It would be easy to say “Welcome to Partonville.” But a far better orientation for this little circle-the-square town in southern Illinois is coming up the road. See that dust cloud yonder? That’s Dorothy; or, as folks around here are fond of saying, Dearest Dorothy, coming into town from her beloved Crooked Creek Farm. Dorothy Wetstra—that’s like “wet straw,” only without the “w” at the end—is an eighty-seven-year-old oldster (as she calls herself) who serves as Partonville’s ambassador to the rest of the world. You might want to take a step away from the curb—once Dorothy climbs behind the wheel of her 1976 Lincoln, The Tank, the only thing that can stop her is a brick wall. Or maybe a garbage truck. Anyway, armed with her faith in The Big Guy (the one upstairs, as it were) and a positive attitude seasoned by her nearly ninety years in this small town, Dorothy is a walking wonder. Retired bandleader, genuine firecracker, and perpetual cheerleader, Dorothy is brimming with life. And, oh, what a life.
