Glendale is not even on the map now. Half a dozen sheds, a grain elevator, and one sorry general store was all it ever was. Not even a Post Office. The kind of town that the automobile, or I suppose the farm truck, made redundant. Not that Herb lived in town anyway. The farm was halfway between Glendale and Neepawa, using both towns for shopping and services. Where they went depended largely on what it was they needed. But eventually most business would gravitate to Neepawa, and it would just be easier for surrounding people to go to the larger town. Glendale would cease to be.

That may be efficient, but it is also the passing of a way of life. For Herb, Glendale meant society. In a land where neighbourhoods are still measured in miles, the trip to town was not just for business. It was a chance to break the isolation of a prairie existence, find someone to talk to and get the latest news. Most of the Glendales are gone now, and prairie communities are larger and much more mobile.

Not to worry, Herb would learn to like visiting the larger town. Better store, a better barber, a new Massey-Harris dealer, even a bakery. And of course, the Post Office.