Charlottesville
By: Morgan Peterson
04/13/2011

In the middle of a large expanse of rolling hills sits a small
American town.  If you travel to this town filled with white painted
houses, small churches, and a small school you will find the residents
smiling and laughing in bright sunshine.  These country folk will not
smile at you, though.  Not until you meet the man who pumps the gas
into your car or the friendly lady who works at the general store. You
will exchange names and handshakes with them.  You will let them know
that you are passing through, where it is that you are coming from,
and where it is that you are going to.  By the time you pull away from
the gas pump or the store, the call is going out to each and every
neighbor.  Before you give up on finding a radio station that will
come in here, everyone in town knows your name, where you are from and
where it is that you are going to.  You are no longer a stranger in
this town and the glares that had greeted you turn to smiles.

As you drive away from this town, you will pass by a cemetery on a
hill filled with large oak trees.  A dozen sir names, a couple of
unmarked plots, and to many babies lie in the shade of these great
trees.  Life in the country is difficult and few families were able to
stick it out.  You weren't here long enough to know any of this,
though, and you will continue down the highway thinking that you just
passed through a slice of quiet heaven.

The part of this town that you will not see is the satellite of farms
that surround it.  If you were to follow any of the small dirt roads
or numerous horse paths, you will find red barns, rusty silos, and
homes that date back to the Civil War.  None of these places connect
to the highway and are rarely seen by the outside world.