Tweet
http://www.nytimes.com/2014/08/03/us...er=rss&emc=rss
peewee is a mill worker, he could relate to the ups and downs.
this is my neck of the woods as of the past couple of weeks. I moved back as a disabled person formally...a big new building I am in, the biggest in the town. amazing contrast of how tough it was in the past, to walk down a 100 foot long hall, into my own space built to federal standards...there is even a bath tub.
I am happy.
I lived here for approx five years 1987-92. A home was your own to build. We had brand new mobile homes..my family is a bit nerdy, we thought those buildings were amazing. They cost nothing to sustain.
Joined the military. Extremely tough going before then. There was even a cop that went a bit psycho on teenagers.. I was one of them. In contrast, a super cop saved my life...same town. I had bits of evidence to hypothermia, and starvation.. still young, busted butt in my military tour. Gained 50 pounds and still called a bean pole. I did learn I am a runted sasquatch.
I was living here when I turned 18, the tv still had an antannae, my grandma was alive.. we were watching the gulf war.
january 25th 1991, that was the day they lit the oil wells on fire. Some big candles for my big day.
I signed up the next business day for selective service. My grandma cried..
I was given a car when I was 15. I jumped the railroad tracks with it, a road called mill street.
I did not know that memory would remain that vivid. As if I took the real leap as a metaphor, the loudest thing that ever happened here..To joke and call that "donovans leap".
I came back...and no one is here.
the towns only mill closed, I was one of the last employees in the early 90s. Most of who I knew is dead in the past decade. the store, th eonly one, reopened to a new owner. I went walkjing up the steps at 7pm..because it always closed at 8. The new owner has new hours. He let me in.
"If I see ya coming after seven, I'll open the door."
small town for sure.
From 30 something to elderly..25 people or more...all gone. Some lost are very personal. A mill in old town, I worked there too. old school labor.. that is closed too.
A guy I was going to go buddy system in the army, he killed himself. I figured even after a leap out of this sinking place...there is an anchor that goes with ghost towns. A strong tug of depression.
Not me.
Income elsewhere, and a lot of driving.. I am still here, breathing the air. 20 years to a tree out here makes me seem old. they get big.
this place does a lot of things, esteem keeps it silent. Every boy becomes a rally car driver. Every man has stronger lungs..
the pace called slow is a silence unbreakable.
That silence can do anything.
peewee is a mill worker, he could relate to the ups and downs.
this is my neck of the woods as of the past couple of weeks. I moved back as a disabled person formally...a big new building I am in, the biggest in the town. amazing contrast of how tough it was in the past, to walk down a 100 foot long hall, into my own space built to federal standards...there is even a bath tub.
I am happy.
I lived here for approx five years 1987-92. A home was your own to build. We had brand new mobile homes..my family is a bit nerdy, we thought those buildings were amazing. They cost nothing to sustain.
Joined the military. Extremely tough going before then. There was even a cop that went a bit psycho on teenagers.. I was one of them. In contrast, a super cop saved my life...same town. I had bits of evidence to hypothermia, and starvation.. still young, busted butt in my military tour. Gained 50 pounds and still called a bean pole. I did learn I am a runted sasquatch.
I was living here when I turned 18, the tv still had an antannae, my grandma was alive.. we were watching the gulf war.
january 25th 1991, that was the day they lit the oil wells on fire. Some big candles for my big day.
I signed up the next business day for selective service. My grandma cried..
I was given a car when I was 15. I jumped the railroad tracks with it, a road called mill street.
I did not know that memory would remain that vivid. As if I took the real leap as a metaphor, the loudest thing that ever happened here..To joke and call that "donovans leap".
I came back...and no one is here.
the towns only mill closed, I was one of the last employees in the early 90s. Most of who I knew is dead in the past decade. the store, th eonly one, reopened to a new owner. I went walkjing up the steps at 7pm..because it always closed at 8. The new owner has new hours. He let me in.
"If I see ya coming after seven, I'll open the door."
small town for sure.
From 30 something to elderly..25 people or more...all gone. Some lost are very personal. A mill in old town, I worked there too. old school labor.. that is closed too.
A guy I was going to go buddy system in the army, he killed himself. I figured even after a leap out of this sinking place...there is an anchor that goes with ghost towns. A strong tug of depression.
Not me.
Income elsewhere, and a lot of driving.. I am still here, breathing the air. 20 years to a tree out here makes me seem old. they get big.
this place does a lot of things, esteem keeps it silent. Every boy becomes a rally car driver. Every man has stronger lungs..
the pace called slow is a silence unbreakable.
That silence can do anything.