What Makes a Local? the Town That Tried to Define It and Accidentally Redefined Chaos

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ACT I – The Question That Shook the Diner

Sequatchie Crossing had weathered many storms – floods, zoning meetings, unannounced Dollar General expansions – but nothing prepared the town for the moment that would ignite its greatest cultural clash in 40 years.

It began at the diner during Thursday lunch rush. A man named Caleb Markham, who had moved into town a mere twenty years earlier, uttered the phrase:

“Well, we locals think – ”

Forks froze mid-air. Conversations cut off like someone yanked the radio plug. Even the ceiling fan slowed out of respect for the tension.

Mabel Dean Ashcroft gasped so loudly the salt shaker trembled.

Clovis Strickland whispered, “He didn’t.”
Boot Barnes whispered back, “He did.”
Sheriff Peeler whispered, “Don’t make me come over there.”

Caleb, unaware he had committed a cultural felony, continued buttering his biscuit.

But the damage was irreversible.

Mabel Dean stood, pointed a trembling but authoritative finger at him, and declared:

“You may live among us, Caleb, but that does not make you one of us.”

Someone in the back murmured, “Amen,” though nobody could identify who.

Boot leaned toward Clovis. “We need rules. Real ones. Before somebody claims they’re a local after bein’ here nineteen years.”

Clovis nodded gravely. “We can’t repeat the fiasco of ’06.”

Caleb swallowed. “What happened in ’06?”

Mabel Dean closed her eyes. “A yoga instructor from Chattanooga called herself a local.”

Clovis: “Town needed three weeks of emergency potlucks to recover.”

Thus, a movement was born – not out of pride, but out of fear.

A committee must be formed.

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ACT II – The Committee of Questionable Expertise Forms

They gathered the following Tuesday in the Fellowship Hall, where most catastrophic decisions are made:

The Committee for Localness and Community Authenticity (CLCA)

(Pronounced differently by every member.)

Mabel Dean Ashcroft – Chair of Hospitality & Grievance Preservation
Clovis Strickland – Historian (Self-Appointed, Self-Certified, Self-Sustaining)
Boot Barnes – Cultural Compliance Enforcer
Sheriff Peeler – Moderator Against His Will
Jolene Tipton – President of GOOS (Goat Owners of Sequatchie)
Rev. Gentry – Moral Supervision & Occasional Slide Operator

Other attendees included several undecided residents, one confused tourist, and three goats tied to the bike rack outside.

Mabel Dean opened:

“We are here today to determine what makes someone a local.”

Jolene whispered to Boot, “If goat ownership ain’t at least 30% of it, I’m walkin’.”

Boot whispered back, “If potluck performance ain’t 40%, I’m walkin’, too.”

Clovis banged his thrift-store gavel.
“Let us begin the debate with dignity and order.”

On the projector, Rev. Gentry tried to pull up a slideshow titled LOCALNESS: A COMMUNITY JOURNEY, but the projector insisted on showing Microsoft Clippy holding a pitchfork.

Clippy winked as if he knew something.

The room shivered.

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ACT III – Livestock Lobbying and the Great Animal Classification War

Boot began:

“A local oughta own livestock. Real livestock. Not them fancy alpacas.”

Jolene gasped like she’d inhaled a bee.

“Boot Barnes, alpacas are majestic creatures!”

“They spit!” Boot snapped.

“So do some locals!” she fired back.

Sheriff Peeler intervened. “Let’s not compare citizens to camelids again.”

Boot cleared his throat and read from a handwritten list:

Livestock Classification Proposal (Draft 1)

• Chicken = 1 point

• Goat = 2 points

• Pig = 3 points if named

• Cow = 4 points (bonus if photo evidence exists of it blockin’ traffic)

• Llama = -3 points and a written apology to the community

This caused widespread applause and four accusations of species discrimination.

Jolene stood defiantly.
“Goats ain’t just livestock; goats are heritage. If someone owns a goat, they should automatically qualify for accelerated localness review.”

Clovis questioned, “What if someone owns a goat but the goat doesn’t like them?”

Jolene blinked. “Well then the goat is correct, and the owner must try harder.”

Sheriff Peeler wrote something in his notebook that looked suspiciously like “I gotta retire.”

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ACT IV – The Feud Score Controversy

Localness, everyone agreed, required surviving at least one feud.

But Boot suggested a scoring system:

Feud Participation Index (FPI)

• 5 points: Fence-line disagreement

• 10 points: Zoning argument with shouting

• 15 points: Being named indirectly in a Facebook rant that starts with “Some people…”

• 20 points: Having your driveway blocked by an agricultural vehicle

• 35 points: Feud continues into subsequent generations

Mabel Dean argued for even higher stakes:

“You are not a local until someone brings your name up at a potluck when you’re not there.”

Clovis added:

“Or until a cousin threatens legal action but never follows through.”

Sheriff Peeler rubbed his temples.
“You’re makin’ it too complicated. Nobody can track this.”

Boot raised his clipboard:
“I’ve already made spreadsheets!”

Everyone groaned.

Except the confused tourist, who applauded politely.

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ACT V – Outsider Suspicion Reignites

With feuds settled “in theory,” the committee moved to outsider requirements.

Clovis insisted on a minimum 20-year residency, but outsiders must also prove:

• They don’t refer to Sequatchie Crossing as “The Sequatchie.”

• They can pronounce “Cartwright Road” correctly.

• They don’t complain about Dollar General’s parking lot layout.

• They can name at least three barns without Google Maps.

Jolene added:

“And they must not refer to our goats as ‘pets.’”

Boot nodded vigorously.

“If they call a rooster a ‘male chicken,’ they’re out.”

Mabel Dean tightened the rules:

“Outsiders must attend at least three potlucks and bring a dish from scratch.”

Sheriff Peeler asked, “What if they can’t cook?”

Mabel Dean froze.
The room fell silent.

Clovis whispered, “Then they must buy somethin’ from the deli but hide the packaging.”

A collective sigh of relief swept the hall.

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ACT VI – Enter: The Llama Caucus

Just when order seemed possible, the doors burst open.

In marched Leslie McCutcheon, leading a llama named Pharaoh, infamous for glaring at people like he planned to file complaints.

Leslie shouted:

“Llamas deserve representation!”

The room gasped.

Jolene shielded her goats.

Boot crossed himself.

Clovis shouted, “Llama politics nearly tore this town apart in 2009!”

Leslie thrust a petition into the air. “Pharaoh and I demand fairness!”

Boot yelled, “Llamas scare children!”

Leslie yelled back, “Children scare llamas!”

Sheriff Peeler muttered, “Everyone scares me.”

The committee eventually ruled:

• Llamas may be present

• Llamas may not vote

• Llamas must remain emotionally neutral

• Pharaoh specifically must stand at least six feet from Boot Barnes at all times

Pharaoh glared in disagreeable neutrality.

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ACT VII – The Goat Test Demonstration Disaster

Jolene Tipton demanded the town include a Standardized Goat Evaluation in the localness requirements:

To pass the test, you must:

1. Hold a goat for 30 seconds

2. Prevent escape

3. Avoid using profanity

4. Maintain dignity while being judged by an ungulate

Boot protested the test as “chaotic and goat-biased,” but Jolene insisted on a demonstration.

A volunteer stepped forward – Melissa, a newcomer of 12 years who “wanted to belong.”

Rev. Gentry blessed her courage.

Daisy-Mae, Jolene’s most stubborn goat, was selected.

The moment Melissa lifted Daisy-Mae, the goat:

• Head-butted her shoulder

• Side-stepped with ninja precision

• Escaped her arms

• Climbed onto Boot Barnes’s chair

• Stole Clovis’s clipboard

• Ran out the Fellowship Hall

• Started a stampede involving the three goats tied to the bike rack

• Led half the town across Main Street

• Caused traffic to halt for seven minutes

• Inspired two spontaneous feuds

Mabel Dean scribbled notes.
“This counts. All of it.”

Sheriff Peeler made an announcement:

“The goat test is now on temporary suspension until further notice or divine intervention.”

Jolene crossed her arms.
“You’re failing the spirit of the test.”

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ACT VIII – The Vote That Collapsed Under Its Own Weight

After four hours, the committee drafted the official criteria.

To be considered a true Sequatchie Crossing Local, a person must:

1. Reside in town 20+ years

2. Own qualifying livestock totaling 5 or more points

3. Participate in at least three feuds – one accidental

4. Bring a homemade dish to two potlucks per year

5. Pass the Goat Evaluation (pending reactivation)

6. Know unwritten local lore

7. Never call the ridge “the bluff”

8. Not use emojis during official complaints

The vote began.

It ended almost immediately.

Boot objected that goat points were too high.
Jolene objected that llama penalties were too low.
Clovis objected that outsiders should submit genealogical charts.
Mabel Dean objected to everything on principle.
Sheriff Peeler objected to being there.

Rev. Gentry attempted to pray the meeting closed, but Clippy reappeared on the projector, wielding a pitchfork and offering to help write the ordinance.

The room panicked.

Boot shouted, “This is heresy AND poor software design!”

Jolene’s goats escaped again.

Pharaoh the llama spit on Clovis.

Feuds erupted in eight corners of the hall.

And so the vote failed.

Unanimously.

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Epilogue – Where the Dust Settled (But the Goats Didn’t)

The town woke up to chaos and clarity:

• Nobody understood the rules

• Everyone claimed partial localness

• A man tried to rent a goat for a weekend

• Melissa filed an appeal after Daisy-Mae stole her purse

• The llama caucus held its first unofficial meeting

• Boot began drafting a revised ordinance titled Localness 2.0: A More Sensible Approach

• Clovis started a family tree verification business

• Mabel Dean announced new potluck regulations

• Sheriff Peeler considered a long vacation to anywhere without wifi

And Sequatchie Crossing concluded, as always:

Localness is not something you define.

It’s something you survive.

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Disclaimer

This story is fictional. No resemblance to real towns, goats, zoning boards, or Facebook moderators (living or disgraced) is intended. Sequatchie Crossing exists in a pocket of reality where logic is optional and livestock hold more political sway than economists.

At Sequatchie Crossing, we tell the stories of Sequatchie Crossing.

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