So we live in Dripping Springs now. Actually, that’s not true. Our mailing address is still in Austin and we have a 787 prefix on our zip code. But we’re in Hays County, not Travis, and the kids are in the Dripping Springs school district. And, as the crow flies, our house is a lot closer to Driftwood than it is to Dripping. It turns out the Salt Lick is only a few miles away on the back roads. Yay.
One of the things I’ve always loved about Austin is how it’s retained its small-town feel despite masses of people moving there every week. I always run into people I know at the Saturday Farmers’ Market downtown, and I don’t think I’ve ever gone running on the Trail without seeing at least one friend. Last week at The Nutcracker, I saw five random friends. It’s nice to live somewhere where everybody knows your name.
But life in Dripping Springs is truly small town. I don’t see anyone I know when I’m out and about, mostly because I don’t know anyone yet. But everyone – EVERYONE – is so dang friendly. The baggers and cashiers at the grocery store, the ladies in the school office, the woman on the phone at the school district transportation office, the sheriff’s deputy who did not give me a ticket yesterday. The cashiers at Whole Foods seem absolutely surly compared to people out here.
If I happen to mention that I just moved to town, people get even friendlier. They want to know if I like living out here and where I came from and where our house is. Every encounter ends with “Welcome to Dripping Springs! I hope you like it here!”
While Runnerdude and Knittergran were visiting, I commented on the friendliness every time I came in from running errands. Knittergran’s comment was that you’d think I lived in a war zone before, not north-central Austin.
I’m learning to adjust and to not freak the heck out when the pharmacy tech starts an idle conversation. But it’s just not normal.
And I’ve never been called “Hon” so many times in my life.