Anyone who lived in that small town knew of the Willow Man. The small, elderly man who sat beneath the weeping willow tree that had grown years ago on the edge of the libraries property every day and drank tea.
This doesn't seem like the most spectacular or peculiar thing, I know. But if you lived in that small town, you would understand.

The small towns name was Shadeton. I'll spare you the detail of where it's located for fear of you searching it out.
It was a very average, peaceful, and thriving town. The people were happy, and though they all had their problems, everyone was generally happy and satisfied. The community was made mostly of retired elders and their visiting grandchildren. Anyone who wasn't that, was either a college student, a runaway, or a successful-and-retired-young-entropnenur looking to settle down somewhere nice.

The people who knew the Willow Man best were the college freshmen. The townsfolk always heard the current news about the Willow Man from the students discussing him in public. He seemed to favor them. He didn't much like children, and he didn't much like adults. But it was apparent that he liked that middle age best. Not young enough to be a child, but not old enough to be a proper adult. No longer innocent, but not quite corrupted enough by life.
He would often be seen talking to a student or two, teaching them something new. Always teaching them what he could. He would never scold them, he would never snap or chastise.
The Willow Man gave knowledge and wisdom to those that would ask for it.

As the students aged and moved on, new ones would come. He always had fresh minds to share his lessons with. Every day, almost, he would be there. Sitting under his willow tree and sipping the tea out of his thermos.
Any day that he wasn't there, people knew he didn't want to talk, so people didn't question.

But one day, after a couple weeks of the Willow Man not under his tree, people began to question. No one knew where he lived. No one knew anything about him other than the stories he told about his life to teach. No one knew his age, or even his name.

Months passed. The town stayed the same, the people didn't change. The only difference was that the young adults starting college didn't have the Willow Man. The students who had, kept graduating.

Years passed. The Willow Man was forgotten, by all but few.

After sixteen years since anyone had even heard of the Willow Man, an elderly woman started to come sit beneath the willow tree at the edge of the libraries property to drink tea.

Children ignored her, much too occupied with their games and friends. Adults wished they could go talk to her, but they were too busy.
But one day, an elderly man came and sat next to the Willow Woman, as she was now being called.
This man was one of the students that had spoken to the Willow Man, before he disappeared. He asked the Willow Woman of the Willow Man, but she had heard of no such thing. The elderly man explained to her who the Willow Man was, what he did, and his mark that he had left on the town in his day.

The Willow Woman told the elderly man that the Willow Man was her grandfather, and had decided to carry on the tradition.
And so it began. The grandchild of the Willow Man or Willow Woman would take their grandparents place in the years to come. It was a sort of tradition, and it was beautiful. People came from far and wide to document or learn from them. Wisdom and knowledge was passed down from generation to generation.
And the small town thrived.