in short order, our friend Cate left her meal and came over to exchange hugs and tell us they were there celebrating her mother’s 90^th.  Later, the entire restaurant sang Happy Birthday to Virginia.  The sense of community was palpable.

As those who live here know, such occurrences are not unusual; they are very nearly the norm.  Visitors often comment that we “must know everyone” which, of course, only seems to be the case if you are from elsewhere.  I am constantly amazed at how many people I don’t know and how frequently I meet people who have lived here for years, though our paths have never crossed.

Still, I do remember clearly, when I first came here that there was no such thing as taking a sick day from work if you weren’t truly sick.  At the very least, you had to stay indoors and keep a low profile – no bopping into the grocery store or going off to Astoria for a day of sight-seeing.  Although I frowned on such practices even when I lived in the big city, the feeling that you were anonymous in a crowd there was pervasive.  Not so here.

I try to explain to those amazed visitors that, in a small community, you seldom know people in isolation.  When I was teaching, for instance, I became acquainted with my kids’ parents as do all teachers everywhere, and with their siblings, their grandparents and often their other relatives and ex-relatives, as well.  But here, it was far more likely that I also knew those adults in other roles – as the storekeeper, the plumber, the postmaster, the teller at the bank, the receptionist at the local clinic.

I saw familiar faces at community meetings or read about people I knew in the newspaper. We worked together at festivals and joined forces to pass bond issues.  And, over the years, I’ve watched the youngsters grow up, I’ve attended their graduations and weddings and baby showers and, now, even have the good fortune to be ‘friended’ by some of them on Face Book.

The greater community – the peninsula – is large enough so that there are always interesting new people to meet, but small enough that we seem to recognize someone no matter where we go.  It’s a comfortable feeling, this living in proximity.  I don’t know if I’d like going back to life in the big city.  More to the point, I don’t know if I’d be able to cope…