Let’s make one thing clear. I am a city girl.
Born in South Central Los Angeles, I am very comfortable with small yards, sidewalks, and views of my neighbor’s peeling sea green siding. I’ve grown up in all kinds of environments–from the undeveloped wilderness of Wasilla, Alaska in to the compact neighborhood of Coeur d’ Alene, Idaho. I don’t believe good fences makes good neighbors, but an invitation to thieves who want to know what you’re hiding. Sure we had one minor break-in, and two thefts from our yard– a mere 3 incidents in 22 years.
So I hold my tongue when outer city people lament the difficulties of inner city living. Usually, they list crime, lack of privacy, and noise as the reason they would never live in the city. But I’ve lived on both sides of that inner-and-outer city coin. My neighbors knew more about my business despite an acre of surrounding land; I had stuff stolen by people invited into my home; and, once a large dog yard sounds off, they most likely won’t stop for a while.
Off my pulpit. I’m about to move 12 miles out of town to the community of Ester, Alaska, affectionately referred to as the Republic of Ester. The house is big. The dog yard is big. We have an acre and a half of undeveloped land where I want to build a dirt running track. It’s a dream come true considering that my parents used to collect cans to buy my diapers. And believe me, I am grateful. It’s still had for a city girl to move so far away from all her activities. To learn a new set of trails. To develop new routines.
I envy Java. The moment I unlocked the door. She bum rushed her way through the garage and up the stairs. She investigated every level and hidden passageway. Then she went to the unfinished dog yard and hunted down old toys left by its previous occupants. She had such a good time investigating her new home that I almost feel bad for not being more excited about the move.
It will be a few more weeks before we have everything out of our old house. My parents are coming up next week to help me fix the dog yard and unpack the house. The kids will move into our College Road house. When I asked my son how he felt about moving back to the house that he grew up in, he responded, “Weird. But I’m accepting of it.”