If you want to understand Martinsville, let me point you in the right direction: start with Paula Wilson’s smile. Paula is the secretary at Martinsville Elementary, and if you think that title on an org chart tells you much, you’d be wrong. Her smile alone is a more accurate depiction of this community than any bullet-pointed list of duties could ever capture.

I don’t normally write myself into these stories. My role is to listen, to photograph, to put words around the voices of others. But Martinsville has a way of sneaking under your skin. I came to document and left realizing I had my own story to tell—one that deserved a place in these pages even if it bends the usual rules.

What struck me as I walked through the buildings was how out of scale Martinsville feels, in the best possible way. This is a district that serves a few hundred kids, yet it carries itself like one many times larger. Classrooms are bright and equipped. The ag program is roaring back to life. A leadership team lifted test scores from “targeted” to nearly “exemplary” in a single year. The football field pulses with Friday-night energy, thanks to coaches who refused to let tradition fade.

But it isn’t programs or facilities that make Martinsville extraordinary. It’s the people. It’s the family thread that runs through generations of teachers. It’s graduates like Julia Seaman, coming back to teach in the same place she once learned her ABCs. It’s the mayor and superintendent rolling up their sleeves together to pour sidewalks and finish pickleball courts. And it’s the reading team who turned hallways into a Polar Express night so children could feel magic and leave with books of their own.

All of that, somehow, was distilled in Paula’s smile. I saw it at the front desk as she juggled phone calls, visitors, and the stream of students who popped in and out. I saw it when a question needed answering or a problem needed calming. I saw it in the way she bridged everyone from teachers to custodians, parents to alumni, and made each feel like they belonged.

That smile wasn’t just hospitality. It was pride. It was reassurance. It was the very essence of Martinsville.

Communities often talk about being like family. In Martinsville, you don’t just hear it—you feel it. You see it in the way people laugh together, in the way they shoulder challenges together, in the way they refuse to let setbacks define them. Paula’s smile was the shorthand for all of it.

So yes, this is a “publisher’s indulgence.” A departure from my normal lane. But it’s one I couldn’t resist. Because when you come to Martinsville, you realize quickly that this isn’t just another small town with a school district in its center. It’s a community that insists on thriving, that insists on pride, and that insists on smiling while it does it.

And if you need proof of all that, look no further than Paula Wilson. Her smile will tell you everything you need to know.