We have all heard of that Village
The one it takes to raise a human
The one required to maintain perspective
The one sought to stay sane.
Where is this Village in 2026?
It’s not on a map; GPS cannot help you.
It is less geographic than spectral
But if you squint, you can find it.
The Village resides in the sigh of
the fourth snow day of the week
in playrooms spun into slumber retreats.
In minivans spinning over ice to
ferry a gaggle of kids to snow forts.
This vaunted Village swirls in
the hot skillets in which a slew of
pancakes rise and brown before
being grabbed and gobbled by kin,
genetic and otherwise.
That Village is in the pixels of the
FaceTime calls where youth
conscientiously consult on
history projects imminently due,
and in offers of
community theatre tickets
to cheer on
neighbors-turned-burgeoning stars.
This Village is felt
in the transformation of
winter-bleak, dormant front yards
into slick sledding hills filled with
the shrieks and squeals of hordes of
as-yet-unknown local children.
Our Village is alive within
an invitation for walk-over
cocktails and couch chats,
that is, if your boots can
handle the snow drifts.
The Village lives within
the neighborhood listserv,
wherein self-appointed leaders
call on our elected officials for
expedited plow service.
Where elderly women plead for
rides and groceries so that
millennial residents,
hearing the siren call,
feel compelled to jump in,
once, twice, again until
intergenerational friendships bloom.
That Village appears
in the teachers
who preemptively lobby the
county for extensions on
mandatory assignments.
In medical professionals who
offer last-minute virtual care
in lieu of both parties
chipping cars out from the
plow-hardened icebergs lining
the street like arctic hay bales.
This Village vibrates
in virtual chats
held with recent strangers,
now new friends,
who are vulnerable with
one another, open already,
as we navigate the
vagaries of our next
career pivot or life chapter.
The Village presents itself in those
text messages that convey:
"Keep a lookout!
They're on their way.
They claim they can
walk home alone...
but I am here
to drive them,
if you need."
Our Village —
the one we have
sought for so long
the one we paid for with
life overhauls
and hefty local taxes
and wishes
cast to the sky
on empty playgrounds —
now appears
all around us,
embracing us
with enrichment
in laughter and meals
by the hearth,
in comfort and company.
The Village resounds in the
Emergency Alert push notification
that perkily pings all iphones in
the region with a dreaded message:
CODE RED - Schools CLOSED on Friday.
"I am here...if you need."
Withhold that roll of eyes,
because what they say is true.
It wholly does take a Village —
and I am so grateful that
my Village found me.
