Day 1022 Roots

 

One of the hazards of having been writing for so long is how hard it is to know if I’m repeating photos. I know I’ve written about my pony, Mr. D, many times, but I’m not sure I’ve shared his photo before. Apologies if I’m slipping into a senior moment and boring everyone with the same stories over and over... but then again, it’s my world—you stepped into it!

There’s just too much to love in this one photo—where do I even begin? Mr. D, my Dorothy Hamill haircut, my brother Chris’s striped pants, Ward’s short shorts, my sister, topless like one of the boys, and the date stamped right on the photo (don’t we all wish that was still a thing?). 1971 sure looked like a fun year!

I grew up out in the woods, surrounded by trees and not much else. We ran amok, played outside until dark—no streetlights in sight in our neck of the woods. We learned to forage for edible plants, snacked on fresh veggies picked from our garden, and it was a rare day any of us had shoes on.

Driving through town this past weekend, looking at all the fast food restaurants and chain stores, I was reminded of the fear we locals had when people from more urban areas started moving in. It’s a funny thing—people move to rural areas wanting the “big woods,” but then expect their Starbucks, Chipotle, and other urban amenities to follow.

So here we are, years later, and my once-beautiful rural town now looks more like a small city. The woods have been cleared to make way for new houses and shopping centers. There are still pockets of that old rural vibe in Rhode Island—places like West Greenwich or Richmond—but give it twenty or thirty years, and those towns will likely be filled with new developments and familiar chain stores too.

It’s a crazy cycle, watching nature get paved over for convenience. But memories like this photo—sun-soaked, barefoot, wild, and free—remind me of the roots that shaped us. And no matter how much changes, those roots still run deep.