The building in both photos is a grocery store called the Downey Food Center, or simply Jim's by the locals; next door to the store is a post office where my friend's mother has recently been promoted to postmaster. On hot summer days, I rode bikes with my brother and sisters down this street to get popsicles or candy bars from Jim’s. It's incredible how much I remember just looking at the pictures of this place. I can't help but feel that its familiar architecture is somehow my architecture too, that its roads are mapped somewhere within me, as much a part of me as the DNA coded in my chromosomes. It's hard to describe the feeling these memories create in me. It's warm and it smells like fresh cut grass in the summer, and it sounds like the easy silence in the wake of the curfew siren that can be heard across town at noon and ten o' clock every day.
Downey is a tiny town where the summer nights are warm enough to be spent sitting in lawn chairs talking about nothing and everything. It is a country town at its roots. The paved streets of the town give way to dirt roads and fields of grass where cows and horses graze and farmers grow their crops. A farming and ranching community, one of Downey's most anticipated events of the year is the rodeo, a night when nearly every one of my town's six hundred residents gathers at the small fairgrounds to watch their friends and neighbors compete.
Growing up in this town shaped me and taught me so much of what I know about myself. When I was twelve, I learned how to bake a cake for the county fair, a sad chocolate creation that was generously awarded a first place ribbon by the kind old ladies of the judging committee. I first learned to drive on its winding, empty roads. I learned that I truly love graphic design and writing as the editor of my high school's yearbook. I learned so much about who I am and what I can do in the safe waters of a small pond. These memories will forever be a part of who I am; no matter how large the ocean of the world, I am comforted by the knowledge that there is a community that believes in me and thinks that I am a big fish.
City and country life are often presented as opposites, and in some ways they are. There are no small town rodeos in the city where I now attend college. My friends here sometimes have trouble understanding just how small my hometown is, so I tell them a story. Once, I wanted a soda from the machine in front of the store, so I literally parked my running car in the middle of Main Street, got my soda, and continued my drive home. Attempting to turn left on Main Street here is far more dangerous than that entire maneuver. I'll miss the strange freedom of living in such a small town. I'll miss the close knit community of neighbors, like the sweet old Navy veteran who played banjo on his porch and his happy, boisterous wife who spoiled us with birthday gifts and extra candy on Halloween.
However, after moving from Downey to a college town, I've realized there is a lot to love about city life, including the sheer nearness of everything and the diversity inherent in a larger community. The convenience of twenty-four hour superstores is a constant source of amazement to me. There are so many places to be and people to meet, opportunities I never had growing up. Driving through the brightly lit streets at night with my friends makes my mind whirl with all the potential of a city with no curfew. Life among tall buildings makes me feel excited and alive. City life holds an undeniable draw, the neon glow of thousands of intertwining lives and crossing paths so close to each other. There’s so much potential to meet new people and learn new things every day.
It's true that my life in the country and the city have their differences, each their own advantages. Apart from these differences, though, I find that the things I love most about my life in Downey and at college are the same in that they aren't really things: they're people. Whether in the city or the country, the experiences I share with the people I love are what truly define a place for me, and in this respect, city and country life are equals. I've met so many kind and lovely people everywhere I've lived. Though it might seem cliche, I think the old saying "bloom where you're planted" has the right idea. I was born a wildflower, fed by the country sun and raised sturdy enough to weather Idaho winters. But after my transplant to the city, I've realized that the potential for growth and beauty is everywhere, even if it means leaving familiar fields behind.
