The Town's Water Tower

Every single community possesses one.

Alright, allow me to slightly refine that statement. Nearly every community possesses one.

In a significant number of the modest communities into which I've had the good fortune to travel, two prominent structures typically ascend above the rooftops and utility poles. One can observe a church spire (your specific place of worship is irrelevant here) and, naturally, a water tower.

And invariably, whenever I observe that water tower standing proudly against the celestial backdrop, my thoughts turn to my Grandmother. Indeed, my dear Grandma, who departed this world nearly fifty years ago.

It turns out, I've come to realize that a water tower, particularly those that rise majestically over a small settlement, contains not merely water but enchantment. And cherished recollections.

My Grandma resided in the most diminutive dwelling within one of those quaint towns. It was solely her existence there, as Grandpa had passed away even before I had the chance to make his acquaintance. Numerous elements transport me back to my ten-year-old self and my beloved Grandma Grace. Perhaps chief among these recollections is the comforting aroma of recently baked bread.

And, of course, that quintessential small-town water tower.

She lived merely a single block away from its location, you see. This imposing structure, painted a verdant hue, bore the town's appellation conspicuously emblazoned on the side of the immense tank positioned at a considerable elevation. And thankfully, it was indeed positioned at such a height.

I could freely explore the town, peruse the confectionery offerings in the local market's candy aisle, meander over to the baseball diamond, pass by the school's recreational area which, naturally, lay deserted during the heart of summer. I might even venture to the nearby stream and observe a few elderly gentlemen engaged in fishing.

And I could invariably locate Grandma's abode by directing my gaze upward towards my familiar companion, that extraordinary reservoir in the sky. A simple stroll in that direction, and Grandma's residence was... well, simply situated nearby. Should anyone inquire about Grandma's dwelling (They would likely refer to her by her formal adult designation, though she was merely "Grandma" to me), I would simply respond, "Do you see that water tower? She lives down close to the base of it."

Naturally, at that time, I was unaware that the venerable water tower was actively forging memories for me. I suppose that's precisely where the magic lies.

I derive immense pleasure from traversing the byways and highways of South Dakota, with those charming small towns holding a special place in my heart, having personally grown up on a modest farm adjacent to a small community. And I truly cherish the sight of that water tower.

For all these subsequent years, I can still vividly picture Grandma's house, and I know that the delightful aroma of freshly baked bread awaits.

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