Aside from blogging about day to day things, sometimes I like to get a bit deeper with my writing. My love for good writing blossomed as a child, where I broke my dad's heart every time he asked if he could read to me, and I would boldly refuse with an "I can read it myself!" Then I would squirm away from his lap with the book and read until my eyes started to cross. Poor guy.
AP English was my favorite course in high school, and I even majored in photo journalism for a good year or so in college. Then I found kinesiology and nutrition, and I parted ways with photo journalism. But I am still torn - I think I could have excelled at both.
About a year ago I decided to take a travel writing course, because well, I love to travel AND I love writing. Seems perfect right? I did this piece and after talking it over with one of my friends, I am taking her advice and sharing. For all those who grew up in a town that seemed a bit out of it's own league - this one's for you!
Chagrin Falls, in a Nutshell
“Do you need room for cream?”
I watched from my spot on the couch at
Starbucks as a fit blonde pondered the question, as though the rest of her
day’s happiness would depend upon this decision. A shorter, less fit friend
came to her rescue, “Yes, go ahead! We power walked 3 miles this morning!”
Power walking is a sacred time for the women of Chagrin Falls because it
conquers 3 key tasks of a house wife; catching up on gossip, parading their
athleticism to lazier friends who might be watching, and of course, sweating
off last night’s alcohol.
I wondered if I deserved cream this
morning. Did my heart rate raise enough while driving the snaking curves that
lead into the tiny town? Not likely, but I like my coffee black anyways. I
abandoned my people watching and opted to get my caffeine fix a few doors down,
at a place where the coffee is fresh and not over-roasted, yet lacking a name brand, so the
line is shorter.
I stroll along Main Street, taking
in the sounds of the falls as they pass under the road and cascade into the
Chagrin River. You can always tell if it has rained recently by the color and
ferocity of the falls. I pass the infamous Popcorn Shop and the scent of hot
fudge tickles my nose, my mouth instantly starting to water. The Popcorn Shop
sits at the center of town and offers decadent treats like flavored popcorn,
ice cream, and an assortment of candies meant to tug on the strings of
nostalgia. I wondered what the power walkers would deem this kind of indulgence,
probably unforgivable.
Despite it being mid-day during the
workweek, the shops along Main Street entertain the attractive people who are
milling about. Extended lunch breaks are common here, and they remain one of the
few things that aren’t ignored…unlike the town’s speed limits or laws
concerning alcohol use. Shiny, over-priced cars cruise around, their owners
either too old to make use of the horse power, or too young to deserve it.
An oversized gazebo near the end of
Main Street invites me to sit and admire the well-manicured town, and it occurs
to me that almost nothing has changed in 9 years. When I was in high school,
Chagrin Falls was always referred to as “the bubble”. A town that is miles away
from any highway, safe enough to walk to school, and, according to most of the
town’s parents, free of any activity that may question their children’s
actions. A town that allows teens to act older and parents to act younger, enticing
all who move here to never leave.
My watch shows it’s almost time for
dinner at my parent’s house, which resides only about a mile away. On the way
back to my car I run into three girls from high school that are a few years
older than I, we chat for a bit and then I carry on, wishing them luck with house
hunting.
You hit the nail on the head with this one. Love you, and your writing, thanks for sharing!
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