Lessons from Small-Town America
Yesterday, I mentioned that I spent a week with my in-laws in Wisconsin. They live in a small town called Kiel. It’s truly a small midwest-American town in every sense. It’s the kind of town with a water tower with the word KIEL painted in large white letters across it. The volunteer fire station blows a whistle every day at noon. Friday night high school football is a big event. The town’s three biggest employers are quite literally two small cheese-processing plants and a machinery supplier for those plants. One morning while I was out running, I could have sworn I passed the same old guy in a Green Bay Packers jacket 5 or 6 times, but I couldn’t be sure. That same morning, I passed an auction at the local ammo and archery shop where at least 150 camouflaged people were anxiously bidding on pieces of hunting art. On a walk down the half-mile stretch of Fremont Street, the main street in town, I counted 9 bars and 4 churches. Kiel is a pretty little town though. A beautiful little park sits alongside the Sheboygan River as it slowly ambles it way through the town center. Kids play on tire swings hanging from tall shady maple trees. Norman Rockwell would have loved Kiel.











