A Little Rebellion of Cheer

Since the election, the days have carried a strange wobble, the kind of offbeat rhythm you feel before you understand. The news is loud, people are tense, and even the simplest errands seem to hum with static. You look around and wonder, "Is this just how things feel now?"

And then something shifts, quiet but palpable, like a small lantern flickering on in a dim room. Something communal. Something that reminds you that the warmth between people is still there, waiting for a reason to gather and glow again.

For us, that shift arrived in the form of a Christmas parade and all the unlikely adventures that led to it.

It began with costumes. Not polite little outfits that arrive folded by a warehouse machine, but attire with opinions, with moods, with whole past lives in the lining. We found them in a booth inside an antique market, where Adrienne of As You Like It gathered us like guests arriving late to a Victorian dinner party. She knew precisely which velvet belonged to which spirit, which lace whispered which secrets. She christened us with names we never knew we needed and fussed over us with the joy of someone who understands transformation as both art and ceremony. For a moment, we weren't women preparing for a parade. We were characters stepping into a story that had been waiting for us. And that's where the feeling of community first stirred.

Then came our mini float. We built a little platform over a beach wagon with space in the center so a Christmas tree could rise like a cheerful beacon. We decorated the branches, fussed over ribbons, adjusted the lights, and felt that small swell of pride that comes when a shared vision becomes a reality. It was modest. It was bright. It was ours. Meals were shared, plans were sorted, and laughter threaded through every task until the preparation became part of the celebration.

By the time parade day arrived, the whole thing felt less like an obligation and more like a rendezvous with the best parts of being human. The town gathered. People waved. Kids smiled with that unfiltered joy adults always seem surprised by. For a moment, everything aligned. Neighbors who might disagree on nearly everything still stood shoulder to shoulder and cheered as if they'd been practicing cooperation all year. There was no test to pass, no argument to endure, no headline waiting to break the spell. Just a small Oregon street full of people remembering how good it feels to share delight.

After the parade, we wandered to a local winery, costumes brushing our ankles, cheeks pink from the cold. We let the hours unspool at an easy pace, reflecting on the moments that felt like gifts, those that curled themselves into memory, the ones that made us feel unexpectedly grateful to belong to this place.

The larger world may feel volatile, unpredictable, and louder than any of us would like. Yet the real story of a community is written in these small acts of choosing one another. Renting from a local vendor instead of a faceless warehouse. Circling back to one another in those easy ways that remind you that connection doesn't need an occasion. Building a tiny float no one strictly needed and stepping into a parade that asked nothing more of us than cheer. These are the choices that anchor a place. They offer steadiness when the headlines do not.

"Blessed is the season that engages the whole world in a conspiracy of love."

— Hamilton Wright Mabie

As we packed away the final bits of ribbon and the town slipped back into its everyday hum, a favorite quote rose to mind: "Blessed is the season which engages the whole world in a conspiracy of love."

If there's a conspiracy to be part of, let it be this one. The quiet kind spun from tiny acts of kindness and shared sparks that pull a community back into its own heartbeat.

Walk with us. Add your light. Keep showing up with us in all the small, shining ways that shape the place we call home.