The Rise and Fall of the Community
Yesterday, I drove to the homestead. It's 30 minutes away from town, an the foothills of the mountain.
The road is a straight line until you reach a steep bend in the thick of the woods that will lead you to an abandoned square with a church from the 1600s decorating it. It was bombed twice during WW2.
From there, you enter a Daedalian labyrinth made of small farmhouses, chaotic roads that can barely fit a car, and endless fields of olives trees. If you manage to avoid the stray dogs and the gypsies waving you to stop - always looking to make a bargain where you end up in debt - you will find my "neighborhood".
One street, three houses on either side. Down the road, a riverside church with tables and an old tavern that's now a shelter for birds.
My great-grandfather decided to transform the shacks and stables, where they kept their animals during the winter, into a small community. Brothers, cousins, friends started moving closer together. The church's bells rang every day. At one point, five hundred people would celebrate Orthodox Easter together according to my grandmother.
After the war ended, more clusters like this appeared, creating a "coastline" booming with life.
Meanwhile, the city was considered filthy, muddy. A place to get in and out quickly, maybe pick up a thing or two, sell your crops. I remember looking at old photos and seeing the town hall, a few shops, and the ruins of the old city-state, looming over the handful of people posing in the middle of the street.
My grandfather used to tell me that there are temples and monuments buried underneath. People would dig and throw away everything they found to lay foundations for their houses. If it started raining, it got so muddy you had to wait it out or your carriage would get stuck.
No one could predict that this place would become our new hometown...
Human Drainage
When I got out of my car, I was alone. Alone for miles, probably. The motor from the irrigation system was rhythmically accompanying the silence. I unlocked the iron door and entered the estate.
For years we used it as a warehouse to store tools and agriculture-related machinery. Like everyone else, my family left this place decades ago.
It started slow. The process was simple. Make money, buy cheap land in the city.
The folks there were struggling, so they were selling everything for a piece of bread. It looked like a bargain.
The new roads made transportation much faster, connecting these seemingly unrelated communities. Now, it was easier to live a few minutes away from the city yet still do business there every day.
The first big factory opened. Now, you didn't have to be a landowner to survive. At the same time, companies took an interest in the produce, started slapping labels on it and selling it in big cities.
Shops, cafes, restaurants, hotels, schools, museums. You could have a complete life. Your community didn't have a purpose anymore. You didn't need to belong to a tight-knit group of people to live life to the fullest.
The city became the central node. Modernity terraformed the land while shifting the culture to match the never-ending demand for surplus production.
The downfall of the community is a symptom of the system we live in.
Corporations and an international economy muted the interlocal cultural intricacies that made communities functional and alive. That's not a criticism nor a complaint.
I'm highlighting how we, you, your grandparents, humans, were lured away from homesteads, the "trad" life, the village by the sea not because we lost the cultural war. But because the cultural war is an illusion, downstream of bigger, global shifts we don't understand how they can affect us down the line.
Even now, the few villages and towns that have a decent population function like rest areas for the "drivers", the locals, trying to reach the city eventually.
Moving Forward
I opened the window to let the fresh air in. This place needs some upkeep but otherwise, it's beautiful.
From the balcony, you can see the land unfolding in front of you. And if you pay attention, you might notice how each generation left their legacy behind. The house I'm standing into the fields to the roads to the factories to the city.
Where to now?
Footnotes
Unfortunately, even the relatively small cities are beginning to dwindle, rotting away. Big corporations demand extremely large metropolitan areas to function. It takes a lot of human resources, cattle, fodder, in order to have these hyperbolic monopolies set up shop. The economy is transformed, it takes the individual and adds a mark up relative to his market value.
At the center of it all sits profit.
Don't get me wrong, living in these big cities is so much fun. But the problem is that most people don't actually live in these cities. They live in confined spaces and LED-lit rooms.
They live in the subway and in-between buses. The beauty of a city is maintained by suits working 60 hour weeks for you and me to witness.
I, as an outsider, being there by choice, can appreciate the brutality and elegance of the skyline and the hustle and bustle vibes. Because I'm not part of it. I'm merely an explorer.
Is it the only choice?
I’ve lived in a town with a 15k population and in little communities with 30 people. I’ve lived in big metropolises with 5 million residents and in cities with 300k.
And I can tell you with certainty that life and relationships are… kinda the same — if you remain the same. People don’t get magically nicer and less gossipy when you move to the country. In fact, I would argue that they can be quite bitter if they’re staying there out of necessity.
It’s always a matter of choice. Your mindset - oh what a cursed, yet necessary word - changes the way you interact with your environment.
If it’s your choice, if you’re honest with yourself, then cities, towns, huts in the middle of nowhere are all the same to you.
But…
A friend of mine spends two and a half hours commuting. His parents are still helping him to cover rent because everything is expensive. He has to make plans a week ahead to go out for dinner because everyone is so "busy".
The city swallows him. He’s probably unhappy but he seeks refuge in the path laid in front of him. So, he stays.
What would you do in this situation? Personally, I’d get the f**k out of there…
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