Missouri Good Neighbor Week began with a simple idea: honoring and inspiring everyday acts of connection between neighbors. In just a few short years, that idea has grown into a statewide movement that is changing how Missourians see themselves, their neighborhoods, and their role in building community. Now, as participation accelerates and new partners join in, Missouri Good Neighbor Week is preparing for its next chapter — one that invites every resident, organization, and county in the state to help make Missouri the most neighborly place in America. The new theme captures that shift: A Year of Neighboring. A Week to Celebrate It. Instead of limiting engagement to seven days in late September, Missouri Good Neighbor Week will begin encouraging residents, cities, counties, schools, civic groups, and businesses to practice neighboring year-round, with the celebration week serving as the statewide highlight where we tell the stories, announce the winners, and share what we’...

Love of neighbor is not a suggestion for peaceful times—it is the remedy for broken ones. History proves this over and over. Strong neighborhoods aren’t built during moments of ease; they are forged during stress, uncertainty, and disruption. During wars, pandemics, natural disasters, and economic downturns, the question has always been the same: will we withdraw into fear or step toward each other with courage? Right now, America sits in a strange place. We have unprecedented individual freedom, unprecedented access to information, and unprecedented capacity to isolate. We can order dinner without speaking to a single human being. We can binge-watch entire weekends without seeing a neighbor. We can know of a crisis across the world in seconds, yet remain unaware that the widow next door has gone three days without conversation. These are not small problems. Loneliness is not just an emotion; it is a public health issue. Division is not just a political phenomenon; it is a relati...

If you wish to understand the importance of neighboring, begin not with programs or policies, but with people. Ask yourself: Who lives near you? Do you know their names? Their stories? The joys they hold quietly, and the burdens they carry alone? For many, the answer is no. Not because they are unkind, but because they are busy, afraid, or simply unaccustomed to noticing. Yet the door to a renewed community swings on the small hinge of attention. In America today, many say they feel anxious, divided, and lonely. They hunger for connection but settle for distraction. They desire belonging but often retreat behind screens, schedules, and fences. A nation so full of houses still suffers a shortage of neighbors. But it does not have to stay that way. When Jesus taught about the neighbor, He did not give a definition—He gave a story. A man beaten on the side of the road. A priest and a Levite who passed by. And a Samaritan who stopped, bandaged, carried, and paid. Love was not proven ...

The most iconic moment in Stanley Kubrick’s Spartacus comes near the end of the film. The slave revolt has been crushed, and a few hundred survivors—including Spartacus—are captured. The Roman consul Crassus offers to spare their lives if they identify Spartacus. Spartacus rises to surrender, but before he can, the men chained beside him stand and declare, “I am Spartacus.” One after another, every survivor does the same, fully aware they are choosing death. They are choosing solidarity over self-preservation, belonging over survival. It’s a cinematic scene, but also a mirror held up to human nature. Belonging isn’t just a warm emotion—it’s a decision. It asks something of us. Those men weren’t simply protecting Spartacus; they were protecting the idea that they were more together than they were alone. Their collective “I” created a powerful “we.” In modern America, we often flip that script. We say we love our towns, but we prefer low-risk involvement. We want the benefits of communi...

A new year always brings the familiar promises. Gyms fill up. Diet plans get downloaded. Many of us look in the mirror on January 1 and think, “This is the year I’m going to feel good about myself again.” And there’s nothing wrong with that. Looking better can help us feel better. With a little exercise, a little self-care, and a few small improvements each day, we slowly begin to notice changes. Old photos surprise us. Our confidence grows. We carry ourselves differently. One small step at a time, we create a healthier version of ourselves. Now, what if we took that same logic and applied it to our towns? Most of us know what it feels like to drive through parts of our community that have been neglected for too long—peeling paint, overgrown lots, litter blowing against the curb. It’s hard to feel hopeful in places that silently tell us we shouldn’t expect much. Just as our appearance affects how we see ourselves, the condition of our surroundings affects how we see our community....

  In a time when trust feels thin and civic life increasingly fragile, journalism has an opportunity—and a responsibility—to help rebuild what has been quietly eroding at the neighborhood level. A recent piece from the American Press Institute, Reporting That Builds Community: A Blueprint for Neighborhood Engagement , offers a timely reminder that strong local reporting begins not with headlines, but with place. That idea resonates deeply with me. Earlier in my career, I edited a weekly newspaper for five years. Among all the reporting I did—school boards, city councils, budgets, and local news—the most popular feature I wrote once a week and was unapologetically small. It was called The Country Neighbor . Each week, I simply told the story of a local resident. No controversy. No urgency. Just a neighbor’s life, work, quirks, and contributions.  Readers loved it because they recognized themselves and the people they passed in the grocery store. It was journalism at walking spe...

  In his essay " The Work of Local Culture ," Wendell Berry invites the reader to pause beside an old, battered bucket hanging on a fence post. Over the years, rain and snow, fallen leaves, nuts, animal droppings, insects, and time itself have worked together inside that bucket to create rich, dark soil. Berry calls this slow accumulation “the greatest miracle that I have ever heard of”—not because of the bucket itself, but because of what it reveals about how cultures and communities flourish when left to their own rhythms and attentions.  At first glance, the bucket’s transformation is a simple natural process. Left alone, the contents rot and regenerate into humus—the very basis of life for soil-dependent ecosystems. But Berry immediately, and intentionally, turns this natural phenomenon into a parable for human cultural life. Just as the bucket collects leaves and organic matter over time, so must a viable community collect its own stories, memories, values, and shared la...

  If you’re drawn to stories that celebrate local history, community life, neighbors, and the rhythms of small-town America, then the work of David L. Burton might be just the journey you’re looking for. An author rooted deeply in the Ozarks region, Burton has spent decades documenting the people, schools, and everyday rhythms of Missouri life — blending historical research with personal insight and community passion. From Ash Grove to the Ozarks Literary Landscape David L. Burton was born and raised in Ash Grove, Missouri , and he proudly calls the Ozarks his home. That sense of place isn’t just biographical detail — it’s the foundation of his voice as a writer. He holds a master’s degree in communication from Drury University , giving him both the academic grounding and practical insight to explore stories with clarity, warmth, and purpose. A Prolific and Versatile Author Burton’s authorship spans multiple genres and formats. According to book listings and bibliographic sources ...