Red Counties in a Blue State
I just got back from a trip to central PA over the weekend. The family and I stopped in cities, all of which ended in the suffix “-burg” or “-ville”. These are the places where I used to break out in a cold sweat when I passed through them in my early years, and the places I used to scoff at when I fell into the trap of elitism during college.
Now I visit these places and feel nothing but relief. In these red counties in a blue state – since these are the counties that Bush won in a state that went into Kerry’s column – businesses in towns like Lewisburg were all closed on Sunday. The hours sign in one business read “Sunday – Closed – See you in church”, and the streets were literally alive with people going to the local churches. One intersection had three churches on four of the corners, and everyone was wearing their Sunday finest as they strolled into or out of these houses of worship.
Nearby Bucknell University stands, it’s gleaming towers of liberal arts knowledge overshadowing the parked cars with Kerry-Edwards bumperstickers, and others that read “Hatred is not a family value”. But such a bastion of liberalism was merely a speck, a tiny island in a sea of Bush-Cheney stickers that remained slapped on bumpers, and in store windows everywhere.
The crowds of Christians smiled as I waved at them to cross in front of our car, and it was hard to look at these people and feel anything but good neighborliness. These people lived beneath a star filled sky. In fact, one luxury home we passed on a hill in Danville sported a large refracting telescope behind a window. At the local KFC I spotted a gay couple eating their chicken as they nodded greetings to the locals who crowded in after serv ices.
Everyone we met was, dare I say, friendly. It’s almost like they were all drugged or something. After having spent 8 years in the Washington-Baltimore Corridor (MegaCity One to you Judge Dredd fans), I realized that they weren’t on drugs – I was. Living in the Corridor had poisoned my spirit to a degree that surprised me. Whereas people in the Corridor are strung to the point where “going postal” jokes have become cliches, these people seemed to be genuinely content. They have land – whereas I have suburbia. They have space, whereas I have to fight for mine.
I remember reading Gail Sheehy’s Passages, and that core of that book is true: there are life stages and we do change within each one.
While I used to denigrate suburbia, I have come to terms with it. Still, I realize that another change is coming, one in which I want to be with my family but away from my neighbors.
I want to hear silence. In fact, I crave silence. But not in a Buddhist temple – in my daily living. It may or may not be in Danville, Lewisburg or New Columbia – but it will be in a place where the stores are closed on Sundays and the people aren’t afraid to smile.
