I have been to the little quiet and sleepy town of Dunsmuir before.  It was back when my son Sam was first born.  I remember staying at a little hotel by the road.  We packed his playpen and set it up next to us by the bed.

The day before yesterday we returned, and through a writer’s eyes it looks so much different.  There were several small business owners I had never taken notice of before.  Folks that managed hotels, restaurants, and bookstores.  Some lived on site or out of town but still, for me, it was fascinating.

I do not seek small town life and do not wish to seem patronizing in describing this little place off the freeway.  Folks live and survive in this town daily with their businesses and spotless restaurants, and with their day to day lives.  Truthfully, I would probably be labeled a “city girl” or most likely a crazy author slash cultural anthropologist there to observe and note.

I wonder sometimes if people are offended by the concept.  That they are true objects of fascination by others.  I wonder if people feel comfortable being studied and thought over.  Mused over as it were.

I immediately thought of Truman Capote and Harper Lee.  I wondered what Truman felt when he left Hollywood and traveled across country to that small town in Kansas.  I wonder what kind of conversations he and Harper had at the end of interviews.  As they both sat there either drinking or smoking cigarettes, typing up pages, and finding the much needed direction to write these small town folk.

I know, I know.  It is quite the transition from Dunsmuir to a Capote observation on his writings of “In Cold Blood.”  But yes, I do wonder about those conversations.  These two batting around ideas and bringing up nuances that the other may not have noticed.  This was not Harper’s book but she was a fellow writer and social commentator.  I would have loved to be a fly on the wall of those little highway motels they stayed in.