The gray house

Driving home today I watched the trees and houses; sometimes springtime here in Florida is so crisp and clear, it just makes the heart soar. There is this one particular house on the edge of the historic district in Plant City. It is gray and kept very well. It has a beautiful paint job, shining many-paned windows. The yard is kept clipped, the white frames of the windows look nice; the trees are trimmed. There is something about that house that makes my heart ache. It has a sweet soul, I can tell. It has been there a long time, and yet it has such a pretty timeless, clean quality to it. I am not sure what it is that makes such a mark on my heart. It's a house I'd like to live in - not the location. I would not want to be in town on such a busy street. I would like the back yard to open up to a beautiful pond or a pasture with a mountain in the distance, maybe. But the house does speak to me.

I think about where I want to live next. Someplace cooler, less humid, less crowded; with less people wanting to move into the state. It is too much for me here - too much traffic, too much noise, too much chaos, too backwards ways of thinking, yet too many people wanting to change things to their own way of thinking. I remember reading something about Italy or France once and how it is important, should you decide to move there, that you definitely learn the language and the customs of the land. That it is expected. And it makes sense - French and Italian cultures have survived much over the long years. The inhabitants go with the flow, but they maintain their own core values. Moving to such a place implies to me that you learn the customs of the land. Why move to a new, wonderful adventure and bring your old ways and expectations with you? What is the point? You might just as well stay put if you want things to always remain the same. People originally moved here to America for a new, better way of life; to escape oppression, tyranny and so on. They brought their customs with them and they discovered that was not enough. It is not a debate about what happened to the natives already here; yes, that was a tragedy, but that is not exactly what I mean. Or, maybe it is. A whole culture, a whole way of life was desecrated. Still, back then, those new not-yet Americans did have to change, to adapt, to learn to live in the new land and to create a new culture, different from what they left. It seems to me that now what happens in today's society is that people move and expect things to be exactly the way they were in their old home. And they push for changes without really thinking them through. Others listen, and soon you have a lack of regard for old ways, old houses, the why's of what make a place special, and it becomes a hodge-podge of chaos and confusion, and it seems that no one is happy.

When I moved here I kept the parts of me that were me - I kept my language and my education, but I understood the language of being here; southern is different than upstate New York, for sure. I learned, grew, changed, and I accepted life as being different from what I knew. I don't always like it, and in fact I look forward to moving, but back then, I accepted that being here was different and some of the old ways had purpose and meaning; especially to those already established here. What happens now is that developers see empty land and they see the need to develop for money; take the money and run. Cities see the developers as a way to generate more revenue in the form of taxes, and to improve their community - interestingly, not always in the best way. It seems to me that it has to stop somewhere before it all goes by the wayside. It is kind of what is going on now - too many personalities from too many places stirring the pot and not liking the stew that is created; that melting pot society. Still. There are places here and there that are still reminiscent of the way things were once - this sweet gray house at the edge of the historic district. Life has built up around it, but somehow it has maintained it's dignity, innocence and heritage. That must be what draws me to it.