A whirlwind week in the heart of Harrington
You know it’s been a big week when the most exciting events in the county happen three blocks from your own driveway. I’m still reeling. If this past week were a movie, it would be called “Harrington: The Musical,” starring classic cars, camera flashes, kids who now call me “camera lady,” and a dog with a big attitude in a tiny package.
It all started with something I’ve had on my calendar for nearly two months: speaking to the students at Harrington School—with some visitors from Wilbur-Creston tagging along. Now, if you know me (and if you’re reading this column, odds are you do), you know I jump at any chance to talk about my job running the newspaper. It's rewarding. It's wild. It's sometimes borderline chaotic. And if I'm being honest, it's also a little lonely. So yes, I took this opportunity as a chance to shamelessly recruit future reporters. Or copy editors. Or someone willing to spell-check. Anything, really.
The students were curious, engaged, and best of all—they laughed at my jokes. I got to lead a few hands-on activities, talk about the importance of community journalism, and tell stories of the accidental semi-formal soiree I once stumbled into, which longtime readers will recall with a mix of secondhand embarrassment and admiration.
To make the day even better, I was paired with two other local creatives: a ballet dancer and a farmer-turned-landscape-photographer (who also shoots portraits, just in case you’re in need of a new LinkedIn headshot with rustic charm).
But the week didn’t stop there. Oh no. Fast forward a few days and Main Street turned into a scene from a 1950s movie set—minus the poodle skirts, but heavy on the chrome and horsepower. I stepped outside and found Harrington transformed. Closed streets. Classic cars. Hot rods. Motorcycles. Detour signs so dramatic I half expected to be rerouted to Spokane.
The Mercantile and Home & Makers? Wide open and buzzing. Formerly quiet buildings? Now beer gardens with live music. The Studebaker Garage? Freshly painted, lit up, and full of people. Even the ghosts of Harrington past came out to party—I swear I heard someone whisper, “Is that really the Adams County prosecuting attorney judging a car show?”
Yes. Yes it was.
FFA students sold stunningly green plants (the kind I could only dream of keeping alive), and Julie Jacobson was zipping around the community hall so fast she needed a pedometer with a seatbelt. Her business, The Mercantile, catered the whole day and made sure no one went hungry. Seriously, someone check her step count—she might have circled the globe.
A live band played in the park. A soccer tournament broke out behind the school. And I? I did what I do best: ran around like a caffeinated ferret with a camera, then picked up my tiny dog Winnie to hit the town.
She has what experts call “Little Dog Syndrome” and made her grand entrance like a duchess arriving at a Bridgerton ball. She barked at a motorcycle. She barked at a puddle. She barked at a shadow. Then she required an immediate nap.
And just when I thought the crossover chaos couldn’t peak, I ran into “The Professor” Thad from Odessa—you know, the guy from the “Agricultural University” (aka Odessa Hardware). I’ve seen him sell tools. I’ve never seen him sing, play piano, guitar, and tell jokes like he was born for the stage. What can’t this man do? I bet he could even tap dance while quoting Shakespeare.
Odessa came to Harrington in a full-force crossover episode I didn’t know I needed. I ran into Queen Alyx Scheller’s grandmother, Kerry, still glowing from the Wilbur-Creston parade. Even the Odessa superintendent was selling sourdough like a farmer’s market bread wizard.
Everyone became someone different for a day. Prosecutors became MCs. Educators became bakers. Journalists became exhausted (but joyful) photographers.
It rained a little. I didn’t care. I spent the day with my best friend and saw a town I love become a living, breathing festival. I’m sure every single person who helped organize this weekend—from the beer garden crew to the quilt show heroes in the opera house—is hibernating this week. And frankly, they deserve it.
So to everyone who made Harrington the place to be, thank you. My feet may still hurt, my camera roll is at capacity, and Winnie is demanding a quieter weekend—but my heart is full.
Harrington, you’re small in size but massive in spirit.
As I prepare to depart later this week for two weeks of National Guard duty, I know I’ll miss Harrington and all its small-town charm—but don’t worry, the paper will keep rolling, and I’ve already planned a military column to run once I’ve had a chance to write it during my time away.