Date: Wed, 19 Feb 2014 12:15:42 -0500
From: leela ellis
Subject: Columbia
When I was in my twenties, my sister and her new husband moved to an incredible new planned community in Maryland. It was called Columbia Maryland. It was written up in forward-thinking papers and magazines all across the country. It was one of the first “planned” communities. There would be housing for all incomes, shopping areas, little community mail centers so folks would walk out of their homes and meet their neighbors. Maryland had veins and veins of clear running streams filled with small fish, and trees twined with fragrant honeysuckle. And the fields were dappled with black-eyed-susans and Queen-Ann’s lace and numerous other wonderful growing flowers and grasses. There would be public paths and green spaces that wound their way — paths where children could ride their toys and adults could walk and talk or job.
And for a while it was so. It was lovely to go visit my sister and her new family. But then as time went on, I was advised not to walk alone on the paths or allow the children to go there by themselves. We used to jump from rock to rock in the clear streams while the little fish swam in between, after several years it wasn’t fun anymore — the clear streams had turned to dead muddy water.
And then came the time when there was a slight economic down-turn. The local Bendix company went belly-up, as did many other employers. Many people who had invested in condos and other real estate began exploring the option of what was “sure money” — what they referred to as Section Eight rentals.
My sister and her family moved to another home in another community where the water still ran clean in the back yard.
Several years ago I was recieving medical treatment in Raleigh. The med-tech told me that she had moved from a place called Columbia so that she could give her children a safe place to grow and go to school.
And several weeks ago I turned on the TV and saw the murder victims at the Columbia Mall shooting. The young woman looked like my neice. She wasn’t my neice, but she looked like her …..
So you think this vignette isn’t Chathamcentric? Think again ….