My house sits on top of a hill, in the middle of a meadow, with plenty of sky above. When we moved into it 10 years ago, we could not see another single house when the trees had their leaves and only parts of one or two when the leaves fell to the ground. Now, we can see two houses well and parts of others, but they are all at least a half-mile away.
Cottonwood community is not your typical American neighborhood. It’s obviously rural, and everyone has a good bit of space–measured in acres, not square feet.
This community was, however, once quite typical for a small rural one. There was a school and a church, lots of houses scattered here and there, and plenty of kids to help with the work and to grab some time for play on occasion.
World War II and its aftermath pretty much emptied the place. First the boys went off to war. Then the girls went to Dallas to work. Then boys came home, married the girls and mostly stayed in the city to work while the girls raised the next generation.
My mom and dad fit that pattern, but they were surely not alone. The school had disappeared before the war because the nearby Eustace schools could do the job more efficiently. Then, sometime in the 1960s, the church ceased to meet and the man who owned the adjacent land sort of gobbled up the vacant structure and returned it to a pastoral scene.
Now, people are slowly moving back in. Some of us are the offspring of the earlier residents, and some are new. We make a pretty nice community, but I suspect it’s rather different from the one before World War II. I don’t think there are as many kids, and those around spend most of there days miles away at school.
As for we adults, I’m not the only one who drives more than 60 miles one way to work. The money is still in Dallas. But we do like it in the country.
While we’re still called Cottonwood, I’m not sure how much of a community we are, at least at this point. One couple gathered us all together one evening a while back, and that was really nice. But the reason for the gathering was for us to keep a better watch over each other because some thievery had come to the area. It was, however, a start, a good start. But then the good man who pulled us together up and died an untimely death.
I just started reading The Abundant Community: Awakening the Power of Families and Neighborhoods, by John McKnight and Peter Block. One thing I’ve picked up already is that if the community I live in is really going to be a community, I have to help make it happen. I have to become a neighbor. We will see.