My family took a holiday trip to a small coastal town. The trip was made possible because I was able to make monthly payments on the cottage, and I chose a place where we could cook all of our meals, eliminating the expense of eating out (a double win because Covid still has my taste buds working at about 40%). We did some dream-inspired investigating before we arrived and learned that our stay was in a small place that sold for $425,000 not long ago. Not only that, but it had been remodeled since the purchase.
To my kid, that number was high, but their minds didn’t land on how high. In fact, they talked about it as if it was doable for them simply because someone, whom they’ll never meet in person, did it.
Our second night there, we chased the sunset. We ended up on a road we hadn’t traveled before, ooo-ing and ahh-ing over the view, but the sunset, though absolutely breathtaking, played second to the houses. There is not one doubt in my mind the homes there were multi-million dollar homes, especially since they had to be no less than four times the size of the place we stayed.
Standing three and four stories tall, windows from roof to ground, these homes left us speechless. The sunset reflecting in the glass added to the stunning beauty of the architecture, and we stared in appreciation of how magnificent that view of life must be.
Several times throughout the weekend, one of my chicks would say they could easily live there. It seems like a great retirement dream to me, too, to be honest. To experience all four seasons and the beach? That’s a dream someone could easily sell to me. Except I’m too much of a realist to dream that big. While my girls talk about lavish vacations filled with sun and fun, I keep thinking that somewhere here there are poor people.
And what does it look like to be poor in a place like this?
I read before we came about community events that were happening while we were there. I read about one where the cost of admission was free, but they asked that everyone bring a donation of non-perishable food for the local pantry because it was in “desperate need.” What does that kind of need look like here? Trust me, you’re not inclined to think about the poor while you’re there for a visit.
But there are small signs if you know what you’re looking for. The guy selling crabs out of a five-gallon bucket along the side of the road; the people sitting on their backpacks in vacant business parking lots after dark … but it still looked very different. I spent a fair amount of time driving around to check out the place. I hadn’t seen any sort of housing that would resemble Section 8. I did, however, spot a group of kids walking down the street who looked familiar, and, further down the road, I stumbled upon a trailer court.
The trailers were small and squeezed so tightly together that you couldn’t tell where one started and where one ended at times. The colors made it look like a happy place to live. Painted in hues of greens, blues, yellows, and pink, it looked like a place that had good energy and was full of life. It was a decent distance from the tourist attractions, and I stumbled onto it by mistake when I decided to turn off my map app and take a chance on my own sense of direction.
To me, there’s something so interesting about being in a place where it looks as if everyone has the same chances. I mean, I saw signs at McDonald’s advertising $15/hour to start, which means there is a socioeconomic ladder there. If we’re honest, we know that retail jobs, service industry jobs, and typical minimum-wage employment are jobs that pay the bills (OK, some of the bills) but don’t really afford a great life.
I’m not used to not being able to distinguish one neighborhood from another based on looks alone. I mean, even in big cities it’s easy to see neighborhoods changing as you drive through. And I’m thinking there’s something to dressing up the outside. Maybe it hurts less if you are surrounded by houses painted the colors of the rainbow. Maybe there’s a greater sense of optimism if you’re surrounded by pretty things.
What would change if we lived in a place that publicly asked for donations to the food pantries when they hosted free community events? Would people be more willing to help if they couldn’t tell which part of their community needed it the most?
Would you?
Onward,
Amy Jo
