I needed a new set of tires on my car and pulled into Pittsford Gas and Tire where my husband made the appointment. It had been a while since I had been to ‘Chans’ as we call it, named after the former owner. I had forgotten that it was a full-service filling station with attendants who fill up your car. You pay out your car window unless you want to come in and buy a pop or a candy bar from behind the glass display case, then you will enter the propped open door where you are greeted by a blast from the past. It’s not your normal gas station, it’s void of donuts, a dozen kinds of coffee or lottery tickets. But you will find a cooler full of cold drinks, a small selection of candy bars and a friendly staff that will be like family on your second visit.

I sat down and waited for the tire guy to come take the car. When he showed up, I discovered it was a boy I hadn’t seen since the little league days when he played on the same team as my boys. We spent a few moments catching up on life and then he got back to work.

I sat in the clean, quiet station as I watched the attendant pump gas and run back and forth between the cash register and the cars. She knew everyone who drove up and their daily schedule. It was Kroger day for one customer, and another one had a dog in the back, for which she had to get a biscuit from behind the counter. The second attendant showed up unexpectedly on her day off, she was meeting a friend and they were going garage saling. Both women were grandmothers and appeared as though they worked this job not because they had to, but because they wanted to. As they were talking about their day, I interrupted and asked a question that I had to know the answer to, “Why do you ladies pump gas for a living?”

One said, “I’ve been working here for 35 years – since I was a teenager and my uncle owned this shop. I love it and I don’t want to be anywhere else.” The other grandmother, whose nick name is ‘Grandma D’ said, “I love the people, we get to talk to so many people in a day and they are all like family.”

Grandma D’s friend showed up to go treasure hunting and I realized she was a mutual friend. I walked out with her to greet Marietta and we enjoyed a brief visit that included Grandma D sharing her tomato harvest with us. Suddenly another woman walked over from the adjacent feed mill and asked if we thought they would have time to fix a tire on her trailer. It was loaded with cattle feed and she didn’t want to have a flat on the way home. We assured her they would be able to take care of it and then offered her some tomatoes, of which she accepted.

I walked back into the station, paid for my tires and waited for Austin to drive my car out. While I waited, a beautiful young woman walked in to pick up her car that was getting a new tire. She glanced over at me a couple of times and then said, “Is your last name Hart?” I said, “Yes!” She responded, “I thought that was you, I’m friends with your son.” I assumed it was Jake since we seem to stumble onto a lot of young women who know him, and when I asked which son, she said, “Jake!”

We visited, took a selfie together, posted it on Instagram and tagged Jake before she left. For the remaining moments I talked with the other attendant about being a grandmother, what we want to be called as grandma and what a great stage of life we were living.

I hollered into the garage to say goodbye to Austin as he was already fixing the trailer tire of the lady with the cattle feed who needed help.

As I drove away, I marveled at the hour I spent at the filling station that rivaled any episode of The Andy Griffith Show. We can long for days gone by, but today can be just as wonderful if we slow down and enjoy what’s happening in small town America.