There is a wonderful pictureque fishing village that I used to work in. You are a newcomer if you aren’t from there. Hint: you can’t be from there in one generation. If you are black, you better be off the island by dark. How do I know? Because we had a family friend come to visit and that is what we were told. We referred to that town as “the Rock” and couldn’t wait to leave it.
On the drive home, we passed through a town that died from a massacre that took place there not nearly enough years ago, into our small town with the one store ran by the rudest people you have ever met. We routinely drove the extra 12 miles to a store where folks were nicer and the supplies came in more recently than 20 years ago.
However, we had 2 acres, we lived how we wanted to live, grew what we wanted to grow, burned what we wanted to burn and had deer and critters come in to our yard routinely.
I’m fleeing surburbia, it has always scared me. I don’t like neighbors close enough to give a rats ass about what music I play or if I walk around naked.
As for Walmart, hell, before walmart my grandmother had to drive 60 miles to get a trashcan for her bathroom. Granted, the trashcan she gets at walmart may not be top quality, but she can GET one. When my daughter was born premature, one of the few places I could reliably get clothes for her was Walmart. I live in a city now that has always been an ugly place, we are the test bed for chains. We have every franchise known to man, too damn many malls and way too much urban sprawl.
I live in a nice neighborhood, with good schools, an easy commute and yet, I never, ever see children playing outside. I want my daughter to be able to breathe. I want her to be able to climb a tree, ride a pony and sit under a tree and read a book. The closest I can find what I’m looking for is 40 miles away. I’ll take it.
But only because my husband won’t live on a mountain top.