10/13/2025
For years, I’ve dreamed of a day like this, a day where a public space in my community fills with laughter, art, kindness, music, and the smell of good food. A day where people slow down long enough to catch up with each other, support artists in all phases of their career, eat ice cream, share joy.
And this weekend, it finally happened.
I mean, the Deer Run Block Party wasn’t perfect. But it was definitely real. It was windblown, sun-soaked, and totally human.
It took months of planning and late nights, spreadsheets and begging emails, panicked voice memos to friends, texts asking for financial support, a fair amount of self-doubt, and more “what if no one comes?” moments than I’d like to admit.
But then, Friday arrived, and the sun came up, and the mist rose, and I pounded stakes for signs and dressed scarecrows and breathed really, really deep.
And then people came.
They came with open hearts and helping hands. Old friends and new faces. Makers, bakers, artists, dreamers. Families with strollers. People with guitars. Dogs in bandanas. Our very own pickle priest.
And somehow, it all came together.
Hey Chicky’s fryer gave up on them before they could even get started and we all cheered them on anyway, especially when Gina agreed to compete in the whoopie pie eating competition. What the Fizz?! had vehicle trouble. The wind tried to steal a few tents. The pet tricks contest had zero contestants and turned into a spontaneous joke contest, and honestly? It was even better that way. Kids tell the best jokes. The whoopie pie eating contest was as goofy as I thought it would be, and the kid who won first place and a hundred bucks said he couldn’t wait to buy that baseball glove he’d had his eye on. I know. I’m not even joking.
There were songs that made people dance, songs that made people cry (me), and a few moments that I’ll be carrying with me for a long, long time, like the sun dipping low behind the trees and setting the stage aglow, fairy lights flickering on in the vendor tents at twilight, the smell of street corn and wonton tacos, people wrapped in blankets and sweaters and kindness, faces glowing in the light of something bigger than any single one of us alone.
Because that’s what this was about. Not just an event, but a reminder of what happens when a community shows up for each other.
Every vendor, every musician, every volunteer, every person who donated, believed, and took a chance on this wacky idea of mine. We made something beautiful. We made a memory that will keep echoing long after the tents are packed away and and we’ve caught up on our sleep and the lawn games are returned to the Library of Things. It all feels like a dream, like a small, glorious miracle.
The whole day, friends and strangers both kept asking me, “Will you do it again?”
It was a ton of work. It was a lot of self-reflection. My feet and knees and hips and back still hurt, my house is a mess, my bank account is empty, my dogs are clinging to me, and my car is still full of bottles of bubbles, boxes of glow bracelets, and bean bag chairs.
And all I can say is, “Are you kidding? How could I not?”
