My Old Place (ms)

We have moved our homes further away from where we work. A three hour daily commute can be had quite easily; you can get five hours just before a holiday or because of an accident ahead. Oh how that has changed things!

Of course we have family, or at least many of us do. In good times it isn’t uncommon for a job offer to come from across the continent or around the world. If that happens and your kids go, get used to long plane rides; but I speak here of the more common ordinary occurrences of a day.

We have spread out from the neighborhoods we grew up in and I count myself as part of the migration. In doing that we left behind one of the strongest glues holding us to the straight and narrow. It allowed for no wrong doing lest the stern hand of justice come forth.

Rare is the person who lives within a mile of the home where he or she grew up. Rare is the ability to go to a neighborhood grocery store. Rarer still is not being surrounded by transients who think nothing of moving on to real or perceived greener pastures as the need arises. They leave behind flimsy memories so that a decade from now someone will ask if anyone remembers who lived down the street for a couple years. They will be loosely remembered for being a tiny part of our lives but leaving little in the way of impressions during their passing.

I like places where you’re considered a newcomer until you’ve lived there for maybe a generation. They are the kinds of places where everybody knows everybody and maybe even your grandfather. There is a church for every denomination, a small downtown where folks shop and talk over things including politics when they’ve a mind to. Sounds a bit like Mayberry RFD does it not?

Well, it was really the kind of place we used to live in a generation or so ago. Then there was an evolution and we began to want places where the streets were named after what used to be there before it was all dug up and built over: Blueberry Road, Whitetail Way, Green Hills, you see what I mean. In the stampede to get out of town we ran right over the value system of Small Town and hitched up at Suburbanville, the place where the blueberries used to grow. We became nomads and though we don’t roam the deserts going from one watering hole to another we are quick to drag up and move on as needed. Opportunities must not be passed up no matter the price that must be paid. I can speak with some authority here for I’ve paid that price myself a time or two.

I liked what we all had back then and I wish it had not gone away but there is progress to be made, isn’t there.

–Mike Stevens

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~ by admin on July 6, 2011.

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