Ferris Wheels and Cherry Tomatoes: The Montgomery County Fair

August 21, 2015 / Shannon Brescher Shea / 1 Comment

Giant cows, sheep in coats, neon Ferris wheels, huge wheels of cheese, racing pigs and deep fried everything – just a few of the wonders found at our local county fair. Except for the pig races, which we sadly missed, we experienced all of these last Sunday at the Montgomery County Agricultural Fair. But the thing I cared about the most was one little ribbon in one little pavilion on a plate full of cherry tomatoes. To be precise, my cherry tomatoes.

I’ve always loved county fairs. We frequently attended the Saratoga County Fair when I was a kid, home of many animal exhibits and at least one absolutely terror-inducing ride that clearly didn’t meet any reasonable level of safety standards. When we moved to Montgomery County, which has an entire agricultural reserve, I knew it would have a worthwhile fair. With three years of gardening experience, I thought it would be fun to enter my tomatoes in the fair last year, but it directly overlapped with our trip to Disney World. So I held off until this year.

While I do think of them as “my tomatoes,” gardening is really a family affair. We picked cherry tomatoes because it’s the one crop that we always have plenty to spare. This year, I was particularly proud of them because I raised the plants from seed I had saved, so they were fully mine. But they would have died long ago without Chris’s regular watering and pruning. Even Sprout helps out, using his little can to water (mainly his shoes) and picking red tomatoes (that usually go from the branch right into his mouth). I wasn’t able to pick the tomatoes for the fair myself without a small person trying to steal half of them, so Chris did it for me and even dropped them off for judging. It was the perfect job to tap his fine dining training – as he said, “I’m actually really good at small, repetive motions to make things look just perfect.”

So walking up to the vegetable table at the Farm and Garden and Flowers Department was exciting for everyone. Spout was already thrilled that we got to ride a school bus from the parking lot, so this was yet another amazing thing of the day. I stopped breathing as I looked for our plate. First place was literally a five dollar prize that they probably haven’t increased since 1950, but it was the pride of it that mattered.

Our entry turned out to be pretty easy to find because it was the only one with the stems still on the tomatoes. Although person accepting the entries recommended to Chris remove them, but he was worried about bruising one in the process. While none of the stems fell off – which would have disqualified us – they were a little wilted, which detracted from the tomatoes’ deep red just a bit.

All of that considered, we received – an honorable mention ribbon. But hey, it was something! I was a little disappointed that we didn’t place in the top three or even five, but it was a solid showing for the first year participating.

It made me feel validated as a gardener. Even though I’ve grown pounds upon pounds of food for my family and raised enough seedlings to give away to others, this outside recognition of my skill was special. It felt like entering an exclusive – albeit quirky – club. It was a similar feeling to the first time my writing was published in print. Like the connection I feel to my neighborhood while gardening, it was the sense of contributing to the history and larger whole of the county’s Agriculture Reserve. As someone relatively new to gardening in the grand scheme of things, it also reminded me of how far I’ve come. Only four years ago, my neighbor was betting to her friend against my garden being successful. She’d be so proud to see my ribbon now.

We celebrated our recognition by looking at all of the animal exhibits. Many of the animals at the Fair are owned by 4H students, who raise them as projects. Sprout’s favorites were definitely the chickens and bunnies – they’re more his size and less overwhelming than the cattle.

From there, we abandoned all pretense of sustainability or “local food” and headed to the Carnival. Filling up on fried chicken on a stick, fried green tomatoes, mutant-large corn on the cob, and watermelon, we tried to prevent get-away attempts from an excited small child. Fortunately for him, the next stop was a Funhouse in the style of the one in Grease. Starting with the rickety stairs to the slide at the end, he ran through with a smile.

We ended our night with the county fair classic – the Ferris Wheel. I have a necklace with a picture of an old-fashioned Ferris Wheel on it, which I’ve been telling Sprout about for months. After 20 minutes of waiting, we stepped into the car. As the wheel rotated, it lifted us up high above the fairgrounds, each step up revealing a little more landscape. The other rides glowed blue, red, and green, lines and curves of neon. The exhibits we had been at earlier retreated in the distance, dark as the animals started to bed down. The pop music from the rides and the chattering of the crowds lessened to a low background accompaniment. Once in a while, I would glance over at Sprout, who was in Chris’s lap across from me. His eyes were wide, his mouth parted just slightly, not a smile, but his signature look of concentration. He just watched, as he always does.

And tonight, as all nights, he was watching Chris and I. He was watching our pride in our handiwork, just as he watched and helped us tend the plants. He watched our participation in the larger community, engaging with the 4H students. He watched as we enjoyed simple pleasures like the Funhouse and Ferris Wheel. While I rarely do things just to “be an example,” I hope that my whole life is one, on that night and all of them.

Night Magic: Aquarium by Imagination Stage

August 18, 2015 / Shannon Brescher Shea / Leave a comment

Lemons hung from an arch became a sun gate. A billowing blue sheet made silky ocean waves. Plastic streamers attached to a wooden pole transformed into a jellyfish. All of these images captivated the small children sitting around the “stage” of Imagination Stage’s show Acquarium, including my son.

Imagination Stage has been on my “to do” list with Sprout for a while, but the right opportunity didn’t come up until my friend emailed me two weeks ago. While my friends don’t have kids yet, their cousins were visiting from France with their 3 and 5 year old children. It seemed like the ideal opportunity.

We met them at the theater, located in downtown Bethesda. While it doesn’t have its own parking, it’s close to several garages and is less than a mile from the Metro. The theater has a cute alleyway next to it, decorated with huge multi-colored balls and metal swirls. It was perfect for Sprout to run up and down while we waited. They also had what looked like a really nice store, but it wasn’t open before the show.

Inside, the theater was a large, open floor space with some seating on risers beyond it. However, nearly all of the children and their parents were gathered around the performance space. Because we came in a little late, we were placed to the side, but the performers played to the entire audience as much as possible.

Like most theater for very little ones, there wasn’t much of a plot, but it was so enchanting that it didn’t matter. The story was a series of vignettes by the two main characters, Jack and Calypso, who were dressed like they were in a storybook version of Gilligan’s Island. It followed their journey through a full day to reach the fabled land of Aquarium, under the sea. After the “sun” rose, flowers needed to be planted in the garden, sheep needed to be herded, and the stars needed to come out.

Each of these different sequences was very interactive, helping engage even the antsiest of kids. Each child received a lemon and gave it to one character to hang on the arch. An adult helper from the audience handed out pieces of seaweed that magically bloomed into flowers with a pull on a piece of ribbon. The actors invited the children up to “rake” a piece of fake turf and “plant” their flowers under it. The cast managed the children beautifully, making it seem not like they were giving back their props but participating in the story. As far as I could tell, there was not a single meltdown, a huge accomplishment for this age group.

Throughout the performance, these interactive pieces were accompanied by lyrical monologues, goofy banter, and otherworldly props. While there were some silly jokes – mostly bad puns – much of the script was lovely, surreal free verse. It complemented the captivating imagery. I think the combination of the two would work even for children who are mostly non-verbal, as my friends’ nephews enjoyed it and they don’t even speak English.

The last two sequences were particularly enchanting. At “night,” the lead actress walked slowly around the edge of the crowd, holding a wheel with cut-outs, the lights down low. The reflective wheel scattered the spotlights, creating shimmering, twinkling stars on the floor and wall. As she walked and spun, she recited a poem that reminded me of some of the best children’s literature. Even I was mesmerized. While I’m usually looking at Sprout’s reaction, I just enjoyed the experience of wonder.

The show culminated in the final scene where they finally reached the oceanic Aquarium. The actors spread out a huge blue sheet across the entire floor, with all of the children and adults invited to take an edge and shake their hands up and down like the old parachute game. The actors tossed silver fish puppets onto the bouncing waves, making them dance and fly up in the air. Softly glowing blue lights and quiet music enhanced the underwater feel. When the lights finally came up, we sighed and blinked, emerging from a place of magic.

The only possible complaint I had is that the floor there is pretty hard, especially when a child insists on sitting on your lap for much of the performance. But that’s just a consequence of getting old, I suppose.

While we actually caught the last show of Aquarium, Imagination Stage regularly does shows throughout the year, including shows for very young children. It was a wonderful experience for the children and adults alike and I look forward to bringing Sprout to another show in the future.

Dance Like Everyone is Watching

August 12, 2015 / Shannon Brescher Shea / 2 Comments

Content note: Transphobia

She shook her body to the Latin music played by the band on stage, wearing a tight floral dress cut up to the middle of her thighs. At the end of each song, she’d cross her legs and do a little curtsy or hand wave to the audience. She rejected the idea of dancing as if no one was watching – she knew everyone was watching and wanted it, invited it, reveled in it. But she was no typical beauty. Her arms and legs were highly muscled, her face lean and sharp, her chest flat, her hips not curvy at all. It seemed like either she was a trans woman or just had very masculine features. But while her body didn’t meet society’s standards of feminine, she didn’t seem to care – she was incredibly proud of it anyway.

Seeing her at my town’s weekly music night last Friday, I had conflicted feelings. Much to my surprise and disappointment, I felt disgust first. Not over her body, but over the fact that she was showing it off so flagrantly. People who purposely draw attention to themselves in public places, especially by dancing, rankle me. Their overwhelming confidence and feeling of entitlement to everyone’s attention is everything I don’t have, but wish I did. (Penny B, a character from the comic series Phonogram is the epitome of this phenomena.)

Watching this woman, what felt particularly, illogically, galling was that she acted that way even though society has decided people like her aren’t worthy of adoration. I kept thinking, “Doesn’t she know no one came here to see her?” Until I realized: “Of course she does. But she’s going to make them watch anyway.” She had decided to be a self-styled rock star regardless of what anyone thought.

And that insight made me see that she wasn’t delusional or desperate for attention – she was staggeringly brave. Brave for not only being herself in a highly public place, but being it loudly and as prominently as absolutely possible. Brave in a way I can’t imagine, as someone far more privileged than her. Her performance was a huge middle finger in the face of anyone who was prejudiced against her.

Including me, in a way. It’s so easy to be an ally on social media, where everyone is at a remove. To reblog or retweet something about LGTB rights or body image acceptance that sounds awesome, but you haven’t really emotionally processed. Stuff about acceptance that maybe you don’t even believe about yourself. It’s another thing entirely when an actual person is there in the flesh, throwing ideas of what you should and shouldn’t do, what is appropriate and not, back in your face. And I flinched, at least internally. I didn’t know how to process a person who challenged so many deeply engrained assumptions, so I fell back on rejection. I knew it was the wrong reaction and yet it was hard to overcome.

While it was tough for me to personally face, this is especially why I was glad this woman was out there, dancing in as public a way as possible. Not to teach my privileged ass a lesson, but to be a real life role model for the people surrounding her in a way I can’t be. In particular, most of the other people dancing were children. As I mentioned in my post about white privilege, it’s great if Sprout is exposed to media that has diverse casts, but it’s far more powerful to know diverse people in real life. Maybe her dancing gave hope to a trans kid who is trying to figure things out, encouraged a kid struggling with body image issues, or normalized people outside of traditional gender appearances for other kids just a little bit more. Seeing the crowd’s reaction was also beautiful in how it exemplified how much has changed in a short period of time, even though there’s still a long way to go. Unlike in the recent past or even other locations, no one took their children away or appeared to see her as a threat to them. No one shamed her for what she was doing, although there were some awkward glances. I hope that minimum of tolerance from the parents blooms in their children to full acceptance.

The joy of her performance was eventually infectious. While I didn’t boogie down – Sprout was content to stand on the side and watch – I was glad to be part of her audience in the end.

Camping: Take Two (Year Old) – Harper’s Ferry and Brunswick Family Campground

August 9, 2015 / Shannon Brescher Shea / 7 Comments

I think I’m turning into the dad from Calvin and Hobbes. Except instead of our adventures “building character” for my kid, they are doing it for me! In our second camping trip, some things went very right compared to last time, but others went very, very wrong.

I tried hard to learn from last time, bringing both lower expectations and a few extra pieces of gear. Unfortunately, I repeated the very first mistake – look up where the campground itself is, not just the national park! As it turned out, the campground was literally two states over from our destination, Harper’s Ferry. As Harper’s Ferry sits on the intersection between West Virginia, Maryland and Virginia, thankfully it worked out to only a 20 minute detour.

My other efforts were more productive. We arrived there earlier, packed the car more efficiently, and set up faster than last time. We even had time the first day to head into town, eat ice cream, and gaze out over the meeting of Potomac and Shenandoah rivers, dotted with colorful inflatable rafts and tubes.

Not everything was quite so cheery though. Only two weeks ago, a fire ripped through several of the town’s historical wood and stone buildings. (Check out their GoFundMe page if you want to help.) A whole chunk of the block was black, charred and disintegrating, right in the middle of their tourist season. Rather than ignore it, we explained to Sprout both what happened and how people were helping each other recover. In particular, we connected it with the theme of LeVar Burton’s book The Rhino Who Swallowed a Storm, which has the theme of how friends can help each other heal after traumatic situations. While I don’t think he really understood the magnitude of what happened, it was good practice for future conversations like this.

Other parts of the trip also reminded me of both the value as well as the challenges of neighbors. Camping creates an easy intimacy, with everyone sharing the twisted perspective that it’s a really awesome idea to sleep on the ground protected only by a little fabric.

This camaraderie was doubly-intense in this particular campground, which didn’t have assigned campsites, only a shared space under a grove of trees with a scattering of picnic tables and fire pits. Sprout was an immediate point of connection, with fellow campers commenting on his cuteness and encouraging him to pet their dogs. A kayaking instructor putting boats into the river even chimed into my conversation with Sprout, saying that he started bringing his son with him in the boat when he was only 6 months old. But despite his encouragement, we were content with watching dogs fetching balls, wading in up to our knees, examining clam and snail shells, and spotting tiny fish darting about.

But not all of our interactions were quite so pleasant. It started with our neighbors on one side blasting Southern rock deep into the night, with a call out about every 15 minutes to “Turn it up!” I didn’t bother getting Sprout to bed until quiet hours were supposed to start at 10 pm. All the white noise in the world wasn’t going to drown that out.

At 10 pm, I held out hope when it paused momentarily, then lost it again when it started back up a few minutes later. When those people finally went to bed at 11, our neighbors on the other side picked up the slack with an enthusiastic game of beer pong and multiple rounds of the Happy Birthday song.

Normally, I’d be mildly annoyed but understanding. However, I was sharing a tent with a two-year-old who wanted to join in the fun and knew there was absolutely nothing we could do to stop him. Not long after I put him down and left the tent, Chris commented, “Well, there’s not much he can do but sit in there and play with his toys. At least until he finds the zipper.” Literally seconds after the words left his mouth, we heard a zip and saw a little blond head sticking out. So much for that plan.

I headed in there to lie down with him, to no avail. Chris eventually got bored and joined me, but all we got for our efforts was a toddler climbing on us like it was his own personal bounce house. Across the tent, over Chris’s legs, up his chest, plowing into my head, back to his own sleeping bag and around again. And again and again. It was a toddler rave, complete with uncoordinated movements and the drug of severe sleep deprivation. But I couldn’t blame Sprout for his shenanigans – after all, they were clearly having a good time outside! Unlike last time, when I nearly melted down myself, I just shrugged and laughed. (Even when Sprout imitated my tendency to call out to my husband in whiny frustration – he yelled “Chrisssss!” at the door. Of course, Chris thought it was hysterical.)

Once the party finally calmed down at 12:30, Sprout was still way too wound to calm down voluntarily, so Chris stuck him in the car and drove around until he finally passed out.

Camping should be celebratory – of nature and people – but I do hope it’s not quite that celebratory in the future.

Montgomery County Had Some Farms – E-I-E-I-O: Montgomery County Farm Tour

July 31, 2015October 17, 2022 / Shannon Brescher Shea / 2 Comments

“Eat your vegetables!” is a stereotypical parenting phrase, but I want my kid to not just eat them, but also know where they come from. While we’re farmers’ market regulars, the Montgomery County Farm Tour offered a unique opportunity last weekend to get hands-on with some plants and animals.

Of the 19 farms participating, we decided to visit just two, considering limits on time and toddlers’ attention span.

Our first stop was Homestead Farm, which offers pick-your-own fruit, as well as a number of vegetables at its farm market. While they offered produce for sale, they also had quite a few animals, which were a big hit with the kiddie set.

I especially loved the set-up they had for their goats. Goats are known for their climbing skills and complete lack of fear. They’re notorious for scrambling up on roofs. Rather than fighting this instinct, Homestead had the brilliant idea of giving them something to climb onto. Above our heads were two platforms connected by a walkway. There were even little baskets that visitors could use to haul food up to the goats!

Other animals at the farm included chickens, pigs and a llama. Sprout gave us a running commentary – “Chickens inside!” he’d proclaim. They seemed to be his favorite for some reason – perhaps the crowing or their feathers’ pretty colors. I tried to use this fondness to convince Chris we should raise chickens, but my suggestion was thoroughly ignored.

The orchard was next up, ready for all of our peach-picking needs. To keep him busy, I assigned Sprout the responsibility of placing – not throwing or dropping – the peaches into the box. Of course, it took a couple of tries (and then a couple more) before he moved from violently bruising them to putting them down gently. Despite his assignment, he wanted to actually pick some peaches himself. Thankfully, a lot of the peach trees were short, with fruit within his reach. While I was highly skeptical of his peach selection abilities, he picked quite a few that were perfectly ripe. There must have just been so many that it was hard to go wrong. Like any time you go fruit picking, our hands were bigger than our stomachs. Peach jam and cobbler, anyone?

Our second stop on the farm tour was Star Gazing Farm, a sanctuary for abused and abandoned farm animals. As the animals roam very free there, we were allowed to walk right up to them. Again, the chickens were popular, with Sprout exclaiming, “Chicken, chicken!” and looking interested when the guide showed us a freshly-laid egg. I took the opportunity to connect it to one of his books, Me…Jane, which shows a young Jane Goodall watching a hen laying an egg.

The farm must have made him feel safe, because Sprout even worked up the nerve to touch one of the animals. Every time we’ve seen farm animals, he’s been perfectly content to look and not touch. He backs off quickly if the animal even looks at him. But for whatever reason, he judged the sheep was unthreatening and gingerly reached out a hand to stroke its wool. After a few pets, he declared, “Soft.”

Besides looking at the animals, the farm also had a sheep shearing demonstration and offered a variety of knitted goods made by volunteers for sale. The hats and sweaters were ridiculously inexpensive for hand-made goods, probably less than the price of the wool. I got winter hats for myself and Sprout for $25!

We rounded out the day with a little picnic of PB&J sandwiches, lemonade and watermelon. Our tour of local agriculture offered a small taste of the many farms in our area and what they produce.

The Three Stages of FaceTime with a Toddler

July 29, 2015 / Shannon Brescher Shea / 2 Comments

As I travel very rarely for work, my two-year-old son isn’t very used to the idea of it. The last time I was gone for more than a night was in December, which I suspect he doesn’t even remember. So I don’t think my goodbye really sunk in when I left on a four day work trip last week. To keep in touch, we FaceTimed every night and went through a very distinct stage each time:

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Very, Very Big Planes: The Udvar-Hazy Center of the Air and Space Museum

July 23, 2015 / Shannon Brescher Shea / 2 Comments

“Big planes fun,” was Sprout’s assessment of our latest outing. Big is a bit of an understatement – one of the aforementioned planes was the space shuttle Discovery – but he has a limited vocabulary. Nonetheless, he definitely expressed enthusiasm when we visited the Udvar-Hazy Center of the Smithsonian’s Air and Space Museum in Virginia this past weekend with old friends of mine and their son.

We weren’t planning on visiting the Air and Space Museum this weekend, but when I saw on Facebook that my friends Greg and Laura were visiting D.C., I had to reach out. Because their son – who just graduated kindergarten – is really into planes, they planned on hitting up both of the Smithsonian’s Air and Space museums.

While the one on the Mall is more well-known and receives more visitors, the one in Virginia is better. It houses the “big planes” that can’t fit in the smaller facility. When NASA retired the space shuttle program, the museum actually replaced its test shuttle with one that’s actually gone to space. I teased Greg and Laura, who live in New York City, that they have the hand-me-down, as NYC now hosts the test shuttle previously at the D.C. museum.

Front on photo of the Space Shuttle Discovery in front of an American flag

The Discovery Space Shuttle

I don’t think Sprout comprehended what the shuttle was, but he was definitely impressed by it. Up close, the size alone is pretty overwhelming. We tried to explain it had been up with the moon and stars, but I suspect that was lost on him. However, he at least seemed to understand when we said fire came out the back of it. Personally, one of my favorite things about it is the scars from actually being in space. Its panels that protected the astronauts from radiation are faded gray and even white in places, compared to the shiny black of the test shuttle.

After the shuttle, my friends’ son wandered over to the military planes, which held zero interest for Sprout. I think they’re fascinating for older kids with some sense of history, but they don’t have the inherent “wow” factor of some of the largest exhibits. I tried to explain the Blackbird spy plane, which is virtually undetectable by radar, to him. Unfortunately, I think my explanation of what a spy plane is translated into what a toddler can understand came out pretty garbled.

The Blackbird spy plane

In our quick survey of the museum’s exhibits, the next stop was the Concorde, one of the fastest commercial passenger planes ever flown. In past visits, I’ve spent hours stopping at each placard, reading the details carefully. With a small, continuously moving person tugging on my hand, no such luck. This child can stand still for 10 minutes waiting to “watch trains” in the heat without complaint, but can’t wait for 30 seconds for me to read something. He had company on that front though. My friends’ son doesn’t read yet either (or at least enough to understand museum displays), so once he looked at a plane, he charged ahead. I barely had time to provide another brief description of the Concorde – confounded by “accuracy” and “details” by Greg, the engineer of the group – before moving on.

Taking a glass elevator up to a wide catwalk offered an alternative view of the planes, many of which were hanging from the ceiling. We spotted a few “baby planes,” one-seater recreational flying machines that looked more like toys than aircraft. They looked scaled to our kids’ size, but way too dangerous. Those would make me a literal helicopter mom.

We wrapped up the tour with an IMAX movie, in the museum’s theater that actually has a curved screen, not just a flat one. To add to the awesome, the movie, titled Journey to Space, was about the space shuttle program and narrated by Patrick Stewart. A nerderiffic trifecta. While we weren’t sure how well Sprout would do, we figured we’d bail at the first sign of antsiness. We didn’t want a repeat of the Monkey Kingdom incident.

But we didn’t need to wonder. Sprout was transfixed the entire time, hardly wiggling at all. The only time he took his eyes off the screen was when they showed the shuttle taking off, which was very loud. When he heard it, he’d turn around in my lap and wrap his arms around me. Then he’d turn his head slowly back towards the screen, definitely interested but a little unnerved. I loved watching how his curiosity overcame his fear. I also loved that I was able to watch the film withour interuption, as it had a lot of imagery of space and great interviews with astronauts.

Before returning home for naptime, we all ate together in the cafeteria. Unfortunately, McDonalds runs the food service for both Air and Space Museums. I had the foresight to purchase sandwiches earlier, but not quite enough to realize that I either should have brought a way to keep them cold or bought ones that didn’t need it in the first place. No one seemed to get sick, but next time, we’re packing PB&J.

The nice thing about getting everyone sitting in one location was that I actually got to talk to my friends. In the museum itself, we were following our respective children, not wanting to restrict their spirit of exploration but also not wanting to lose them. Sitting down and eating, it was s lot easier to keep an rye on them while also having a conversation. Greg and Laura are actually some of my oldest friends, who I first met in junior high and then became friends with again in college. I visited them in New York City when I did the Climate Ride and it was amazing to realize how much things had changed since then. Between the two couples, we’ve had a kid, moved houses and changed jobs multiple times. While I see what’s going on with them a little via Facebook, it was good to connect in person. I love my friends in D.C., but there’s something special about moving through the phases of life in parallel with people you have known for a very long time. I wish our family didn’t have to go home so soon, but tired toddlers are cranky toddlers.

Old friends, little kids and big planes turned out to be a pretty good combination.

The Type of Neighbor I Want to Be

July 21, 2015 / Shannon Brescher Shea / 2 Comments

Last week, I found out that my neighbor across the street, Wilma, had died. I hadn’t seen her around in a while, but it was still very much a surprise. She was one of those people you always assume will be there. She was the definition of a neighborhood institution. While we were friendly, I wish I had been as good of a neighbor to her as she was to the whole neighborhood.

Wilma grew up down the block from her current house, around the corner from her grandparents. My neighborhood is a historically black community and her family was a fundamental part of its foundation. She told me stories about when she was a kid and everyone had apple trees and chickens that ran amuck on the sidewalk. After men came back from fishing, multiple families would come together and share a big fry up. The city didn’t provide many services – there are still some houses with wood-fired stoves because it took so long to get gas service – but they preferred being ignored to being harassed or worse.

As Wilma grew older, the neighborhood began to develop problems, namely crime and drugs. While it had always been poor due to systemic racism, it had previously been safe. But in the 80s, It was one of the main gateways for drugs into D.C. There was at least one murder (and probably others). It had enough of a reputation that even when we moved here in 2010, the landlords from our former apartment warned us against it.

But Wilma wasn’t going to let that stand for long. As the unofficial mayor of the neighborhood, she ran the neighborhood’s advisory board. The board represented community needs to the city government, ranging from concerns about large trucks on the streets to over-development. She was the Commissioner of the local Housing Authority and advocated for better, more affordable housing. By finding private funding for the project, she was a big part of the movement to replace the run-down subsidized apartments nearby with new integrated, multi-income townhouses. Since then, our county has largely moved towards integrated subsidized housing because it’s more respectful towards low-income folks and prevents a lot of the problems caused by ghettoizing people. Her efforts largely contributed to the fact that my neighborhood is safe enough that I feel comfortable and happy raising my son here.

Needless to say, that was all before we moved in. I wouldn’t have known about any of it if Wilma didn’t make an effort to be as welcoming and friendly as possible towards us from the very beginning. As Chris and I are a young, upper-middle-class white couple – the epitome of gentrifiers – she had every right to be skeptical. But she never was. She opened us with open arms, frequently saying hello to us from her porch. Although she didn’t think it would be successful – at first – she loved the fact that I was growing vegetables in my garden. And when Sprout came along, she absolutely adored him. She was always asking after him and what new milestones he was passing. By making us part of the essential fabric of our neighborhood, she made us comfortable enough that we wanted that for ourselves too.

When I found out she died, I was struck by a deep loss. Regret that I hadn’t checked in on her and helped her when she was sick. Regret that I had never expressed my appreciation for her. Sadness that Sprout wouldn’t be able to grow up with this wonderful older black woman as one of many diverse role-models. Sadness that we lost such an important person to our neighborhood.

Wilma was truly a good neighbor to everyone around her. With her absence, it will be up to the rest of us to reach our hands out to help each other in honor of her memory.

What neighbors have you had that affected you?

Missing the Home in Hometown

July 15, 2015 / Shannon Brescher Shea / 5 Comments

When you’re a kid, you’re told to live up to your potential. As a chronic overachiever, I’m a little obsessed with that. So it was disappointing to realize that my hometown hasn’t held up its end of the bargain. On a trip home for Independence Day, my family shared some of the best my hometown had to offer. While I loved it, I couldn’t help but feel that the town is undervaluing some of its best resources.

I was happy living in the epitome of upstate New York suburbia, but by the time I reached high school, I also felt that things could be better. I knew that my town didn’t have a sense of place or provide me with a grounding other people had. Most of my fondest memories (outside my house) were in different towns altogether. The closest we had to a downtown was the mall, but malls are never true community places. Living in walkable towns and cities, from nearby Ballston Spa to Oxford across the pond, was revelatory. What I experienced in those places shaped a lot of my priorities when Chris and I looked for our own house.

So returning is always a little weird, realizing how different my assumptions and basic operating procedures no longer fit. Biking at night or during rush hour is near-suicidal. Walking anywhere is a challenge both because of distance and parking lots. The mall is still the center of retail. (Okay, so most of my current city’s center of commerce is a road surrounded by strip malls. At least we’re trying to improve.) There is zero mass transit.

But there are some similarities that still warm my heart: the dedication of volunteers, public spaces that have community buy-in, and beautiful natural places.

Our first stop was one of the town’s community-run firehouses, where my father-in-law is a volunteer safety officer. Despite the many things I disagree with my father-in-law with -from politics to food – I have immense respect for the many hours he’s given back. Before the engines headed off to the Independence Day parade, we received a personal tour. Sprout had the honor of sitting in a tiny truck that actually drove, which captivated his attention to the exclusion of everything else. Later on, a firefighter lifted him up onto the seat of a real engine, the height of which alone was startling. We even got to meet the official firehouse dog, an affectionate red bloodhound named Ruby. As we took the tour, I noticed small indications of the dedication and time these men and women put on the line for their community. Everything from the kitchen to the awards case spoke of great personal commitment.

Later, we visited a more historical testament to the willingness to volunteer: a giant wooden playground. The playground at the Commons (what I said the Adventure Playground reminded me of) was built about two decades ago by community members. Between hard labor and donated funds, our community made this awesome structure happen. Chris and I both remember our parents pitching in and actually constructing it. We kids were assigned low risk odd jobs like soaping screws and sanding wood. I always thought of it as one of the few places in my hometown that had a distinct character and was a reflection of the people in it.

After it was built, I spent hours scaling its steps, peering out of its towers, and hanging upside down from its monkey bars. My hometown has very few playgrounds outside of schools, so it was special. Besides, all of the little passageways made it superb for hide and seek.

I couldn’t wait to watch Sprout experience those same joys. For the most part, he did. Following him, I spent a lot of time ducking into short passageways and climbing over walls that weren’t meant to be climbed. He especially enjoyed scaling a steep ramp and tiptoeing over a stack of tires that made up a bridge between two sections.

Unfortunately, The Commons looked the worse for wear. The wood had been painted black, which gave it a weirdly somber tone, and even that paint job was peeling a little. Some sections were bordering on splintery. Parts of the playground that had broken – like cross-bars and a mat-like bridge – were just removed instead of replaced. There were bits here and there that showed signs of active maintenance, but they were few and far between.

What was the most disappointing was not the difference from my childhood memories, but the fact that the city wasn’t respecting the hard work the community members had put into it. The town’s lack of upkeep seemed to reflect their lack of interest in cultivating public spaces and engaging the larger community in them. As the firehouse showed, there is a real spirit of community alive and well in my hometown. The government just needs to tap into it.

The last mini-field trip we made was a tromp through a wildlife preserve to see a heron and osprey nesting area. Just getting to the trailhead was a challenge. There was no parking and no sidewalk, so we had to walk in the shoulder of a 40 mph road. The trail was narrow, overgrown and muddy.

But oh, what a swamp! To the left, five or six heron nests, conglomerations of random sticks in the notches of bare trees. Juvenile birds stuck their long necks out, chattering to their parents. With binoculars, we could see into the nests, getting a surprisingly close view of their awkward adorableness. As we left, two siblings got in a squawking match, tussling over some perceived slight. To the right, a huge osprey nest looking like it might fall out of the dead tree, one parent nearby chasing away intruders. A songbird kept swooping by the nest, perhaps trying to steal an egg or two. In the pond, a beaver dam was managing the water flow without revealing its residents. As we approached, a few frogs hopped into the water, perhaps sensing a grabby toddler on his way. Dragonflies buzzed the surface, flicking the tops of reeds. I reveled in it and while Sprout had a limited understanding of what he was seeing, he definitively enjoyed tromping through the woods.

Although I loved that we could visit this site, the path seemed both under-maintained and underutilized. In addition, there was no signage that it existed from the road and walking from the parking lot with Sprout made me nervous. (I probably would have calmer if he wasn’t with me.) Just a sidewalk or pedestrian path in addition to the shoulder would help a lot. With a few additional resources, this trail could be available to more people without compromising its special nature.

My trip home reminded me of both the promise and the challenges my hometown faces in trying to remain vibrant. I hope that the community itself can realize the amazing potential they have available today and capitalize on it in the future.

We'll Eat You Up – We Love You So

The Adventures of a Mom Just Trying to Make a Difference