Down on the Farm

You know you live in a small town when the main attraction on Saturday night was a party in a barn. I just had to go check it out.

It was actually a fund-raiser for the historic Little Red Schoolhouse north of Pampa. It's not used as a school but is a historic site. It's eight miles north of town, near my sister's farm. The party Saturday night was at a neighboring farm -- in a barn.

The party was fun. They had a barbecue meal, live music, an auction and cow tipping. OK, no cows were tipped. I made up that part. That would be a good idea for next year, though.

The fund-raiser seemed to be a success. It was a packed house ... or in this case a packed barn.

I saw a couple of my former teachers there. And there were several people who seemed to know me, but I couldn't place them. I get that a lot. I've only been back in Pampa two months -- after being gone 17 years -- and everywhere I go in town I see people who know my name.

That has happened at the grocery store, at restaurants and everywhere I go. People come up to me, and they know my name but I don't have a clue who they are. I'm not good at remembering names. If I'm lucky, they tell me their names, but sometimes I still don't know who they are.

I'm really surprised, though, that so many people remember me. A lot of them remember seeing me on my three-wheel bicycle that I used to ride all over town.

I guess that's the thing about small towns -- everyone is friendly, and everybody knows everybody else. And probably everybody else's business, too!