Toadstools 9-19-10

Anderson, South Carolina

One of life’s great delights is experiencing intense temporary community. While working as a lecturer/photographer on a cruise ship, long voyages provided opportunities to spend weeks with delightful travelers in undistracted fearless environments. By their nature, ocean liners were free of distractions such as phones, e-mail, to-do lists, or competing interests for one’s attentions; the world at sea is small, secure, and intimate. Mindfulness and presence to one’s surroundings and fellow passengers was profoundly satisfying, even cathartic.

There was always a surprisingly strong sense of dismay on the final night of long voyages, seeing everyone suddenly pre-occupied with their next destination. Passageways were instantly clogged with mountains of luggage. Minds were no longer focused on the safe intense community we enjoyed for weeks. Disembarkation became a contest to see who could get off the ship first, scattering our sense of community forever. Temporary vibrant community one finds in retreat experiences also generates a good bit of disquiet at its dissolution after a final shared meal.

Yesterday an e-mail came from a fellow traveller, lamenting dispersion of our recent intense experience of travelling in several countries together. For weeks nine of us shared our meals, journeys, delights, and discoveries together. Rarely has a group been so congenial. My traveller lamented how we have all become too busy in our own lives, going our separate ways. Alas, geography does conspire against community. Hundreds of miles between us, sometimes thousands of miles, do make it difficult to meet for breakfast or to mix the other delicious ingredients of community. Presently our little community of travelers is spread across about five hundred miles. We plan to meet this week in a single place for a meal. The logistics of getting us together for two hours proves mind numbing. One would think we were deploying a battalion to a theater of operations.

The saddle of a bike gives opportunity to see the world in much greater detail than high-speed transit in a car. At twelve miles an hour one notices things like newly emerged toadstools on dewy lawns at sunrise. One also notices things like “For Sale” signs that were conspicuously absent the day before. All around me I see a forest of toad stools erupting; red, white and blue ones, black and yellow ones, and even the occasional green one; evidence that neighbors are packing it in and disembarking the neighborhood. Another “For Sale by Owner” sprouted during the night, three doors down.

America is the most mobile society the world has ever seen. Some 20% of Americans move in any one year, perhaps sixty million or more. Each time this happens another tear in the fabric of community occurs, another bit of continuity and history is lost. For decades people moved because they wanted a bigger house, more land, lake front views, more prestige, further out. Some moved for the plum job that would allow them to have a bigger house, more land, lake front views, more prestige, further out. Gardens here have reverted to weed encrusted patches of neglect. A third of the housing on my street is no longer ‘home’. Increasing dissonance arises for me; knowing people who were points of reference and connection for me in the neighborhood are no longer here. Some of those still physically here are already thinking of the next destination, no longer present to those of us still calling the place home.

It’s stunning to see how far this whole phenomenon of mobility and urban flight has gone. Detroit is being held up as an example of what could happen to many American cities. This once highly-prosperous industrial manufacturing city has been functionally abandoned and many observers draw comparisons between it and third world failed states. Those in leadership in this dying metropolis have concluded the best option is to simply run a battalion of bulldozers across the city, razing much of it, letting land revert to its natural state. It’s not unlike the bewildering abandonment of hundreds of truly magnificent cities by the Mayan; taken over by a dense cloak of tropical jungle. How haunting it is to wander in dozens of these cities, wondering what could provoke such decisions. I question decisions that led to the destruction and abandonment of Detroit.

A recent analysis by Moody Analytics presents evidence of twenty-two American cities and towns at particular risk for financial collapse and implosion. The seemingly intact town I call home made this ominous short list. Law enforcement officials refer to our town as “Little Chicago” because of law enforcement issues plaguing us; issues once found only in large urban centers. I wonder if ignorance really is bliss, not knowing the specifics that put home at risk.

As I hold fast in my neighborhood, seeing change daily, I wonder if this is how it felt for those uprooted by Katrina. Even five years later I still meet refugees from the natural disaster that washed away so much community along the Gulf Coast. These unwilling wanderers drift through other states, many feeling rootless, having lost their history and sense of place. A bigger house, more land, lake front views, more prestige, further out, will never give back what has been lost.

Collective insanity is deriving from millions who for decades have shredded the fabric of community because they wanted a bigger house, more land, lake front views, more prestige, further out. Like Katrina victims, becoming mobile refuges is no longer optional for many. Divorce, foreclosure, unemployment, illness, fiscal mismanagement and discontent conspire to turn our streets into empty, fearful uncertain places. Glenn’s magnificent rose garden no longer blooms, encrusted by a thick cloak of weed. Steve’s yard has reverted to a non-descript turf of mixed broad-leaf weeds. Others are reverting to ‘natural’ states – quickly in our humid southern summers.

Being the new kid in school more than dozen times made for a fragmented and unpleasant childhood, never having opportunity to build lasting friendships and histories. I was never given consideration or choice in the matter. Being the new kid on the block is a choice, most of the time. Despite what we hear about unemployment, foreclosure, disaster, and fiscal mismanagement, ninety percent of us are employed and ninety percent of us are not in foreclosure. The glass is more than half full for most of us. Most of us do not have to become refugees of economic or natural disaster.

Do we want to stay put; finding on our side of the fence that we can enjoy fragrant blossoms of share history, community, watching each other and our children progress through milestones of life; even giving life anew to Glenn’s rose garden? Perhaps we can till the soil where we are and tomorrow harvest the fruits of long standing friendships and shared histories.

I’ll leave the light on. The door’s unlocked.