Goodbye, small town

Fielding Academy used to sit on the hill, overlooking a bustling little town. Main Street included a drug store, service station, jewelry store and even a nickelodeon. Emerson Elementary School sat right on Main Street, along with the other business buildings. Positioned by the tabernacle, one of the oldest buildings in Idaho, was Fielding High. 

This is how Paris was in it's prime, at least how my father describes it. I wish I could have seen it back then. It seems magical--almost surreal. 

Driving through Paris now, you'll see a completely different landscape. Where Fielding Academy used to proudly watch over the city, now sits a house. There is no drug store, jewelry store, or even nickelodeon. You'll find one gas station, right on the corner on the southern part of town and a lot of empty buildings. 

The Paris that I knew as a child was slightly different, yet not the same as today. My grandmother used to live on the hill where Fielding Academy once stood. I would ride my bike up to her house, and together with my cousin we would get green pineapple ice cream

 at the drug store. I loved ordering and sitting at the bar, waiting for my precious treat. Following my visit, I would fly down the hill on my bike, pedaling as fast as my little wheels would allow. 

One of my favorite things in the world was being able to paint ceramics. On my grandmother's street sat a ceramic shop, where my mother would take me sometimes to paint the little creatures. My first pick to paint? A little striped chipmunk, like the ones that greet you when you go to Minnetonka Cave. 

                                         

From what I remember, my childhood was mostly spent outside. I would roam the streets and I loved every minute of it. My cousin and I would take our Barbies, strap them into their Jeeps, and haul them with a string down into the pasture and around the stream. 

But the best, the best, was the 4th of July. I remember waking up, eating the chuckwagon breakfast, and immediately getting on my bike to see who was lighting fireworks around the town. The parade and the cookout we would surely have with my cousins was the highlight of my whole summer. 

I went home this past weekend, and Paris isn't the same. But it hasn't been the same for awhile. Where businesses used to be now sit vacant buildings, some have even been through some sort of chameleon phase, transformed from one business to the next, until they're left to crumble. My elementary school, Paris Elementary, was built where my father's high school--Fielding High--once was. I went up to play with my family and I noticed how different everything looked. The paint was chipped on the building, the lawn was a jungle. 

Walking home from the elementary school, I passed six houses, four of which were empty. An elderly woman used to live in one, a family in the other. Right next to a best friend's house is an old house in Paris, built by one of the guys who helped build the tabernacle, I think. On the second floor is a balcony; underneath the wood, the brick is crumbling. 

Yesterday, I went up to the cemetery to visit my ancestor's graves. I passed through the rows, staring at the stones of many people passed. Some were so old they were broken in half and propped up against the base. Some didn't have flowers.

Did this person ride his bike down the street to get some ice cream? Did this person help build the tabernacle? Did he play in the stream that snaked it's way on the southern part of town? Was this the town that they left behind?

Behind me in the background, buzzed a four-wheeler. The driver made wide loops around his backyard, whipping up mud and spinning in circles. Each loop dug a trench deeper into the earth and the green of the grass slowly faded away. No need to worry; he would be gone by Monday. Then the grass could rest.

This is how things are in Paris. Someone moves or passes away and in their place is established a summer home. Usually, the summer home family comes up on the weekends or summer holidays. But you won't see a light on at Christmas. Many of the buildings, historical landmarks in my town, sit silent and lonely until the weather is just right. Then they get the pleasure of having someone's company. 

Leaving Paris is hard. Part of me feels like I should be the one coming back, buying a home and raising a family. Part of me feels like I should buy the house that is a historical landmark. Part of me knows I wouldn't rip up my backyard with a four-wheeler because I would live there. Part of me feels that I should give the house some company on Christmas. Some people may never know the pain that comes with watching a hometown disappear. I believe, though it's happening all over the world, that the people in Paris know acutely what it's like. 

I have to wonder what the founders of Paris had in mind for this pretty little town. I can't help but feel, that what it is turning into is quite the opposite. Did they know, when they built Fielding Academy, that soon it was going to be a pile of ashes? Did they know that their nickelodeon theater would be locked up so no one could enter? Did they know their streets would be nearly abandoned until a certain time of the year?

I think that my childhood--one filled with bikes, fireworks and Barbie safaris, will be something my children won't get to experience. I'm afraid they won't be able to ride up the street to see their grandma or to the store to buy penny candy. They probably won't get to experience the childhood of living in a small town. I cringe to think of what could happen when one day, our parents will leave and another summer home takes their place. Paris deserves something better than the promises of weekend visits and crumbling buildings. Paris deserves families to move in and continue the tradition of keeping a small town alive.

Driving through the island of Madeira, I noticed there were several small villages. Our taxi driver explained how many of the young adults left to go to different cities to find a life and work. As we passed through a mountainous village, I saw several elderly women working in the fields by their houses. One was digging, probably planting for the year. As we passed in the car, she looked up and I waved. We made eye contact and she waved back, with a smile on her face. 

Then, she kept on working.