Reflections on my home town
Growing up I do not know when I became aware of the uncomfortable fact.
It may have been on television, not the news but popular programming. There was almost never any that featured us. When people like us were featured, it was in a mocking way.
It may have been Aux Trois Moulins (The Three Mills), a local restaurant. I can not remember a time when there were three mills in operation. There were two for a time, and now one.
It may have been that whenever something burned down nothing was ever built to replace it. The main street has at least three gravel lots where businesses once stood, although two of them predate my memory.
Thinking about it noww, all of these things, and others, are responsible. Their impressions build up over time. I do not think I ever consciously became aware of the fact until I left. But it was there. Day in, day out, we lived with it. Struggled with it. Endured it.
My home town was dying. Is still dying. And, baring any unlikely reversal of fortune, will die.
Some day Chapleau, Ontario, will be a ghost town.
I have seen the end. On one edge of town is a street. It is lined with houses on one side, like any other street in town, and the other the Chapleau River. When I was in grade school I had friends who lived in these houses. I do not recall when they moved away, as more people than I can remember did (and I myself did eventually), but I know that no one has lived on that street since. The houses are boarded up and run down.
Forgotten.
Forgotten will be the terminal state of the town. Just like these houses. Boarded up, with trees and grasses overgrowing everything. And then decay.
When I think about why the cracked highway overgrown with grass had a profound effect on me, the image forever ingrained in my memory, it must be because I know that is what Chapleau will come to. My obsession with the world moving on, my love of apocalyptic and post-apocalyptic fiction, games and film comes from my upbringing. From the subconscious foreboding that permeated the air, the faint smell of death.
But as much as I deeply love my home town, I can never go back. Its Chiché to say, but its true. I, too, have moved on.
Posted in Opinion (RSS)
Posted on Friday, June 17, 2011 at 8:07 PM by JamesP

