I live with my family in a small, New England seaside town. It’s very quaint and pretty.

For years I had dreamed of living in such a place. Other teenage girls had posters of Bon Jovi on their walls. I had maps of Boston. Then, at a time when I thought all was lost, God made it a reality and I found myself in an old Victorian house just a block from the harbor.

Many people ask me why I wanted to move to New England of all places. Most people prioritize the weather when they think about their ideal place to live. I thought of the weather, too. I look forward to the change of seasons. Something about it keeps the air so crisp and fresh.

There’s also the amazing variety of experiences, where you can go sailing, go to the beach, camp lakeside, hike or ski in the mountains, visit the city or a farm all within a two hours’ drive or less. Not trying to be a travel guide here, I just love New England and I’ve never regretted moving here once in the 29 years since I arrived.

One of my very favorite things, though, is that the natives are truly genuine. They will let you know the truth, whether you like it or not. Some people say New Englanders are rude. Perhaps some are. But, I’d rather have real neighbors than fake ones. It’s easier to sort out who your real friends are. Once friendships are forged, they mean something for life. For better or worse. (Let’s hope it’s for better.)

Everyone knows that in small towns word gets around fast. Sometimes it beats you home. So, it’s best to keep your nose clean. Of course, there are those who don’t care to stay clean. I have plenty of stories to tell you about that in posts to come. But, first, this one. It was told to me very casually not long after I moved to town. That in itself is a curious thing, how townies recount certain events as if they aren’t out of the ordinary at all.

I vividly remember one mild, sunny day when a weathered paddle-boarder walked up from the harbor as I was weeding the front garden. He stopped to exchange pleasantries as most people in the neighborhood do, then he said without any change of inflection in his voice at all that an elderly woman had attempted to rob the local bank. He said she just waddled straight up to the counter, which she could barely see over, and demanded all of their money. Apparently the bank manager knew the woman and gently said, “I’m sorry, Ms. So-and-So, but the vault is empty today.” She huffed and puffed, holding up a finger in stern warning and said to him, “Okay, but I’ll be back tomorrow!” Then she left the same way she went in.

Ms. So-and-So did return the next day, and several days thereafter to have the same conversation until she finally gave up. Thanks to a kind hearted and quick thinking bank manager, all was well again in the village.

Perhaps it’s not the best tale to tell visitors, but to me it makes this town even more strangely endearing.