Sunday, April 17, 2011

Iron Oxide

Rust.  Like a scab, it signals decay.  Creeping out of nowhere, but announcing its presence with its earthly hues.  My hometown is full of it.  Rusty train lines, crumbling brick, fading paint.  It's slipping into decay.  The ground beneath it is hollow, drained of its precious coal, what was once the town's lifeblood.  Now the closed mines are like open sores, draining chemicals into the streams.  The stream beds are caked with chemical deposits, and Trout Run should have the word "Stocked" appended to it.  Throughout my childhood you could smell the sulfur around the water, assaulting the senses with all the repugnance of rotten eggs.  The streams are now clear, not just of their yellow coloring, but also of the life that they once supported.  The country needed coal, and the town provided it.  The country needed steel, and the area provided it.  But no longer, and my town is dying.

On some level I always knew, however part of me never wanted to believe it.  I saw my future there - some future.  But, the last time I was back, the truth hit me.  I didn't realize how much I dislike it.  How stifling it felt. How depressing, small, and disconnected it seems.  Don't misunderstand me.  I may have some misgivings about growing up there, but I am who I am because of that town.  Anywhere else and I wouldn't be me.  You grow up in a small coal town and you learn early the difference between anthracite and bituminous coal.  You get used to the large boney piles of waste coal and dirt.  Become accustomed to streets of identical company houses.  Of hearing stories about how the town used to look in its heydays.  "We used to have seven grocery stores.  Can you believe it?" "This town had three movie theaters.  Three!"  Become oblivious to the absurdity of the same family names appearing again and again; a lineage that isn't going anywhere.  Or even enamored by its quirky charm. 

Perhaps its part of the reason I held onto it for so long.  It was safe, and maybe I thought I could save it.  I never really got a chance to look at it for what it was though, until I left.  A fresh perspective.  A place where rusty train tracks and abandoned buildings aren't the norm.  From my house, you could, and can, still hear the trains that pass through.  They used to stop.  No longer.  My town is dying, and its doing it too slow and quietly for anyone to care.  It didn't quite come as a shock, I mean I've always known, but accepting it was the hard part.  For a long time, it's been a huge part of my life.  And while its helped shape me into who I am, I realize that its not all I'll be.  I held onto it to avoid having to actually question what I what out of life.  Where I want to go, and what to actually do.   A hundred, or even fifty years ago it would've been an easy call.  My soul would've been owned to the company store, while I toiled  underground.  Or I would've been drenched in sweat from the heat of the steel furnaces.  Laboring like my grandfathers and their fathers did.  However, I don't have that burden.  Mine is that of choice.  A gift.  A wonderful, wonderful, gift.  One I've been content to let gather dust - but no longer.I want more.  That much, I know. I've realized that this world is larger than I've given it credit.  I've come to realize something.  You can leave the small town, but the small town never leaves you.  Part of my soul will always be a covered with a bit of coal dust and rust.  Not as a sign of decay, but as a one of creation.

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