Sunday, September 05, 1999
Family might be movin' out for a piece of quiet
BY PAUL DAUGHERTY
The Cincinnati Enquirer
We're looking to move. Onward, upward and outward. Especially outward.
Away from traffic, noise and raging suburbia. How come they build these subdivisions and don't widen the roads?
Away from the Marts (K and Wal-) and the Stops (Quick and Ameri) and the “ies” (Wendy's, Chili's, Applebee's and Chuckie's, as in Cheese).
Away from the Mason-izing of America. Away from you.
Nothing personal. We like you. Really. Just not on our bumper. Or in our yard. Or at our door. Take care. Nice to see you. Go away.
We'll move further up the road, to where there is more green space. Of course, that green space will eventually be mowed down, too, lost to the march of the wooden subdivisions, Pleasant Acres and Old Farm and Rolling Hills in the Woods, sounding off in parade formation.
Old Farm, farm-less since the Revolution, will be surrounded by Marts and Stops and Wendy's. Rolling Hills in the Woods will be a piece of flat, barren scrub. And for the record, any place that claims to be Pleasant, isn't.
Nobody will care, though, because each spacious, new home will have a jacuzzi, double vanity and a bonus room over the garage.
We'll watch the tide roll in and the roads not widen. Then we'll move again.
We don't look at houses anymore, so much as property. Land stretching out far and wide. Keep Fields-Ertel and gimme that countryside. We want acreage and lots of it. Why am I charged a sewerage fee for water I use to keep my grass green? I want well water.
I want birds waking me in the morning. I want deer eating the tulips. I want to hold a football, tell my kid to go deep and not worry he'll run into a Big Wheel. I want an office over a detached garage.
I want . . . a tractor.
Where we now live used to be that way. Thirty years ago, it was a day-trip for city-weary folks. Before that, it was a summer destination for people seeking relief from the heat by fishing and wading in the Little Miami River.
Now, they're talking about building a hotel on our exit ramp. By 5 p.m. every weekday, the three miles of two-lane between the ramp and our neighborhood is stacked with idling vehicles.
And a few cornfields still await their imminent makeover into Enchanted Forest By The Lake.
You'd think tolerance would increase with age. It's not like we haven't dealt with crowds and traffic and noise by the time we reach 40. The older we get, the better we should be able to adapt, adjust, cope. Exist. Instead, we just want to get out.
I don't know what happens when we run out of places to move, or the commute to work becomes too great. My brother lives in far-suburban Washington, D.C. It takes him an hour to get downtown to work , and where he lives is like an anthill with people.
He wants to move to western Maryland or far northeastern West Virginia, where he can catch a train to work. Lots of open space in West Virginia; also, a 90-minute commute, each way.
It's not that bad here, yet. But it's coming. I don't know about you. But if I see one more Agreeable Knolls or Pretty Decent Vista, I'm heading for the Very Fine Hills.
Paul Daugherty, Enquirer sports columnist, writes a lifestyle column on Sunday. He welcomes your comments at 768-8454.
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