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May 4, 2009
Already inflation and the Rust Belt settled in, and Chicago was no longer the great city which helped my husband and me to make a good living there for more than 20 years. Even before the Vietnam war sputtered to a close, it was time for us to think about retirement. In 1970 we took our first trip to the Knoxville area to watch the leaves turn. In later years we came back in June to catch another season. For Bill, roses climbing on fences with little white houses in the background convinced him East Tennessee would be better than the Ozarks, his early dream. My first view of the area was in 1948, and I was already prejudiced.
Each time we came back, we became more certain that some day we could leave bitter cold winters and humid summers of the Great Lakes area for our so-called Golden Years. Gold was what we had to take into account. Ours were not jobs with bounteous pensions. We banked on our meager investments and promises of Social Security and Medicare. Two rules guided us: do not pay interest to anyone and do not go into capital.
It was pure luck that in June 1977 we found a fixer-upper with garden space in Meadowbrook Subdivision at Grove and Fletcher, right behind the Meadowbrook Missionary Baptist Church. With my experience in growing vegetables and conserving the excess for winter, and with Bill's handyman capabilities for making the house more habitable, we figured we could make it. Jimmy Carter famously said that inflation is the cruelest tax of all. Ronald Reagan was famous for saying that government is the problem. Each trip to the hardware store reminded me of them. Having grown up during the Depression, we used all the tricks we learned in the 1930s.
With neighbors accepting of outsiders, we found ourselves an asset which no amount of money can buy. The couple across the road taught me how to plant a southern garden. When we needed to connect with a primary care doctor, someone advised us. We checked with neighbors before we hired contractors who advertised in the paper.
When a lovely young woman with three school-aged children landed in the hospital, we became standin grandparents. For me it was the way I grew up, even if later I spent all my adulthood in cities. For Bill, who grew up in San Francisco, there was the joy of planting his own roses on our own fence. After his death, I was able to spend six years living alone, surrounded by children who kept me engaged. Their parents were my friends. The place where I had lived for 22 years was my home. Already I had lived in Blount County longer than in any other place.
Ten years ago I sold the house to the church behind me and moved to Maryville Towers. My telephone number is the one we contracted for in October 1977. Many of my friends are those who still live in Meadowbrook, or nearby. They still see that I have rides when needed, invitations for holidays, and a chance to reminisce. At this stage in my life, I cannot do as much for them as I could when I used to share extra vegetables--or perhaps help if there was a sickness or death. Some of the children I met first, now have married children. It's the life I always knew growing up. As they say, you can take the woman out of the garden, but you can't take the garden out of the woman.
