Summer 2018
Jacob’s Falls
Mayor Montague said having a movie filmed in town would be the best thing for Jacob’s Falls since they ran the first power line to Main Street. What he didn’t say was that the town would get a big check, of which he’d take a hefty bonus. The film company arranged for the whole town to see an advanced screening at the theater in the next town over—no special feat since we all fit in one room. Mayor Montague got up to say a few words, thanking several farmers that allowed them on their land, Miss Dee for use of her Diner, and Sheriff Miller for making sure the film crew and actors made it out and back safely from our Falls. He blabbered on about how unique an opportunity it was, inspiring yawns from Mama and a few others, then finished in a prayer before cueing the theater manager to start the movie. We hushed in anticipation, no one daring to snack on the sodas and popcorn the Montague family paid for.
The movie started off in a city, following a brown-haired, freckled woman around. She looked like what I figured my best friend Rebecca would look like in her twenties. Her life was filled with busyness for the sake of busyness—stuff Reverend Newman said we shouldn’t let consume our lives. Rebecca’s future self wasn’t showing up for Sunday sermons like we were made to. She guzzled coffee and darted around people on the sidewalk, phone buzzing in her purse—her boss. She cursed and Mama frowned. The Mayor said this was supposed to be a family flick, otherwise me and Rebecca would’ve been left at home with her Aunt. The woman pulled headphones out of her purse to answer the call and her phone flew out into the street. Without looking she stepped off the sidewalk. A horn blared. Tires squealed, the screen went black. Our town gasped. Then, the Falls.
White water churning and surging through boulders down the Isaac River. The camera panned up from the base of the wider Lower Falls, to the narrow Upper Falls then to the clouds above. Main Street faded into view. Our town whooped and hollered cheering for the familiar shops and familiar cars that passed by. Rebecca’s future self walked into view. “That’s my Diner,” Miss Dee said. I couldn’t see her face in the dark of the theater, but knew her smile was as wide as when the film people said they wanted to use her place as a setting. Rebecca’s future self walked in and sat down at the counter. A white woman came from the back, “Debbie” on her nametag. She said she owned the place while a black woman cooked in the kitchen behind her. The theater quieted and stayed quiet for the rest of the film. Miss Dee, like most folk in our town, was black.
We followed the main character around our town, watching her struggle to adjust to a “slower” life, find love in a farmer’s son, and hike to the falls every day to do yoga and meditate. She was taking a break from her life to find purpose. Mama and I both rolled our eyes at that. As more and more places were shown, I heard people whispering how they changed this and that. Mason Fuller’s hardware shop was turned into an ice cream shop. The co-op at the end of Main Street was edited out, all the cars parked downtown looked newer, and the barns down the county highway all had new roofs and siding. Two were painted red. We didn’t have any red barns in Jacob’s Falls. It seemed the only thing that remained unchanged were our Falls. If nothing else about our town was perfect for the film company, I’m glad that at least the Falls were. Jacob’s Falls were the two tallest falls in our state. The Upper Falls were said to reach all the way to Heaven especially after a rainstorm when a rainbow would appear over them. They were a sacred place in our town, a place of prayer and reverence. My parents were married there. Our sunrise Easter service was there. My friends and I would go to the Falls when home or school was too much. We’d watch the sun rise over them when the Falls froze over, the most majestic and pure sight you’d ever see. The Falls were ours. Everyone had some deep ancestral connection to them and the Issac River.
The movie ended, receiving a half-hearted applause. Mama folded her arms and I copied her. How could they change our town and think they made it better? Mayor Montague spoke again, his bright, almost too white smile gleaming in the projector light. Dollar signs in his eyes when he said how certain he was that people would come to visit after a flick like that. We all thought he was on one of his crazy schemes to make a quick buck again, but the summer after the movie came out, people flocked to our Falls and asked if there were places to stay in town instead of staying forty-five minutes away. Mama told me we’d find a way to make a little money off them.
We converted the old shack in our backyard into an Air BnB. It was the nicest thing I’d ever seen, like something out of Better Homes and Gardens. Far nicer than anything we’d ever have in our house. The shack once held my father’s tools and workbench where he’d turn warped and worn down furniture into something new. I used to sit in the corner, pretending to do homework, but instead watching as he passed sandpaper back and forth and in circles, smoothing out imperfections. He’d work right in the middle of the shack where the only light hung from an exposed beam next to an old fly tape strip. I’d watch dust rise into the hazy orange glow and glisten as it slowly fell to the floor. The same light still hung on the ceiling, but instead hung from sheet rock, it’s amber glow overpowered by brighter, whiter LED bulbs in sleek silver lamps with taupe lampshades. Mom said our guests would like that they were energy efficient even though they cost four times more than a normal light bulb. Mr. Fuller had to special order them and the USB electrical outlets off the internet.
Three or four other families around the town were also converting old spaces and barns to profit off all the new folk coming to visit our town. Rebecca’s older sister who’d spent time living up north said that people would pay big money for small, quaint spaces that offered a getaway weekend to the mountains where they could “unplug” and rest. She helped us all advertise our listings online, using her business degree to chose the right words to hide that we couldn’t afford Wi-Fi and that we only had a small room to offer. She called our shack “Quiet Mountain Escape in Jacob’s Falls” and said it was a studio space with a private outdoor shower and restroom. We weren’t the only ones in Jacob’s Falls with outhouses to upsell.
Even though all the adults protested Mayor Montague’s movie scheme, they were all starting to agree that he might have been right. Even Mama had to agree. Though, she always said Buck Montague wasn’t worth a cow’s second mudpie. When he ran for office for a third time, she was the one who created the “Buck him out of office” campaign. Though she butted heads with him, the extra money meant we’d have food on our table and I’d have new clothes for school. After all, the insurance money from Dad’s death would only last so much longer. I was still too young to work and her job as a librarian wouldn’t be enough.
Our first guests were an older couple, Mr. and Mrs. Aylor. Mrs. Aylor was a retired chef who cooked for Mama and I on their last night staying with us. They left a kind, five star review, saying that our cabin had “country charm and authenticity that couldn’t be matched.” Our second guests were less impressed; a mother and two daughters that wanted to find new meaning in their life. Mama and I had to put our best hosting manners to the test when they couldn’t stop talking about how much they loved that wretched movie. They spent four nights with us, keeping mostly to themselves except when the youngest daughter, near my age, screamed after finding a spider in the outhouse. I started to tell her about the time I found a baby Copperhead, but Mama gave me a side glance that said to “shut it”. On their last day, Sunday, instead of asking about how to get to church, they asked where to get brunch. Mama suggested Miss Dee’s diner where she can make just about anything. Their smiles dimmed ever-so-slightly when they realized there was only one place in town, that brunch was not bottomless, and the only drinks were a glass of Florida OJ, Maxwell House coffee, Lipton tea, and my favorite, fresh milk from Mr. Sommer’s farm. Their smiles brightened when we told them it was the same place from the movie. Ours dimmed when they asked if Dee was anything like Debbie.
The families came from early spring to early winter, hiking to our Falls to take their selfies with what Rebecca called “duck lips” and leaving their litter behind. Mama said Jacob’s Falls was turning into a tourist attraction, just like Niagara Falls. We looked at pictures of Niagara Falls using the internet at the library, seeing not a one without people in it. Mayor Montague secured funds from the state to build nicer trails to the Falls, making it easier for visitors to get there, for more people to crowd our Falls faster. When the tourists weren’t at the Falls, they were causing problems everywhere else in town. Farmers had to deal with people ignoring trespassing signs and doing doughnuts in their fields or trying to tip their cows over, not realizing how much cows actually weigh. Miss Dee’s Diner was so packed most nights that she had to turn away customers, even if they were locals. Parking spots in town were sparse and people kept stealing the street signs off of “Jacob’s Falls Rd.” outside of town. However, crime was the least of Sheriff Miller’s concerns as he and his deputies had to perform search and rescue missions for lost hikers almost every week. One week, they had to pull out a body out from the Issac River. It made national news.
But, the money was good. We celebrated our first season as Air BnB hosts with a big steak dinner and treated ourselves to a shopping trip for new outfits. Mama said money always takes what’s sacred and good out of a place. She scorned our Mayor, scorned herself, but we had guests coming next week and I had floors to mop in the in the shack.