It was Oscar Wilde who said, “The true mystery of the world is the visible, not the invisible,” and I’m inclined to agree. It’s an adage that follows along the lines of “truth is stranger than fiction,” and nowhere is that more evident than a large gathering of people for a common event, such as, say, a wedding, for example.

My eldest son was recently married, and for about a day and a half, family for both bride and groom converged on a small central Nebraska town from all parts of the country.

Now your average Midwesterner can sniff out an outsider with more swift accuracy than a bloodhound on the trail of a skunk. And while not necessarily doing so in a judgmental fashion— although, to be fair, there’s plenty of that goes on—the more generous assumption would be that folks just have a natural tendency toward innocent curiosity for the observation of anything out of the ordinary. But what’s ordinary here, doesn’t necessarily constitute “normal” anywhere else. So put 300 people together who are expected to politely ignore their differences out of deference for the happy couple, and you’re likely to witness some real interesting herd behavior—a voyeur’s buffet upon which one can allow his or her senses to feast.

There’s plenty to see, from the awkward teenagers threading through the crowd, seeking invisibility, to the past-their-prime brides of weddings past, dressed to be anything but. There are the loud whisperings to be heard from behind the backs of the hands of the hard-of-hearing: Now there’s a guy who’s getting to the table, and, Do you think those are real?

You could encounter a young woman in foreign-looking attire who’s passing stirs up a strange smell in the air—not unpleasant, but distinctly different—or bump into that one guy with the beads braided into his beard, who passes off a whole different smell you’d rather not experience twice.

Almost every gathering of people from outlying regions will allow for some ethnic variety—more than one might be accustomed to finding locally. And that’s all well and good, because you have to know that in such situations, the average Midwesterner stands out in his or her own right, for their own reasons. It’s the quirks and kind that locals no longer notice that have the potential to make the biggest splash. Like the old bachelor rancher that wears his pants tucked inside boots that haven’t been put to a manure scraper since last fall. (Nothing at all offensive about that; that there’s the smell of money.) Or the heifer-sized sale barn cook with the crooked wig and missing teeth whose fresh peach pie is the best in three counties; or the preacher’s wife with the churchy smile and nervous tick that makes it look like she’s winking at everybody else’s husband. Such characters that may be well-known and liked locally can come across completely different to anyone else seeing the same person for the first time. We would all do well to remember that from time to time when seeing someone we are initially inclined to judge for their differentness.

All this to say, when it’s all boiled down, people always have more in common than they may think, even when certain situations might have you believe otherwise. Like at a wedding, for instance. I mean, let’s be honest, have you ever been to one where you didn’t hear someone’s crazy uncle proclaim: Hey kid, pull my finger!

Lisa Hare is a former AP journalist and member of the Society of Environmental Journalists, and an author. To see more of Lisa’s work, or to contact her, visit: www.lisa-hare.com.