We are back at Jordan's Croft. I wasn't able to find everyone I wanted to see. However I was able to have quality time with more people than I expected to see.
I came home with a full heart. Full of connections, full of news from dear friends, long lost family and acquaintances thought long dead. I also felt sorrow for those who struggled, with a dash of hope.
Life is hard in Ashtabula. There are so many people, places and things that can distract and derail the unwary. A single bad decision can put a person into the depths of poverty, never to regain their footing.
While Main Street was a ghost town, complete with weeds growing in the streets, the Harbor is still trying to grow. Bridge Street has a Sunday Farmer's Market. Yes, it was tiny, four vendors – Maple syrup and sugar, artisan bread, two tables with farm fresh vegetables. But I saw people walking away laden with goods.
In my mind the Farmer's Market is a great step forward for the Harbor.
Why? Because only small-scale, value added products like bread, maple syrup and vegetables – will turn that economy around. Micro-businesses enmeshed in each other; trading money and services will help people survive, maybe in thrive in time.
There has to be money coming into the county that stays in the county. Grocery stores take more money out than they put in. All that food money comes in but there are only a handful of employees. Unless the owner of the store lives in town, the bulk of the money goes elsewhere.
In a small-scale economy the farmer grows food, takes food to market, person buys food. The farmer reinvests that money the next year (maybe to hire help) to grow more food. The person gets fresh food and better health in return. The farmer is the basis for all economies. Everybody has to eat. When the farmer prospers, the county prospers.
Ashtabula will never be an industrial center again. Never, ever - not even if they hold their breath until they turn blue. The lake is all they have to offer in tourism – the Harbor is it. Seasonal work, seasonal money – making enough in the summer to survive over the winter.
I hated living like that; it sucked in 1980's, it sucks now.
But for the citizen of Ashtabula – that's all there is.
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A Very Old Memory
After school at West Junior High I took the bus to West 5th Street. I checked in at the Leeward, where Opal was working behind the bar, ta...
2 comments:
It is good that you recognize what has happened. No one here does. There is lots that can be done but the folks who are able to do it have left town. There are a couple of projects in the works that will not employ lots of folks but will bring some money into the area.
Nobody gets it. The lake could be an enormous resource but there is no cohesive plan to work on it. It is a culture like in Dundee in Scotland: The children have to leave to have a life. Frank McCourt just died and he had to leave Limerick in order to have a life. The same is true here. We should all start speaking with a Gaelic accent. It is no different.
The Maritimes in Canada have the same thing going on. So do the northern plains in this country. People are leaving the Dakotas and northern Wisconsin along with Michigan. Wyoming is also not gaining people. America is becoming the coasts and flyover country Kentucky and West Virginia went through the same stuff when the mines closed. That's why the Tacketts and Shinaults and the Blevins families are in Ashtabula along with the Jacksons. Johnnie Fetters came here along with Sherman Legg. Same deal.
Blessings on yer sweet red head
The only hope I see for 'Bula is a farm economy. That's it.
The Amish, the small farmer, the sugar bush, the garage business and the shade-tree mechanic are going to tread water.
Everybody else is going down.
I've offered several of my young relatives a spare room if they want out.
It is all I can do for them.
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