Alabama | Arrival
It started with tears of joy.
The drive into Greensboro, Alabama was something out of a movie; bucolic rolling hills, cattle grazing, the glistening sun, Willie Nelson playing a sobering song while my mom sat shotgun. It was a familiar scenario with a Southern context. We rolled down Main Street and not a soul was out. My new home was one block to the right.
As we pulled up I tried to keep it cool. Google street view was misleading. It was slowly becoming clear that my California standards would need to be cut in half, and then maybe cut in half again. Not 30 minutes after exchanging keys with my landlord my mom and I found ourselves scouring the shelves at Family Dollar for pretty much every toxic cleaning supply I don’t usually subscribe to. $100 later we were outfitted to sparkle.
Then the real tears came.
As we headed back I questioned every reason why I thought this was a good idea. I circled all two blocks of Main Street twice looking for possible for rent signs in windows. Comical if you know the town, this is no Mill Valley. Who in their right mind picks up and leaves a great life in California to go to school in the deep South? The only answer I could come up with is someone who had never been to the deep South. And that was me. Standing in the street, in all my ignorance and sweat, staring at my musty rental with non-operable windows and a car full of camp gear I no longer needed.
UPDATE: turns out my place cleans up just fine and my camp chairs compliment the existing antique furniture! I am finding charm in the quirks and feeling very lucky to have a home.