East Coast Boy & the Fairfax Fair

This past weekend was the Fairfax Fair. We’ve all been to small town fairs; you know the drill – face-painting, cotton candy, games, baked goods, baby show, queen contest, parade. But the Fairfax Fair is special – partly because Fairfax (pop. 645) is one of those ‘small but mighty’ little towns that just knows how to come together to make things happen, whether it’s a new hospital, an overhauled sidewalk in front of the library, or the annual fair, held in the beautiful city park.

The Fairfax Fair is also special, personally, because it’s one of the events I associate most with growing up in Atchison County. My sister will tell you that my ‘memories’ of childhood cannot really be trusted (apparently many of my recollections aren’t actually…real), but I do remember a few things specifically. For example, I broke my arm when I fell of the slide there the year I was 7 (ask my mean mom about how she basically told me to suck it up and sent me to school the next Monday, only to have the school nurse tell her it was broken. Mean, I tell you…). Dad participated in the program portion of the weekend several times, as a part of the Law & Order Gospel Quartet (yes, that’s right – a Sheriff, a Judge, a School Principle and a High School Counselor) or as a solo act. And we always loved seeing Uncle Roger & Aunt Ann, practically living in the same food booth every year, and the rest of the Martin family that always seemed to be there.

And then there is my favorite memory (which actually happened, I have pictures) – ten years ago this Fairfax Fair weekend was the first time I brought my would-be hubby to Atchison County.

Saying that Keith and I grew up differently is like saying Bill Gates is comfortable, financially. Inner city Irish Catholic East Coast mouse meets rural Midwestern Baptist country mouse. And yet, I didn’t hesitate to bring him home with me. It didn’t occur to me that he might judge this place I hold so dear. After all, I love this place – why wouldn’t everyone else?!

And the great thing about that particular trip home was that he got a glimpse of so many reasons why I love this place, all at once. I asked him this weekend what he remembered about his first Fairfax Fair. He said he saw good folks enjoying a tradition, community pride, American pie & Ford pickups in the heartland of America, close-knit community and kids everywhere, everybody doing what they could to be involved. Pretty cool review by a boy from Boston, eh?

I wonder what Keith’s 2001 self would have said if someone told him that not only was this his first of dozens of trips to Atchison County, but that one day he would be married in a big red and white church here, with his Boston-Maine family in attendance, or that several years after that, he would be living in this county, in a big old farm house with corn and bean fields as his next-door neighbors. I think he might have laughed and said, “Yeah, right. But, I do like this girl, and life has lead me all over the country on random adventures, so who knows what might happen.”

And you know what? He STILL likes me. And my home county, too!

Senior Year, Community & Leadership

Introducing today’s guest blogger, Alyssa Sutter, a fantastic example of our best thing going in Atchison County: youth! Alyssa is the daughter of Kevin & Shelli Sutter, the sister of Ryan, and the girlfriend of Ethan. She is a hard worker, as evidenced by multiple part-time jobs (Hy-Vee, Lesher Pumpkin Patch, babysitting) and school organizations (FBLA, FCA, NHS, NSHSS, Interact, and Culture Club). She is also, naturally, a leader in her school and community (Student Council President, FCCLA President, Junior Auxiliary President). I’ll stop bragging on her now and let her tell you a little about why she loves Atchison County…

My name is Alyssa, and I am a senior at Tarkio High School. When I was asked by Monica to write this blog, I wasn’t for sure what I was going to say. I’ll start by telling you a little about myself. I’ve lived in Atchison County my whole life. I was born in Fairfax, lived outside of Rock Port, lived in Rock Port, lived in Tarkio, and now I live outside of Westboro. My two main hobbies are golfing, and photography. I've been looking forward to my senior year, so I can prepare myself for the next step of my life. College. [= I hope that I can grow as a leader and become a role model for younger students. This is the year I’ve been waiting for; I’m going to embrace it.

What I like about Atchison County, is that you know everyone, or at least know of them. Since I've lived all around the county, I don't have as much rivalry towards the other schools. I can support them as well. I love that every town has a gathering to bring the community closer together. Fairfax has the Fairfax Fair. Tarkio has Friendship Day. Rock Port has Old Fashion Saturday Night. Westboro even has Lord’s Acre Day.

Growing up in a small town, I’ve been given many opportunities that just wouldn’t have been possible in a big city, such as being able to organize a community event. Last year I had the chance to organize Friendship Day with my best friend, Taylor. In a big city, it would be hard for a teenager to organize a community gathering. When tornado hit Joplin, Taylor and I collected donations to be sent down. Something that’s great about Atchison County is that whenever someone tries to do something beneficial, there is always someone that will back them up and help them out.

Talk to you soon. God bless.

One of Alyssa's photographs, taken on her dad's farm in Atchison County. Talented, don't you think?

Coming Home

Please welcome Amy Skillen as today's guest blogger, our first to highlight education in Atchison County. She also teaches Language Arts at Rock Port Junior High & Publications in Rock Port High School. Amy, a native of the Fairfax area, and her husband reside in Rock Port with their three children.

School is about to start up again. I had a nightmare about it last night. This time of year is always hardest for me, even after 13 years of teaching. Sometimes it makes me wonder if I chose the right career. But I don't have to think for long before the anxiety is replaced by excitement and anticipation, and I know that I chose both the right career and the right community in which to practice that career.

When I left my parents farm in rural East Atchison County, my goal was to be rich. When I looked at possible college majors, I needed one that would result in a big paycheck. I was miserable my freshman year of college.

I came home to work the summer between my freshman and sophomore years. My jobs from the previous summer were waiting - life guarding at the Tarkio pool and helping out however I could at Hy-Vee in Tarkio. It was while working at the pool that I had an epiphany: I like kids. Even more surprising, I like kids ages 10-14 better than older or younger kids. Most people consider that a preference worthy of being committed to some sort of hospital where you might not be able to check yourself out, but that just made my conclusion more inevitable -- I needed to teach junior high, regardless of the paycheck.

I immediately felt that a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. Greeting customers at Hy-Vee who almost all knew me or my parents, or a cousin, or an aunt, or a long-deceased great-great uncle further cemented my new-found career path: I would not only teach junior high, I would do it in a small town. I could hardly wait to get back to William Jewell College and change my majors to English, history, and education. I'm really not a true historian, so why did I add history? Why, if I ended up in a really small town, I might need to be able to teach more than one subject!

Life, being what it is, rarely lets us choose a path from point A to point B that we can follow in a straight line. I have a decent lot of close relatives in the Kansas City area, including my dad's wonderful parents, so I thought I'd give metropolitan living a shot. Plus, I was single and everyone knows you have a better chance of catching a fish in a larger sea, right? I taught my first year teaching high school English in Kansas City and my second year teaching ninth grade English in Independence. (A change in the state education system had landed me with a 9-12 certification instead of a 7-12 one.) Was I miserable? Far from it. I still loved kids and teaching... but a fish from the itty-bitty pond of Atchison County got snared on my hook. I would marry a transplant to Atchison County who perhaps at the time appreciated my homeland more than I did. I was headed back to rural living.

The initial plan was to stay in Rock Port a couple of years, then possibly move back to the Kansas City area. However, once I had taught in a small school and started a family, I knew I would never let my children attend a large school. I don't love my small school students any more than I loved my city school students, but I can give them so much more attention; students are much less likely to fall through the cracks; and the staff with which I work all care as much as I do. With 10 students in a class period, rather than a minimum of 18 and possibly up to 32, I can assign so many more writing assignments. Maybe that makes my students moan, but they will be soooo much better off for the experiences they will have. Instead of writing one essay in freshman English, students at Rock Port write at least four. (Susan Nauman teaches that class.) I am so thankful that Rock Port never jumped on the "block scheduling" band wagon; I truly cover nearly as much material in the 45-minute periods here as I covered in the 90-minute periods in the city.

Of course, one can get an amazing education in the city, but every day I am thankful that I am raising my children in Atchison County, where I know all my students' parents, all my children's teachers, where I see my parents twice a week. Though August makes me misty-eyed with nostalgia for the summer about to pass, when I walk into my classroom to greet a new crop of seventh graders, I know I have come home once again... and I'm not leaving.

PICTURE: Rock Port High School Mass Media class, which produces the yearbook and Blue Jay Corner in the Atchison County Mail

Everything I needed to know about small town living, I learned from my car.

I tend to drive cars with personality…as in cars with lots of dents, dings and odometers in the six figures. Not surprisingly I often have car issues….they just don’t tend to be the kind of car issues you would expect! I thought I might share some of the things I’ve learned by small town driving.

1.      When you first get your driver’s license, look both ways at the 3-way stop before pulling out. Otherwise, you might run into your principal’s son. Awkward.

2.      Scrape your windows. Otherwise, you might back into a school bus in your own driveway and all the kids will know about it before the bell rings for first period.

3.      Pay for your gas. Otherwise, the gas station owner will recognize you by the cashier’s description of a woman driving a red mini-van with a baby seat and find your husband on his cell, who will tease you mercilessly.

4.      Check your purse for money. Otherwise, you will have to go borrow money from your friend on Main Street and then go back and pay while the cashiers giggle.

5.      Do use local service stations. I once took my car in for an oil change. The owner refused to give me my car back with the tires that were on it. They were worn beyond belief and he was concerned for my safety. He put on a pair of loaners and ordered me some new tires. A month later I got a bill for the new tires. I called the service station, ready to accuse them of billing me without putting on the new tires. Come to find out, they had come up to work, taken my car and put the new tires on two weeks ago.

6.      Do not drive up big icy hills with 2-wheel drive. Otherwise you will have to call your boss to rescue you with a chain and a pickup while you stand watching…embarrassed.

7.      Do have quarters laying around. Washing the bugs off in the summer, the salt in the winter, the sap in the summer and the “good luck at districts” paint can be a full-time job.

8.      Do give your cars nicknames. If you own a catering business, expect to have the local youth call your car a baked bean mobile for the interesting aroma that develops after 5 years of spillage.

9.      Do drive vehicles with many seats. Otherwise, your kids’ friends, their toys, six Happy Meals, all the supplies you need for the baseball game, swimming pool and bible school and your dog won’t fit.

10.   Do get a bumper sticker that says where you are from….cause you know you can leave your keys in the car, get 9 warnings before a ticket, have bald tires, get stuck on an icy road and forget to pay for gas and they still love you anyway!

Baseball and Bathroom Breaks

It was recently noted by one of our readers, that we needed a male voice. Apparently, men are harder to talk into things then women because the only man I could talk into doing this was the one I'm married too! Speaking of talking him into things, I asked him to write about something that I talked him in to doing several years ago-----coaching Aaron's baseball team. I have fond memories of the parents who invested their time in my teams and in my own growth  through the years. Here in our corner of the world, it is common to be coached by the same parents and play with the same kids from age 3 until 18. You can't help but know every child and parent in your kids' class. I love the comfort of knowing exactly who my kid comes home talking about and knowing that child also knows me (and adores my husband)!  Thanks to "coach" for writing this week! 


Wife: “Coaches meeting for baseball is this week.”

Husband:  “Oh, I didn’t realize it was here already.”

Wife: “Yup, I signed you up to coach again.”

Thanks goodness that coach’s wife remembered to do that.  In a small town, there’s plenty of ways to spend your time.  I’m fortunate that I get to spend my summer coaching my son’s baseball team.

This was my third year coaching my son, Aaron’s team.  His teammates haven’t changed all that much, which is great.  They look forward to seeing each other on the field every year.  When the first practice rolls around, if someone isn’t there, they all need to be assured that D. is out of town and K is at a birthday party, but yes, they will be playing.

To the boys, baseball wouldn’t be the same without all of their friends involved… and I agree.  In fact, this year I called two sets of parents whose kids missed the sign-up.  The boys had been talking at school and a couple of them didn’t know about this year’s schedule.  Of course, I know all the parents of the kids my son goes to school with so they were just a phone call away.

Officially, I have one other coach, but I really have more.  The same group of Dad’s helps each year.  I organize the practice schedules, make sure to send text reminders out about games and answer parent’s questions.  But after that, we all make it happen, in fact, our third base coach changes almost every game.

Here are a few things I’ve come to expect from coaching at this level:

1)    At any given time, someone is going to be digging in the dirt, watching and airplane or waving to someone in the stands.  So, a hit by the other team, will be a surprise to one of our players. I guess that adds to the excitement of the game…

2)    D. will ask me before every game, “Can I pitch today coach?”  I respond the same way very game, “Not today.”  Then I turn I smile.  I would miss it if he didn’t ask.  D., by the way, is an excellent third baseman.  He rarely misses the ball and he tags the base every time… I mean every time… even if there isn’t a base runner.  By the way, D. has never practiced pitching.

3)    H. will, while pitching, have a conversation with himself.  We are not sure what he is saying or who he is saying it to.  He will nod and shake his head in the direction of the catcher as appearing as if he is selecting his pitches.  Never mind that the catcher has no idea this selection process is occurring and has no intention of retrieving H.'s pitch if it doesn’t some directly to him.

4)    A lot of boys will be on the ground as a part of catching or stopping the ball.  And they most likely will not be in a hurry to get up.

5)    The dugout, while we are batting, is like a Jr. High track meet.  Unless they are up to bat or ‘on deck,” they are busy filling their water cups, going to the concession stand, running to talk to their parents or discussing the newest Transformers movie.  We try, but they have their own agendas.

6)    Aaron will field the ball and occasionally make a smart play.  It won’t always turn out like he envisioned it, but it’s great to see him play.  His understanding of the game, in this case, is ahead of his physical ability.  He tries hard and though he makes mistakes, I’m always proud of him.

This past year, in the middle of the inning, an opposing team’s player walked off the field announcing that he needed to use the bathroom.  Typically a pitcher is relieved, but in this case, the shortstop was relieved, literally.

Coaching has been a blessing.  We don’t seem to win often, but the boys tend to forget that by the next game.  We hold practices, try to instill fundamentals, encourage them often and watch them grow.  I can see the potential in each of the boys, so I know next year will be even better.

Being in a small town may mean that we don’t have an ex-college player or ex-semi pro coaching our teams.  It does, however, mean that there is someone like me coaching.  Someone who is doing it for his son.  Someone who respects each boy on that team like they are his son.  Someone who cares less about winning, and more about playing with character.  Someone who will be there for them, beyond baseball.  Now that’s a small town, and that’s what’s great ‘out here.”

Overwhelming Goodness

It’s been an up and down kind of summer in Atchison County. We’ve had celebrations to commemorate a church’s anniversary and our country’s birthday. We’ve hosted an incredible air show. We’ve played softball, volleyball, baseball, and splashed in the city pools. We’ve gardened and barbequed and chased fireflies. But we’ve also been battling a relentless flood.

On Memorial Day, I learned that water was coming, and that it was going to be “as bad or worse than ’93.” Yikes. Dread, fear and concern began leaking in around the edges of our collective subconscious, but those feelings were secondary to the need to act, and those of us who had something to do were thankful. For two different weeks in June, my office coordinated meals and such for two sandbagging operations, which involved running ice and beverages when needed and spending oodles of time discussing details with volunteers.

For me, those weeks were overwhelming for several reasons. First, it was a different kind of work than I was used to, a constant commotion of thinking talking planning doing, moving from task to task, location to location. Second, it was emotionally difficult to see the water creep into MY county, with every intention of staying for months. It was violating, offensive. Simultaneously, I was overcome with rage and an oppressive feeling of helplessness.

The last kind of overwhelming was yet another reason why I love this place, and why I grew up trusting in the decency of others: good people live here. One day, I would be working with church ladies, veteran women who didn’t flinch when I called at the last minute to say, ‘Um…we’re going to need meals for 75, not 50 like we discussed.” The next day, I would talk to an individual who had purchased enough ingredients to feed an army and was ready with her assembly line of friends to throw sandwiches together at any minute. Another day, a local business volunteered to feed not only one site, but both, and delivered a bbq spread like none other. One day, I couldn’t find enough meals for what we needed, so a busy mom hit the pavement and requested donations from businesses in the area. Those businesses, by the way, were immediately and seriously impacted by the flood – still, they gave.

My work was insignificant compared to what others were taking on. I wasn’t one of the amazing volunteers who lived at the sandbag-filling site every day, physically tying sandbags or helping out behind the scenes wherever needed. I was not one of the people stacking those sandbags on a levee in the unforgiving, unyielding sun. I wasn’t spending hours working with state and federal organizations to make things happen. But still, even I got calls and emails of encouragement from cheerleaders in the community. I built the kind of in-the-trenches friendships that only happen in times of crisis. And I was able to see, day in and day out, the caliber of people that are committed to living here.

It’s been an up and down summer here. We’ve worked and we’ve wept, but we’ve also Lived every time we had the opportunity. We’ve had endless discussions about who caused this flood; it’s an understandable reaction, a need to assign blame and to determine who should be held accountable for this disaster. But personally, I don’t spend much time thinking about that. It's too big, too far out of my control, and it feels almost irrelevant to my focused, 'it's here, now how do we fix it and move forward' mindset. I am concerned about where our county will be on the other side of this – but this summer I have witnessed our citizenry’s capacity for generosity and diligence and hard work, and I know that no matter what comes next, there’s no group of people I’d rather be standing with.

~MMB

Lil' Firecrackers and Lil' Blue Jays

Please welcome Jennifer Herron our guest blogger today. Jen is a member of our Community Hospital team, a busy community volunteer and a talented writer, but most importantly, she is a mommy to two adorable children, Ryder (3) and Reese (1). Jennifer is not from Atchison County, but has made it her home after marrying a hometown boy. Jen does a beautiful job of describing a day in the life of a small town mommy and what it means to her to be raising her children here. 

One of the best examples of a great weekend in Rock Port could not come at a better time.

Fourth of July weekend in Rock Port is comparable to being at the North Pole on Christmas.  Memorial Park was buzzing with activity across the street from our house before our coffee was even brewing. Just looking at the park, I could already smell the remains of sparkers, funnel cakes and sun block.

Our phones started ringing early in the morning from friends and family. Since our house is so close the festivities, everyone wanted to know if they could set up camp in our yard for the day. Can they use our bathroom, can they get some ice? Do we have an extra blanket? Yes, sure, come on in.

It doesn’t matter that I only ever see you in the convenience store or that you know my children’s names better than mine. On a holiday, or on just a regular week day, you are more like family here.

At 10:00 in the morning, we load up the stroller with snacks, bottled water, sun block and swimming suits. Friends park their cars in our yard and we all head to the park together. There’s the high school wrestling coach sitting on a plank above the dunk tank. There are the 4-H Club kids trying to keep all the frogs corralled for the frog jumping contest and the jumping castle is taking shape.

We spend the next two hours basking in the sun, listening to kids squealing in delight and watching little babies all decked out in red, white and blue win prizes for “best smile” and “chubbiest cheeks” in the baby contest.

When it is time for lunch, we all load up and head back to home base. Some of our friends needed to go back to their house across town for a change of clothes, but we took their little ones back with us because they were hungry. We will feed them just as if they were our kids and they will fit in as if they were always here. The babies fall asleep for quick naps together in one crib and the older kids excitedly talk about how high they jumped in the castle.

This holiday is just one of the great examples of why I love living in this community. I did not grow up here, but always visited because it is where my mother, father and generations before were raised. I will be honest and say that it did take some getting used to.  But eventually, that old feeling of “everyone knows my business” transformed into “everyone has my back.”

If your car breaks down on the side of the road in the college town I used to live in, you’d be weary to ask for help from a passing motorist. If it happens here, the first person to stop will likely be one of the farmers who drink coffee with your grandpa every morning. There’s one thing less to worry about, and the stress relievers just keep coming.

Once, I left my phone at the pool, but it was waiting for me by the time I got home, because someone found it, recognized my little girl’s picture on the screen and dropped it off at the house. My husband’s billfold fell out of his truck at the grocery store. A man called him from the store to tell him before my husband even realized it was lost.

These little details and so many more are what make raising my kids here the easiest decision I have ever made. Where else you could feel as safe? Where else can you go where the whole village is on the same team in raising the children? It’s comfy, convenient and close and makes being a mother just that much easier!