Page 41 of One Golden Ring
I didn’t even know there were this many people in Angel Mountain.
“We’re missing the pet parade,” J.B. frets.
But Derek finds a perfect spot and we’re in plenty of time to catch the end of the March of the Furry Angels.
It seems to be a crowd favorite, and it’s easy to see why. Around twenty-five dogs and their owners march up to a sort of judge’s stand, which is really just a plastic folding table laden with pretty ribbons and baggies full of dog treats.
The announcer reads off the animals’ names one byone, and they step forward with their owner to accept their award.
J.B. is charmed by the whole thing, and even I have to admit that it might be the best parade I’ve ever seen when it becomes clear thateverydog in attendance will be called forward to receive an award.
That winds up including the unexpected entry of Mr. Snuggle-up-a-gus, the bookstore cat, who escaped and is stalking his way down Celestial Lane to see what all the commotion is about. A woman I assume owns both the bookstore and the cat dashes down the street to scoop him up, and is immediately called to the table to collect Mr. Snuggle-up-a-gus’s ribbon and treat bag. The announcer calls out the whole thing in real time, and the woman even grins and takes a bow for the cheering crowd as she heads back in the direction of the bookstore with her disgruntled but victorious cat.
A little girl with a dog stuffed animal scurries up to the table as the bookstore lady leaves, and she is awarded a ribbon too, much to everyone’s delight. One of the judges asks the dog’s name and when the girl tells her quietly, the announcer duly nods.
“Congrats to Brontosaurus,”he repeats into the mic for the rest of us.
That tickles me, and I laugh with the rest of the crowd.
I get a familiar funny feeling, and turn to find Derek watching me take it all in. His dark eyes are filled with some emotion I’ve never seen there before.
“It’s wonderful,” I tell him, feeling a little self-conscious but meaning it.
“This is what the holidays are all about,” Michael says approvingly. “Communities taking the time to come together and enjoy each other’s company.”
“And maybe lend a hand, too,” Derek adds, nodding to the handwritten sign in the window of the bakery.
All proceeds from today’s sales will support the Mountain Angels Fund. Be sure to visit our booth!
“What’s the Mountain Angels Fund?” I ask. “They were collecting for it at the candy shop yesterday too.”
“It’s meant as a safety net for needy families,” Michael explains. “And it’s not just at Christmastime, though they do a lot of their fundraising now.”
“They’ll have gifts and food donations for families around the holidays,” Derek says. “But they also help with clothing and school supplies all year, and paying for kids’ activities if the parents can’t.”
“And heat bills for the older folks,” Michael puts in. “All kinds of things. They helped send the DeLange boy off to college last year after his mom lost her job when Looks for Locks closed down.”
“Didn’t Irene DeLange used to cut hair in the park to raise fund donations?” Derek asks.
“Every Summer Angel-Fest, yes she did, all day long,” Michael says. “Rain or shine, she was always there to give what she could. It all comes around if you’re here long enough. We pick each other up. There’s no shame or pride on being on the giving or the receiving end. It’s justa part of life here. It’s not just money either, it’s time and care.”
“Remember when we took a hot dinner slot after Annabeth Wright broke her leg?” Derek asks, brightening at the memory.
“Oh, her kids loved that lasagna you made,” Michael says, nodding. “I’ll never forget it.”
“That’s the kind of thing I love about this place,” Derek says, his eyes landing on me.
I nod, feeling emotional at the thought. It’s a far cry from the way things usually go in the city.
When my sister needed help I was the only one she could really rely on. Mandy barely knew her neighbors, let alone anyone outside her building.
But a community like Angel Mountain doesn’t happen by accident. I suspect it builds up slowly when people get to know each other well, and have the trust and humility to give and receive with grace.
The dogs and owners have cleared the street now, and people are heading into the library.
“Time for the Crafts-mas Angel Gathering,” Derek says, his eyes bright. He might be even more excited than J.B. about this one.
“Sure is,” Michael says. “Darcy, are you an artist?”
