I remember duplex homes in old neighborhoods, in the Midwestern city where I was born. Duplexes with a good-sized front porch, a driveway along the side of the duplex, leading to a garage in the back, and, usually someone — or a whole family — occupying the first floor of the house, and someone else — or another family — occupying the second floor.
I remember small shops near residential neighborhoods, with vegetables for sale, and butcher shops and bakeries, and small restaurants. They were on the ground floor of two-story buildings, and there were other businesses, sometimes, or living quarters — like apartments — on the second floor.
I remember old streetcars and buses rolling down streets.
As I was growing up, I remember how things were changing…when vacant lots where neighbor kids and I dug foxholes when we were playing ‘army,’ and where we ran around, pretending we were wild horses, were dug up to become basements for new homes.
I remember many more homes being built on acres of land to the west and to the north of the old neighborhoods. And I remember hearing about suburbs.
I remember when a grocery store, much bigger than small shops, was built, and how carbon copies of that store were added to what would become a major chain of stores.
When I was a kid, I didn’t pay much attention to how much things were changing. I only knew that my friends and I would have to find another vacant lot to play on, when those foxholes we dug, battling pretend enemy soldiers, were about to become the basement for a new house.
I didn’t realize, as a kid, how wonderfully convenient those old neighborhoods were, with those old duplexes and shops, and buses and streetcars.
I can feel what’s at stake — what might be lost — in Pagosa Springs, reading Bill Hudson’s and Chuck Marohn’s articles in the Daily Post…