I appreciate the helpful comments on my last cryptic post. I think I had confused even myself by the end, though I must admit I'm no closer to actually dealing with the situation that prompted the post. Maybe someday.
Tonight is the first Farmers' Market in Livingston, which in this small town is a bit like someone from Vienna saying, "Tonight is the Opera Ball." Everybody turns out, even though the growing season around here means that there are very few actual farmers until later in the season. There are craftspeople and bakers and charities and live music and giant plates of roasted pork and everybody you haven't seen since last summer.
When I'm at the Farmers' Market, I never wonder why I live here. The market is nestled between the Yellowstone River and the duck pond at Sacajawea Park, which has to be one of the only parks in Montana with a full-time, live-on groundskeeper. Every direction has a mountain view. Kids run around in packs, but not the scary kind. Older kids keep an eye out for younger kids. Some of them go and dance on the bandshell. It's small-town life of the kind that is actually fairly new to me.
Livingston is by far the smallest town I've ever lived in, and some days that gives me fits. Not today. Today is the first Farmer's Market.
Update: The Opera Ball has been rained out. Stupid rain. Good for the farmers, not so much for the Farmers' Market.