The Village of Hampshire has a slogan, as all good villages ought to have nowadays. It’s one that apparently satisfies the “old” residents and the “new” residents: “Proud past … promising future.”
Hampshire is a sleepy little burg, a bedroom community if I ever saw one, a former farm town and nice place to raise children.
It is not a bustling metropolis, a retail mecca, a crime-ridden ghetto or a center for cultural enlightenment.
There is one grocery. The butcher shop inside is beyond compare. But it closes at 5 p.m. on weekends, and if you need eggs for breakfast, you’ll have to stop at the gas station if you want to restock before 8 a.m.
The biggest retail store is Ace Hardware, where you can get everything from a nail to a gift for Mom.
The new parts of the village have well-manicured sidewalks. The old parts of the village have mature trees.
I can run around the entire perimeter of the village in less than an hour. Even at my slow pace.
There are two parks. Both have baseball fields, one has a soccer field.
The streets are well patrolled by the local cops, and I do not hesitate to go outside after dark.
When I first moved here, I found it impossibly small. But now, I’ve come to appreciate Hampshire’s smallness. So I guess it does have a promising future. At least for me.