Wherever you go, there you are.(NC inspired Rant)

The thing about Phil and I, even with driver's licenses that prove our home address as Baltimore City, is that no one will ever believe we're urban. Not even a little. Even on my dressiest occasions (ESPECIALLY on these occasions), I regularly receive the comment "You look SO Vermont right now!"
I still wear crocs and comfortable shoes instead of heels. I have frizzy red hair and often wear braids in lieu of showering or combing. I don't wear makeup or under-wires, and I can't stand having neighbors that can see me in my yard from their windows. I say hello to strangers, though I long ago gave up on people in Baltimore saying it back.
When exactly was it then, that we became such city kids?

I think living in a city for 4 years out of school, and a couple years during school, has given me the impression that this is where artists are meant to be, and the only place we will survive. Opportunity is certainly more plentiful as a general rule, with galleries all in one place, other artists around for inspiration and trends starting and changing and thriving, music coming through. I like the energy of a city, and if i could get used to all the people, I like feeling so small and unnoticed most of the time. It makes the small achievements (getting an art show, organizing a craft fair, being in the newspaper...) seem like grand accomplishmenta, and the healthy dose of competition doesn't hurt either. Sometimes, however, I can't help but wish I lived in the middle of nowhere again, with more trees, more environmentally aware people, less crime and danger in general... it's a push and pull I've felt ever since getting to Baltimore, where I was reluctant to come, but have definitely grown to love.

My visit to Carrboro, NC this weekend for Raleigh's Handmade Market was outlandishly fun, and quite the educational experience. After living in Baltimore for four years, I've forgotten what it's like to live where people love each other, pay normal prices for healthy food, and recycle without thinking otherwise. I apologize if that seems harsh...but in the three days I was staying there, I came close to tears about half a dozen times, out of nothing but joy for being around happy people.
Coming from Baltimore, the people of Carrboro are a different breed, but most of them would do well where I'm from (Southwest New Hampshire- which, contrary to popular Baltimorian belief, is NOT in Vermont... but close) if not for the cold weather. For a community that is just shy of 20,000 residents, Carrboro has an impressive amount of culture and shouldn't be overlooked as the hippy commune it appears to be on first inspection. Probably the surrounding cities of Raleigh and Durham have something to do with this, as does the UNC Chapel Hill, which is a walk away from Carborro center. So close in fact, that I couldn't tell which was which.


In what seemed like one square mile, I visited at least two bookstores, one used, and one alternative; A handful of trendy boutiques, a homegoods store that looked straight out of NYC (Nested), An art gallery/shop similar to Atomic Pop in Hampden, which sold funky handscreened tshirts, an assortment of Japanese toys, artbooks, etc. The art on the walls wasn't that of a small town (landscapes, or still lives) It was graffiti inspired, and modern... and most of it had already sold! We passed two mexican restaurants, an italian restaurant, a gelateria/cupcake shop, a music venue and local movie rental shop, a music shop, an art center, a teahouse serving coffee, tea and wine, an art supply store, a diner... a sporting goods store, I could go on. Trees and grass surrounded everything, cars were sparse, and seemed more than anything, to be in the way of all of the people on bikes. Trails cut in and out of town and along a railroad track (still in use? I don't know), and we walked everywhere. Everywhere.

On Saturday, we hit the farmer's market on our way to Raleigh for Handmade Market (which of course, was wonderful, prosperous, and full of great people). We drank home brewed Chai tea, smelled all the plants, and ate tapioca cheese balls. They were so good, that I shelled out an extra $5 for some to bring home to Phil, but three days later when I got home, they were rock hard, and disgusting...so I recommend eating them on the premises. Delicious. The friend's I was staying with ran into families from school (they are both teachers) and exchanged news, a woman walked through calling out that a boy named George, who was wearing a yellow shirt and holding a green balloon, had been separated from his parents, and then a few panicked minutes later, we heard her call out "GEORGE HAS BEEN FOUND!" and the entire market erupted in relieved applause and cheers.

Instead of a church (which would be traditional for New England at least) Carborro town center is a food co-op, which has delicious brunch on weekends and ample seating for most of the town. We got there at 9:30 on Sunday morning, and had to wait for one of the 40+ outdoor tables. There were people all over the lawn eating with their families on blankets and lawnchairs, and a band playing. If I hadn't already been there, I would have thought it was some sort of festival, but it's just Carborro on a weekend. My friend Amalia (a transplant from New Jersey) commented on a 10 year old boy dancing hand in hand with his mom. "That's so brave!" She was right. I remember being 10. I wouldn't have been caught DEAD holding hands with my parents. (though looking back, I wonder what it is really, that makes kids feel that way). I smiled at the thought of it being just another sunday morning in this small town. It seemed like the entire community was there, not a single one of them looked anything but happy, and I must have overheard at least 5 languages being spoken around us. If this isn't a spiritually healthy and strong community, I'm not sure what is. I am absolutely being idealistic... but hey. this is my blog.

At 8:15 on Monday morning, I was at a coffee shop called Open Eye Cafe, where, if you get the shop's logo (surprise: An open eye) tatooed on your wrist, you receive free coffee for life (YES. People do it). We were outdoors again, and a man was sitting next to us writing on a legal pad. A schoolbus pulled up and stopped in traffic and honked (AhA! I thought to myself. Even in small towns, people get angry in traffic and honk!!). But the driver opened the door and beeped her horn again, shouting "Hey YOU! Get a job!!!!!" The man raised his head, cracking up in a deep belly laugh and shouted hello, calling her by name. They asked about each other's families, and she blew him a kiss, as the kids on the bus waved their arms out the windows at him and they drove off. The people behind her, and in front of her were SMILING on their way to work. It was all I could do to laugh and swallow a last throatful of fresh air and homesickness for small towns as I got in my car to drive back to (at least according to it's own park benches) "the greatest city in america" shout hello to my forever angry-at-someone neighbors, and continue mixing up (at least according to ME) some darn tasty metaphorical lemonade. We're here for now... and I'll drink to that.