on the occasion of the (nearly) three year anniversary of the first time I saw my house –

Hello friends,

I have been remiss in posting about my house on the blog. We left Hyde Park in May 2019, because it wasn’t the right fit for us long-term. There were things I loved about Hyde Park and sometimes I miss it, but things I did not love included:

– Unresponsive elected officials who allowed high-traffic intersections to have noncompliant ADA ramps for over a year despite my weekly complaints (the ramps are still noncompliant nearly 2 years later).

– The closure of a critical sidewalk near my apartment that forced me to cross the street eight times in order to get to the train (including at the intersection with noncompliant ramps).

– The fact that only 50 of my neighbors signed my petition regarding the sidewalk closure, but over 300 signed a petition to open a second dog park within four days (apparently, our current dog park is in *Jackson Park*, not Hyde Park).

– The fact that Dave’s parents have lived in their home for over 20 years and do not know any of their neighbors.

– The horrific lakefront winds in the Indian Village neighborhood – I think Hyde Park is colder than most of Chicago because it protrudes further into the lake, but it’s truly terrible where there are additional wind tunnels because of high-rises along the lake.

– Incredibly spotty service in (pretty expensive) restaurants. I once had the same salad made incorrectly in five different ways  – I have nothing to say about this that Yasmin Nair hasn’t said better. Please read her piece, Hyde Park: Where Food Goes To Die, which explores the critical question: “What kind of culinary omerta survives in Hyde Park to keep its restaurants at such a depth of mediocrity?”

– Social justice warriors who post online patting themselves on the back for their refusal to call the police on violent criminals, leaving them at-large to prey on others in the neighborhood. (On the other hand…why bother reporting anything when the State’s Attorney appears to have a policy of not prosecuting crime?)

– Carjackings in broad daylight.

– Roving bands of pickpockets inside of restaurants, including at 9am on Sunday mornings.

The last straw was a series of increasingly violent muggings on the lakefront bike trail that I commuted on. Adding insult to injury were the subsequent blogosphere musings about how the Lincoln Yards TIF is the true culprit, not the people who actually committed the crimes. (I see now what people mean when they talk about “personal responsibility.”) I felt that I did not share the same values and goals as many of my neighbors, and I thought we were paying too much to live in a neighborhood where I didn’t feel safe walking after dark. One day, after yet another bleak news report, I found myself looking into concealed carry permits, and decided I would rather move than carry a gun to feel safe. This was all very disappointing because I’d truly hoped to raise a family in Hyde Park. It was also probably the best bike commute I’ll ever have in my life, and very possibly the best bike commute on the planet.

I told D that I wanted to move, so he started looking at houses on Redfin and one day last winter, he took me to an open house in Blue Island. We took a stroll around the block and I noticed how much warmer it was than Hyde Park. On that walk, I saw a for-sale-by-owner sign outside our house and I impulsively called the seller. We drove back the next day to see the for-sale-by-owner, I fell in love with the house, and then fell in love again with the immediate surroundings.

Blue Island is, literally, a city on a hill. It’s not a hill I would have noticed before moving to the midwest, but moving here has allowed me to experience life more fully. Take this hill: growing up in Virginia, moving to the midwest has given me a new appreciation for geography. When I go home to Virginia now, the topography feels much richer to me. Blue Island is on a ridge, and it’s one I would never have recognized as such without living somewhere so flat for so long.  Sometimes, driving, I feel that I am suddenly somewhere ancient. D feels it too, and when we look up the roads we learn about the indigenous people who lived here. The first people on this continent built a road along this ridge, following a buffalo migration route.

To this day, I have no idea how D, the most practical person I have ever met, was persuaded to buy this home with me. I think that the home itself cast some sort of enchantment. During our first visit to the house, I felt a sense that it spoke to me, asking me to live in it and care for it. I think many of my neighbors felt the same way when they found their homes. It’s something that binds us, this feeling of taking shelter within an entity, and giving shelter, in turn, by helping these houses to survive for the next hundred years. I wonder whether the people that the houses speak to in this way have something in common that brought us all here. I don’t know how else to explain that every person on my block is a wonderful and thoughtful person with an eye for beauty and the ability to find joy in the midst of hardship.

These houses have been loved since their inception. Most of them were commissioned by or for individuals. Ours is an exception: William Vandenberg, a local builder, lived in the homes he built only briefly, preferring to build a new residence, sell his current one, and repeat the cycle. William and Anna Vandenberg lived here from 1890 to 1892. Later, someone named Harriet planted peonies from her grandmother’s farm from a cluster dating to 1875. I think these are some of the same flowers that we enjoy today, since I learned that peonies can live over 200 years. I believe that I am the third person who has lived in this house to serve on the Blue Island Library’s Board of Trustees.

We have always been lucky with our living situations. When we started dating, D lived in an amazing apartment in Rosslyn, then he had a nice one in Dupont Circle; I lived in a terrific group house in Mt. Pleasant and then we had a great setup at my house in Maryland. Our condo in Hyde Park was also very nice. But this house is the best by far. The only thing we gave up was the bike commute and the lakefront. The bike commute isn’t a huge loss since I barely went to the office before COVID-19. There is a rather scenic canal in Blue Island with a nice bike path network, and I never went in the lake anyway because it was never warm enough. The city/neighborhood is just as integrated as Hyde Park but we have a bigger Latino population, which was a huge selling point for me.

We have a nice porch that we used to sit on a lot instead of watching TV and talk about how we didn’t watch TV. This changed because I went to law school and now TV is apparently the only way I can make myself relax. We have a garden and wonderful neighbors and almost everything we need within walking distance. There are so many birds singing that people can hear them in the background on the phone.

One of the reasons we pulled the trigger on this house was our feeling that the community was inherently resilient. If D and I have a creed, it’s something like the Strong Towns ethos. We don’t see eye-to-eye with most YIMBYs, especially since the overlap between YIMBY and “Democratic Socialism” turns us both off (to say nothing of the “gulag landlords” memes among the NUMTOTs, which I’m pretty sure are not ironic), but Strong Towns comes pretty close to our view of the world: the importance of inter-relationships, self-determination, self-sufficiency, planning ahead, fiscal responsibility, etc. I feel completely validated by our decision to move here after COVID, which confirmed that Blue Island is a strong town in all the ways that matter.

Somehow, the history of human settlement here, along the Vincennes Trace, comes up when we talk about our town. And somehow, everyone we meet here seems to know the history. There is something about the place that makes you pay attention and think about your place in the world and in time.

If your job will let you work remotely, please consider joining us here in Blue Island. It is special. There is a small cohort of people around our age who like owning and fixing interesting properties, or having room to make art or create incredible spaces, or all of the above. There are people of all ages doing that, but there are a few I look forward to raising children beside and growing old with, and having a critical mass of creative young people gives Blue Island a vitality and energy and optimism that I think is difficult to find in places where you can live comfortably.

I started a new instagram account for our house and our neighbors seem to enjoy it. Maybe you will too. I like living in a house that reminds me of both my own mortality and of my unique abilities. I like knowing about the people who lived here before me, and seeing the traces they left in this world. I wish that everyone lived somewhere that made them feel as safe, content, and inspired as I have felt since moving here. My house is beautiful, and I want to make it even better. Improving my house makes me want to improve myself.

I know that I am the happiest I have ever been in my life, because last spring, I saw pictures of the peony gardens at the Nichols Arboretum in Ann Arbor. The pictures reminded me of the particularly fine rose garden in Portland, and I thought for a moment that I might like to go see them. They are lovely, and it must be spectacular to see so many peonies in one place. Then I went outside and looked at the peonies beside my house, and realized that there isn’t a peony display on earth that could make me want to miss a single minute with the ones in my own garden.

Thank you, Harriet, for the flowers.