Back in the Day
Artist Andrew Struthers
who terrified the town
by running for mayor one year.
LOL.
On the West Coast, in the 70's, they had already
been sitting naked on beaches for years, talking
about life; growing hair and beards long.
They were artists and writers and sculptors,
and lovers of the wilderness, in search of
something that didn't exist in cities
and office buildings and regular jobs.
They wanted something completely different.
They lived in vans and tents and driftwood cabins,
on tree platforms and in yurts on cliff edges
above the forest, looking out to sea.
(People are still living in vans, here,
today, but for different reasons.)
They were free to be as odd as they wanted.
Almost everything amazed them.
They created and sold their art at
the Gust O' Wind, where peasant bread
was baked and sold, enough loaves
to build the baker a bakery, where
everyone gathered over coffee
every morning thereafter,
all the faces looking up when the bell
tinkled, to check out who was coming in.
The West Coast, then, as now, attracted
artists and fishermen, nature lovers
and those evading participation
in abhorrent wars. The village
was small and friendly,
and, for a time, theirs.
And then the influx of tourists came
and upped the game. It still looks much
the same, downtown; you can pick out
the main buildings. Except condos have been
crammed into every square inch,
replacing forests. Places locals used to rent
now bring in big dollars as b and b's;
there is never anywhere to rent, or park,
(even when you live in your vehicle).
Downtown in summer feels like
an anthill that someone has toed,
ants running frantically in all directions.
Some of the old ones from those days
are still here, sitting on the rock ledge
outside the bank, or on the curb
outside the post office: wrinkled, weathered
cheeks, eyes that have a wry twinkle, observing
all that has happened, remembering
that they were here in the very best years,
when the town was filled with poets, orators
and metaphysicians, who gave discourses
on life and love at North Chestermans,
when everyone was a dreamer, and no one
wanted anything to change, ever,
because what a wonderful, quirky,
far out world it was!
Inspired by "The Metaphysicians of South Jersey" by Stephen Dunn. The italicized lines are his.
This really is quite a testament, Sherry. I am glad you are preserving the way it was. It must have been nice when 'everyone was a dreamer.' Good old days.
ReplyDelete21st century gentrification is the success of the wrong idea - money for money's sake -- and it pushes everything else away from its center. My town is gentrifying, becoming so expensive it might as well be Rodeo Drive. PS, I love Steven Dunn!
ReplyDeleteI have internet troubles. My apologies if this is the second message.
ReplyDeleteThe Pacific Northwest is indeed a beautiful, magical place. Ironic in that people flock to unique places with unique people and destroy them because there are just too many of them.
I picked up a hitchhiker the other day, north of Santa Cruz, and gave him a lift 50 miles to Pacifica. He described the Rainbow community, which is global, but also all over the US, where the gift economy is paramount. He was young - mid 20's - and we talked philosophy and his travels the last 5 years, and he charged his electronics. I gave him $40 as he left - he was thankful, as was I, for the conversation and the knowledge that something beyond corporatism exists, even if in the margins ~
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