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Oct. 17th, 2003 09:26 amI live in a town that does everything wrong. Most kids graduate from high school, go to college and never return. The economy of the town is abysmal. The school system limps along. The houses my grandmother lived in when she was younger near the downtown area are crack houses and sit in disrepair. It's as if a big "keep out" sign is posted at the city limits, barring new people, commerce, and much needed fresh ideas.
I drive forty-five minutes to a neighboring town for work. Every morning, I cross a massive expanse of bridges to enter the downtown area. The buildings I work in are about a hundred years old, surrounded by various other older structures, all updated and restored. Adjacent to the downtown area is the historic section of town, complete with the first colonial governor's home and his underling's homes-- some museums and some actual homes. Former crack houses and HUD homes of the past are now selling for 250,000-750,000 dollars, complete with wrap-around porches, colonial gardens and river views.
At lunch, I walk the downtown streets, eat in little cafes and window shop the antique stores, furniture stores, gift shops and museums. It's alive and vibrant with life.
As I said earlier, the bridges that cross over into downtown cross over two meeting rivers, the Neuse and the Trent. At their union is a park (The Southerner in me won't call it by it's dedicated name, Union Point). THe park always has activities with kids playing, boaters having a boat show, and outdoor concerts year round. Huge yachts and sailboats dock at the marina and lazily make their way back to the sound and out to sea.
This town has only 12,000 more people in their population than my hometown. It's hard to believe that that could make such a big difference. The rivers are a draw, but my hometown has one of the same rivers that meet here.
If I stay at my current job, I'll probably move here one day. As I drive down the oak tree lined streets of the historic homes, I imagine sitting on the porch of this house or that house. I think of summers on the river. I dream of polishing 100 year old banisters and washing the rippled and warped glass windows.
Kinston, you could have had me. For years I've called you home. But the dirt and despair can't compare with New Bern.
I drive forty-five minutes to a neighboring town for work. Every morning, I cross a massive expanse of bridges to enter the downtown area. The buildings I work in are about a hundred years old, surrounded by various other older structures, all updated and restored. Adjacent to the downtown area is the historic section of town, complete with the first colonial governor's home and his underling's homes-- some museums and some actual homes. Former crack houses and HUD homes of the past are now selling for 250,000-750,000 dollars, complete with wrap-around porches, colonial gardens and river views.
At lunch, I walk the downtown streets, eat in little cafes and window shop the antique stores, furniture stores, gift shops and museums. It's alive and vibrant with life.
As I said earlier, the bridges that cross over into downtown cross over two meeting rivers, the Neuse and the Trent. At their union is a park (The Southerner in me won't call it by it's dedicated name, Union Point). THe park always has activities with kids playing, boaters having a boat show, and outdoor concerts year round. Huge yachts and sailboats dock at the marina and lazily make their way back to the sound and out to sea.
This town has only 12,000 more people in their population than my hometown. It's hard to believe that that could make such a big difference. The rivers are a draw, but my hometown has one of the same rivers that meet here.
If I stay at my current job, I'll probably move here one day. As I drive down the oak tree lined streets of the historic homes, I imagine sitting on the porch of this house or that house. I think of summers on the river. I dream of polishing 100 year old banisters and washing the rippled and warped glass windows.
Kinston, you could have had me. For years I've called you home. But the dirt and despair can't compare with New Bern.
