On a cold January morning, I walked across the kitchen, phone in hand, scrolling through the usual pre-work distractions. Then, a conversation caught my eye — one that clearly mattered to this community: the bulletin board at the General Store.
For me, it was just an extra in a movie, glimpsed in passing on my way to ice cream. For many, it’s been the main character — a decades-long institution woven into our town’s fabric. I don’t have the same memories or emotional ties, but I find myself wondering about it now. I started wondering about its history — what kinds of interactions it has sparked over the years. Have the kinds of events changed? How long has it been around? One comment referenced 40 years, and now I wonder — when did the first board go up? Is the person who hung it still here? Do they know we are still talking about it?
It got me thinking about the bulletin board as a surviving analog relic, standing alongside vinyl records, the community newspaper you’re reading, and even books — persisting despite digital alternatives. I once bought an e-reader, thinking it would take over for books. I vividly remember taking it to our summer cabin, flopping down on the authentically 80s folding lawn chair, pressing the plastic button to “open” the book, and open it wouldn’t. I stared at it, thinking, “Button, opening this book — it’s literally your only job.”
It wasn’t just the absurdity of a faux book that wouldn’t open that moved me back to the physical. I missed the feeling of a book in my hands, the colours on the cover. I missed handing one off to someone I thought might like it, never knowing if it would make its way back to me, but also relatively unconcerned. I imagine parallels between this feeling and why people value the community bulletin board. More than just cork and wood, the board is an informal archive of the town’s social fabric. Perhaps stopping to read the community board feels like stepping into my favorite neighborhood bookstore — the products of which are similar but the means by which they are obtained could not be more different.
I’d love to hear some of your stories. Who has the oldest community board memory? What’s the wildest thing you’ve seen posted? Is there an event you’ve attended that changed your life? Have you ever made a friend while reading posters? Tell me, I’d love to know. Stories matter.
I will echo the outpouring of gratitude from the community toward Ali and Jessica at the General Store, who are pouring deep care into the store, which is really an act of pouring deep care into our community. Reviving the board isn’t just about posting fliers — it’s about preserving a kind of connection digital spaces can’t replace. Some things, like a handwritten note pinned to a board, just feel different. And in a world of fleeting digital noise, something real — something tangible — still matters.
Tell me all your community board stories on Facebook messenger or via email at [email protected].
