Richmond: The Landscape & Thoughts

“Everyone thinks of changing the world, but no one thinks of changing himself.” 

~Leo Tolstoy~

I am not always 100% positive. True, I am more often than not defiantly not negative  (and yes, I mean defiantly, as when facing a barrage of negativity I refuse (within reason) to cave to it). I actively, consciously choose to cherish and value what is good and right here. It isn't always easy. Sometimes I look around my hometown and I see so much potential. Other days I look around and see only an insurmountable to-do list. There is a story about a beggar who asks passersby for pennies, all the while he does not realize that he is sitting on a pot of gold. Is our community like that beggar? When I do occasionally spiral into hopeless impatience, am I that beggar?

Here we are and where do we come from? 

A Local Lady Snap Shot

If I ask my children, they point to my belly. Our genetics shape us but they do not dictate our fortunes. There are more influences at work upon us than just our physical DNA, which is complicated enough. Environment affects us too: the earth and its make up, the shift of atmosphere and weather, the introduction of new substances. Each one and more are like a slight turn of a kaleidoscope. We are the beads that dance and fall into place.

Only the moves we make are our choice. Whether those movements are small or bold, they have the power to change the design and alter a pattern in our society.

Our parents raise us and as years pass, it becomes more apparent. Demographics and class, education, they are obvious, but there's always more at play. Not everyone who is unfortunate or even unloved becomes bitter or bad. Not everyone who is nurtured and cherished can be counted on for good.

How does the landscape affect our disposition?

We live in a valley, in a city where the electric hum and glow of lights offends the rest one can find only in the dark, obscuring the stars and enclosing the people in their narrowly lit perspective. Without a clear view of space, without openness and a broad view of heaven, how can any one be expected to think loftier thoughts? A gorge runs through town, carrying river water and ages old sediments and sewage and rain. My house is between two hills. There is security in this wedge. Storms pass around us above and below, but we remain sheltered more often than not by our geography. We do not flood as much as the south. We are not as cold as the north.

We live above what once was ocean floor hundreds and thousands of years ago. Limestone encases the creatures who came before us both giant and minuscule. The fossils lie calcified in our rocky yard borders. The ground is shifting from extremities of temperature and sudden dryness followed by even more sudden rains. Not even Hoosiers who are accustomed to switching summer and winter wardrobes in a day can ignore this new level of unpredictability. The borders tumble into the street. The cracks grow wider and we cringe at distant news stories of sinkholes swallowing streets, homes and even people. The soil is either cracked as desert or mush and marsh. Willfully at times, we ignore the faults beneath our feet, when they are not directly worrying us. When they worry us, we see only the faults and nothing else.

Our infrastructure is crumbling beneath our feet. The houses, the sidewalks, the clutter of modern necessities: pipes, tracks, lines, poles, pock marked streets, all serve to distract us from the real history of this place. What never goes away are the geological histories. The story that remains with or without people are the stories of water, its' presence and absences. The ocean receded and left thick limestone. The trees and plants that came and went left their deposits, enriching the soil.

There are different worlds even in a small town. Like small countries divided by what could be described as different realities, we exist together on this flat land, near the "highest point" of Indiana. To some of us, Richmond is a small kingdom. A small, cozy pond for big, comfy fish. To some of us, Richmond is a city of underdogs: under-educated or underemployed and only overwhelmed but not over.

That is not to say that there is a "they" or an "us", when we all live here, we are invested together in this place. Our successes and failures are shared, even if not consciously.

This city frets over its past, nursing its wounds and parading its pride and griefs in the streets. The busy generations of yesteryears built their industries that grew our population. They manufactured cars, mowers and more. They played their Jazz hits, planted roses, built monuments and survived disasters. They buried the waste of their industries, but at times the contaminants have haunted the soil and rise as dust to plague us.

We miss the glory of manufacturing, but times are changing. The ground is shifting, and we cannot keep pace by always looking backward. We cannot keep pace by being unrealistically hopeful, not either by wallowing in pessimism. There is a balance. May we find it.

We are Indiana. We are the norm. Our disparity is yours too. We are the voice of the nation's news. Our limestone is the Pentagon and the Empire State building. We are the “Corn Belt”. We are the Midwestern spine of the United States. We are at the crossroads of the nation, and if we are unaligned, then so is America. This matters. The choices we make, the aspirations we chase can change the world.

You can be sure that our future affects the rest of the nation. We are smack in the middle of it all. What kind of future is in store for our city? For Indiana, "the Crossroads of the Nation"?

A Local Lady Snap Shot

As one person, I may not leave a lasting mark on the landscape, but I will do my best to do the good that I am able. That effort is never wasted.

A wise woman told me that "change, real change begins in people's hearts. It can't happen through force or law. It's slow, but it's worth while." When I look around at all there is to accomplish, and when it seems daunting, I try to remember her words and I try to examine my own heart closely.

Just a thought.

<3 Your Local Gal

The Sights, Sounds and Smells of Richmond, Indiana

You know how sometimes when you travel very, very far, you become road weary and just want to turn around and magically be transported home again? I know that feeling. The last time I took an excursion away from Indiana, on the way home that welcome sign on I-70 was absolutely the most welcoming welcome sign I'd seen on our cross country trek! Announcing our exit to the kids made us perk up in our seats! Home again! Our own beds! Our own toilet! (Seriously!)

We love the idea of world travel. Don't we all wonder what it would be like and daydream of going truly far, far away? If someone were to ask you, where are you from and what is it like there? What would you say? Would you be homesick? Even after that welcome distance could you conjure an image or feeling you associate with your hometown and desire to be there again? 

If I were to tell someone what Richmond, Indiana is like I might describe it this way:

Local-Lady Snapshot of the Richmond Madonna 

I am from Richmond, Indiana. It's sometimes described as a small town, sometimes described as a decent sized city. It's in Indiana but can hardly be pinned down as rural or "big city". It's one of those places that doesn't fit neatly into a box, but when you catch the scent of cookies wafting from the bakery intermingling with the scent of dog food from Hill's Pet Nutrition, you know you're near my home. In the daytime you hear the sounds of children playing, music blaring so loud from passing cars you can feel it in your bones and the odd passerby muttering words I was taught not to say (let along shout aloud in public), it's much like anywhere in the country. At night, you can hear the roar and wail of the trains. I used to think it was the most desolate sound and yet now it seems more insistent.

In Indiana the weather changes constantly, not only seasonally. One season passes to make way for the next, although the transition can often tease us.  In summer, I love to see my neighbors on their front porches until long after sunset. In winter, I love to see the men out clearing the walks of snow and beating their chests. Someday's they are cheerful and red faced. Other days they plod on with grim determination. The ice cream truck makes its rounds as soon as it's barely thawed outside. Despite the children having blue lips in the early chilly days of spring, they salivate like Pavlov puppies at the carnival clunking sound. I love the crawdads, minnows and tadpoles in the Whitewater's creeks. I love the crows cawing autumn by the library. I love Morrison Reeve Library's books sale- the jumble joy of it! I love spying a raccoon slipping into the sewer grates like a mischievous bandit.

I love the change. It always changes, but so much stays the same. 

I love the beautiful sky above it. So many different moods play out. There are fiery sunset evenings in fuchsia pink, golden yellow and oranges. There are nights that a deepest azure hangs above us with pitch black edges and dusky blues in the distance. There are the hazardous green skies when funnel clouds form, and we are lucky when they dissipate. The countryside is not too far to visit and it's soul enriching to pull over and really look at the stars and spot the Milky Way, especially during meteor showers.

I love how history hangs around us. I love the architecture of our oldest buildings, the stained glass windows and restored facades. I love our strong traditions of the arts and music and jazz. I love that although Indiana is often seen by other Americans as a stagnant place, our state also has a history of forward thinking: we were among the states that passed the Equal Rights Amendment of the 1970's and our city boasts one of the few statues in the United States featuring a woman. These are things I can be proud of.


I love the people. The seniors, the volunteers, the women who watch our neighborhoods like hawks, the teachers who really, really care and stick up for our kids despite a problematic system, the men who clear the roads, the small business owners, the kid down the street, my family and my friends. I love the people who make this city worth living in, whether they are running the companies we work for or the nonprofits and organizations that keep us going in tough times. Maybe they just happen to be the people who are there when someone is needed.

I love when my peers choose to stay and I'm proud of the peers who choose to go.  As for those of us who stay, it's not for lack of brains or ambitions. Brain drain is such an offensive phrase. We contribute to the local economy while our peers at large are Richmond's ambassadors to the world. Good things come out of Richmond, Indiana. Not everyone has to stay, but it's not true to say only the best go. Those of us who stay are rewarded by our history together. There is something sweet to see our children playing together and to know that perhaps they will sled down that hill at Glen Miller park just as we have on snowy days.

Not everything is rosy. I'm describing this place at the risk of sounding overly sentimental. There are days I wake up and just sigh. There are days I close my curtains and hide at home in frustration with the outside world, near or far. Here there are streets that beg to be made over anew, potholes in roads that may never be filled, both literally and metaphorically! Either way, pot holes and all, Richmond is home.

If you look for blight here you'll find it, but if you watch for the good, you'll find it too, and isn't the good worth so much more?