Read more about it in The Green House of the Future and Eco Architecture: Architects envision sun and wind powered ‘edible homes’.
On our stretch of Hwy 64 between Pittsboro and Asheboro, en route to grandma & gramdpa’s over the years and recently, I am struck and disturbed by the same roadside distractions: Lorax-fabled land-use practices, the thriving MHP businesses and vacant strip malls with shiny new combo fastfood-and-gas stations out in front.
But of the roadside a-ttractions,we pass a wonderful pair of stacked stone pillars in front of a distinguished enough Carolina I-house, one black, one white and of the same form and proportion, nicely spaced and slightly larger than the human scale, that Goldsworthy himself would be proud to call his own.
There’s the plain and simple “Hog Slat” brand logo on the supply co. building with all the cool galvanized stuff that Chapel Hill architects covet and a logo that any hipster would pay to have on a t-shirt or distressed ball cap to wear at kickball practice.
And there’s that old Exxon station in Siler City, $1.13/gal still up on the sign. It’s old but not way old, more 70s vintage. And small by today’s standards, one- sided and backed up against an industrial chicken processing plant, and pinched by the widening of 64 in the past 10 years or so.
Only the road-weary bothers to ponder the re-use of a brownfield site like this Exxon. I can see the Aardman-faced chicken leaping to freedom over the CMU-and-chainlink between the Exxon and the proceesing plant, seeking safe haven at…Pollo Libre!Siler City’s response to McChipotle but with the real soul of taquerias on wheels!
Aunt Bee may not have appreciated the humor or the 2000 census putting Central NC counties at the top of the latino immigration populaiton explosion. But Pollo Libre! is almost already Siler City’s premiere third place for locals that I’d stopped in everytime on these roadtrips from Chapel Hill to garndma’s house in my mind. Imagine: Univision, the spanish-dubbed version of Chicken Run looping continuously and futbol matches on large flat screens with lines at walk-up windows for the only all-locally grown all-vegetarian, pupusa, tamal & menudo experience for miles deep in the heart of the latino immigrant south! Beautiful lowriders, custom pick-ups (and liquor-sickles too) out front cranking next gen corridos about social justice and their rightful place in the American mainstream!
…and open ’til midnight. Salud!
Is the glue that holds communities together the same tube of glue some families need? An old family rift just recently got deeper and I’m desperate to make reparations it’s just I’ve spent a career looking at the fabric of our physical environment, and little on the fabric of the lives that occupy and animate it.
Take as a for instance, the role of the corner store: the power of place to convene strangers, cause chance encounters, make routine a tradition. I think of my year in a small town in England, the derogatory phase “Paki” used to describe immigrant- mainly Pakistani-owned corner stores, and the antidote band Cornershop, but also of school kids let out in the afternoon and stopping in for a jawbreaker or licorice rope (anything that lasts longer than the rest of the walk home).
In England’s The Daily Mail, I found the article How England is Losing the Very Things That Make it Worth Living in, extolling the virtues of this special kind of ‘third place’, and railing on a bit more about globalization and the demise of the independent and locally-based society and economy (to which I might blog on later). Or the local bakery, bar or pub. To hear “…haven’t seen you in awhile, Mr. Jones, how have you been…” gets you humming the Cheers theme song “…where everybody knows your name…and they’re always glad you came…”.
How about the family restaurant, and that family who owns it? They are not immune to dysfunction, but by their place in an extended family, a neighborhood community or perhaps part of local lore and tradition (“…when you’re in Durham, you have to eat at the Magnolia Grill…” or Bullock’s Barbeque one!), these families may be more prone to sticking it out, for a greater calling, one beyond oneself or profit alone.
Can a labor of love be a living and a calling? Can working together on the survival and success of the family business be the same spirit that communities and towns and nations need to thrive?
And can the family find meaning in their collective successes and failures, validated by sales revenues or simply smiling satisfied customers or the cordial greeting or paid compliment: “…hello Ms. Jones, what a fine hat…”.
There is risk to putting out your wares, hanging your shingle and engaging the public realm. The payback is immeasurable, in place-building, identity and belonging. Le boutquier dans le quartier: the shopkeeper in da hood is code for the role locally owned independent catalysts of humanity play in neighborhoods everywhere (you just have to look harder these days).