There’s a special kind of grace in being accepted someplace where, by all appearances, you don’t quite belong.

I’m writing this from Castries, a quiet village in the south of France, a place where my accent gives me away before I finish a sentence. I am visiting family here but also marveling at how this reminds me of Cassville.

Yet, here, as in my adopted town of Cassville, I’ve found something unexpected and deeply moving: a warm welcome. Not the performative kind or the transactional kind, but the kind that offers a seat at the table, corrects my language missteps with kindness, and treats my presence as something valuable. In both places, I’ve been reminded that true community doesn’t ask you to shed your differences, it simply invites you in. That same generosity of spirit greeted me when I first arrived in Cassville. I wasn’t born there, and I certainly didn’t speak its unspoken dialect of history, customs and kinship. But what I found in Cassville was a community that waved from porches, asked about my family before asking what I did for a living, and welcomed me into offices, church halls, and grocery store conversations with an ease that’s hard to explain.

Cassville is the kind of place where the story of its future is being written by the people on the street, in the local businesses, and in everyday life. As I entered the public square of conversation, a newcomer to its welcoming environs, seemingly everyone was happy to hand me a pen.

In a world that often builds fences before bridges, both Cassville, Missouri, with its open-armed welcome and this French village have shown me that hospitality is a deeper language, one that transcends borders and accents alike.

Perhaps the greatest challenge, and opportunity, for a place like Cassville lies in this very strength: how do we hold onto the spirit of welcome while also opening the door wider? Growth, especially in rural towns, can feel uncertain. But what if it were less about expansion and more about invitation? If others could experience the same kindness, the same porchlight glow of belonging that I did, Cassville would not only grow, it would flourish. As I sit here halfway across the world, I realize that the real beauty of a place isn’t just in its scenery or traditions, but in how it makes people feel at home. And that’s something worth sharing.

It was through my role as an English professor at Crowder College that I was first invited to put these thoughts into writing, and I hope this column can become just one more way to celebrate, question, and grow alongside a community that’s already given me so much… and gives to all willing to become part of it’s citizenry.

There is a world-class beauty and charm to Cassville and the environs of Barry County that has no equal.

More than the natural beauty, it’s the people here today who have made it so. Inevitably, the question becomes: how do we grow to meet the needs of the generation now stepping into responsibility for their neighbor? Our students are leaving home to study, to learn trades, to begin careers.

Do they stay, or do they seek their future elsewhere? Let’s build something they never want to leave… or at least always want to return to.

The creation of new jobs and industries that encourage our young people to remain is one way to further the beauty and bonhomie of this remarkable place. But perhaps the truest way to ensure Cassville’s cultural legacy is to keep nurturing what has always made it strong: our commitment to one another.

I’ve been told by more than one longtime resident that Cassville takes care of its own. This I believe to be true.

I’ve seen it in the Cassville Pantry, the Senior Center, the Chamber of Commerce, and at my own place of employment; Crowder College.

Barry Countians practice the ancient, enduring virtue of servant leadership. It shows and glows.

As I reflect from across the Atlantic, I’m reminded that the most lasting communities are not just built just with bricks or public policy, but with kindness, vision, and an open door. Cassville doesn’t need to reinvent itself to grow; it only needs to keep being what it already is at its best: a place where neighbors look out for one another, where stories are shared freely, and where newcomers are handed a pen. If we can hold onto that spirit while building opportunities for the next generation, then Cassville won’t just be a beautiful place to live, it will be a place worth staying for, and coming home to.

Parlez-Vous Cassville? You bet I do, even 4,000 miles away.

Terry Held is an English instructor at Crowder College Cassville. His research interests include southern literature, gastronomy, contemporary American poetry, the world of Le Flaneur and the cultural influences that shape the written word. He can be reached at TerryHeld@Crowder.edu.