Cider, Sweaters, and Showing Up

October in southeastern Ohio has a way of wrapping us up in all the things that make community, well, community. From trunk-or-treats lined with kids in costumes to hayrides that bump and rattle down backroads, from bonfires where half the county shows up with lawn chairs and crockpots to neighbors swapping cider recipes, it’s a season that reminds us we’re not meant to do life alone. These aren’t just events. They’re lifelines. A trunk-or-treat isn’t just candy; it’s safety, belonging, and a whole lot of sugar highs. A hayride isn’t just a wagon; its memories stitched together with cold noses, itchy hay, and belly laughs. And a bonfire? That’s basically Appalachian group therapy-smoke in your eyes, someone telling the same story for the tenth time, and laughter that keeps you warm long after the fire dies down.

We sometimes underestimate the power of simply showing up. We think it has to be big or complicated. But connection doesn’t need a fancy label or a strategic plan, it needs people willing to wave from porches, check in at the grocery store, or sit together when life feels heavy. Those small moments of connection are often the difference between feeling like you’re carrying the world alone and realizing you’ve got people beside you.

For young people, those connections can change everything. A teenager who feels like no one notices might turn to risky choices to cope. But when that same teen has a coach who encourages them, a parent who asks how they’re really doing, or a group of friends who include them, the weight lifts. Belonging makes the harder stuff feel a little more bearable. And then there are our first responders, the folks who show up on everyone else’s worst day. Firefighters, EMTs, law enforcement, dispatchers. They carry a load most of us can’t imagine. The stress, the trauma, the long nights. Without connection (peer support, family who understand, coworkers who ask the right questions) the weight can get unbearable. But when they know they’re not alone? When they have space to talk, laugh, and breathe? That’s when resilience grows.

Rural life has its challenges. We know the long drives to services, the stigma that keeps some folks silent, the sense that help can be out of reach. But we also know the strengths. We know neighbors who show up with casseroles before you even realize you’re hungry. We know churches that open their doors for youth groups, AA meetings, or just a place to gather. We know the way a whole town can rally around a family in need. That’s the secret sauce of small towns-it’s messy and imperfect, but it’s strong.

Prevention often looks a lot like a hayride or a bonfire. It’s people gathering, noticing, laughing, and being present. It’s encouraging a kid who’s trying something new. It’s checking in on a widow who’s gone too quiet. It’s telling the first responder who just pulled another all-nighter, “Hey, I see you. Thank you. Here’s a Red Bull.” Those little acts might not seem like much in the moment, but they’re the threads that keep the fabric of community from unraveling.

And maybe that’s what October teaches us best. As the pumpkins start to sag on porches and the costumes get shoved back into closets, it’s easy to think the season is done. But connection isn’t seasonal. It doesn’t end when the candy runs out or when we’ve had our fill of cider. It’s year-round. It’s how we live. So as we trade hayrides for holiday parades and bonfires for winter woodstoves, let’s hold on to what October gave us: a reminder that showing up matters. Keep reaching out to neighbors. Keep lifting up the good choices our kids are making. Keep reminding first responders, teachers, and parents that they don’t have to carry the load alone.

Because when we come together-whether around a wagon of hay, a pot of chili, or a firepit with sparks flying toward the stars-we find the strength to face whatever’s next. And if we’re lucky, we’ll laugh a little along the way. Even if someone insists on bringing candy corn -blech.

Be kind to yourself and others!

Jamie McGrew