I occasionally wonder if some people would like to suburbanize the very things that make a city a city.
Take trains. I've read how pearl district people move into their "lofts" and soon begin whining about train noise. "Can you do something about those damn trains?" Oh brother. As if the train tracks are part of their HOA dues.
Long ago, I decided to embrace the rails and trains and engineers who lay on their horns. That's what happens when you live in Linnton. I'm all for improving your li'l piece of heaven, but I wouldn't move to the moon if I didn't like lunar supply-docking-station noises.
My personal enlightenment came after hearing how old-timey neighbors saw railroads as either a badge of honor -- what train? -- or something to be championed as an integral part of our history or heritage or "civilization" itself. Like the river and terrain, trains offer a powerful reminder that an authentic sense of place often occurs by accident, or when we stop worrying about making things easy, quiet and pleasant. Or strategizing about what's good for business.
