Anacostia in the Afternoon

I grew up on an idyllic street in Houston, and my memories of it are all wonderfull. It was in the city, but it didn't really feel like it. Werlein was a dead-end street, so there was almost no traffic and it was safe for kids to play and ride their bikes outside alone. Most of the houses were full of young families with children. I was never without a playmate. There was me and my brother, Tom, the Callaways - Elizabeth, Laura, and Hollis - next door on the left, Michael & Jenny Thomas on the right, Emily R. across the street, J.B. and Sarah M. a few houses down from them, and Elizabeth B. at the end of the road. Every day we'd play outside with our friends, and our parents would often spend time with one another (my mom still considers some of the other women on that block to be her best friends). We'd often have block parties, where everyone came together in the vacant lot directly across from us and barbecue, play volleyball, and set off (illegal, but harmless) fireworks. We rode bikes, pretended we were in the jungle in Elizabeth's back-yard (which was gloriously full of all sorts of ferns), put on outdoor plays, and, in general, had lovely childhoods.

When I moved to Northern Virginia at the age of 10, I felt like that neighborhoody part of my life was over. I never again felt truly connected to the people who lived around me. It's not that I did not know their names (although often I didn't), but that our relationships never went beyond saying "hi" when we saw one another and making idle chit-chat. This isolation from the community I resided in continued when I moved to NW D.C., Annapolis, Gaithersburg, Arlington, and Boston. I could no longer go out my front door to find a friend to spend time with, or go up to a neighbors door and knock, knowing someone would answer and happily invite me in (and give me lemon drops, like Elizabeth's mother, Rita).

I didn't realize how much this sort of neighborhood life meant to me until I moved to Anacostia. Almost as soon as I got here, I became a part of a community. Every day when I come home (at least in warm weather) there are children playing together outside. Adults congregate in backyards and front porches to talk for hours. I almost always hear a "Hey Emily", or "Hey Miss Emily", depending on the age of the neighbor talking to me. I have, more than once, been refered to as "family" by the people on my block. The incredible thing is, I think they mean it.

I was driving back from the grocery store the other day (the amazing new Giant on Alabama Avenue) and was really struck by the strength of the community that exist in Anacostia. It was about 4:00, and all the kids had gotten out of school. Adults and children alike fill up the sidewalks. People walk here. And they don't walk as fast as they possibly can, eyes averted from passers by, so as to arrive at their destination in record time, unlike the rest of the DC area. Rather, they often see people they know and stop to talk. People take time to connect to what's around them. It's heartwarming, really, to see this type of community.

Of course, being involved in a community like this involves hard work and sacrifice - especially if you are not used to it. Sometimes I find myself getting really frustrated when I'm trying to do something in my apartment and I hear the doorbell ring. I know it is one of my neighbors (usually a kid) coming over to ask me to do something, or help them with something. I admit that sometimes I pretend I'm not home. I am embarassed about this, as I realize how much of a blessing they are to me whenever I take the time to be with them. I guess I've just become so accustomed to coming home and being on my own that I need to relearn what an important part of life being a neighbor is.

I love Anacostia for many reasons - but I think the relationship that exists between its residents is what I love most. I worry alot that it will undergo gentrification, like the rest of the once poor areas of DC, and lose this characteristic. I'm thankful that I'm in a place where I can experience, like I did on Werlein Street, the comfort that comes from having meaningful relationships with those that live around you.