Small towns, ice cream and songs

My mother always wished she could have raised her children in the country or a small town.  She came from Woodville, Ga., a little northeast of Greensboro and southwest of Athens, near Union Point.

Although she raised us in College Park, a small town, she was more aware than we were that we really were living in Atlanta.  And while Atlanta in the 1960s had a certain small-city charm, it was no small town.  Though College Park was.

But not as small as Tybee Island, pop: around 3,700.   Mill Creek High School in Gwinnett County has that many students!

Tybee Island

You can’t go many places on this island that’s less than 3 miles long and not run into someone you know.

The librarians know you by name.  When I enter, they are already turning to locate the book on the shelf that I put on hold.

The postmen know you.  They even accept a delivery sent to your street address (which they don’t deliver to) and place it in your PO box.

I want my Breyers

Now if only the local grocer was half as responsive, I wouldn’t have been recently deprived of my favorite ice cream:  Breyers French Vanilla.  For reasons unbeknownst to the employees of the IGA, their ice cream vendor no long carries Breyers.  I have tried their replacement French Vanilla.  Yuk.  And their best vanilla just isn’t creamy enough. So now I must go off island (yikes) to get my Breyers.

Sad, but necessary because my 10 p.m. bowl of ice cream is licked clean by my cat.  And she definitely prefers our Breyers French Vanilla.

With my new CD, I have had three special experiences that are somewhat related to living in a smaller community.

I heard a song of mine on the local radio station.  I was leaving a Savannah Songwriters gig and meeting everyone over at the North Beach Grill for dinner and more music.  Someone came running up to me in the parking lot saying turn the radio to 105.3.  The last third of the “Edge of America” was playing.  That was cool.

Of course,  WRHQ isn’t a Clear Channel or Cumulus station, which may explain how it gets away with local programming, like it’s Second Sunday program of music by local artists.

Not long after that a friend called and said he was walking along the north beach and heard a song he recognized coming from one of the residences.  It took him a minute before he realized it was one of mine!

But even more thrilling was Wednesday night at the Driftaway Café where Tom Cooler was playing on the porch. I’m chowing down on a short rib when all of sudden Tom starts playing my song “Hotter than the 4^th of July.”

Now that’s cool.

If you are interested in receiving email alerts about new postings on this site, please sign up below.

/Users/thomasoliver/Downloads/signature.png