A funny thing is happening in the neighborhood where I grew up. When we moved there in the summer of 1957, there was a field of corn across the street. My older brother played in a stream that ran through it. I was too young, I had to stay in what I thought was a huge backyard. There was a farm house with horses near by and at first we had to travel on a gravel road to get to the house. That was a long time ago. The streets lie just a few miles from Washington, DC, inside the beltway, about a mile from where the first McDonald’s in northern Virginia was built.
These solid brick houses built on 1/4 acre lots are being torn down and the lots rebuilt on. Houses that probably could last another 50 years are being sent to an early grave. I hope that someone is saving the bricks, 2 x 12 inch wooden joists, steel support girders, copper piping, or hardwood oak floors, but I doubt it. They usually disappear in a day being replaced by large holes in the ground. The new construction, I am sure, consists of larger bathrooms, more convenient kitchens, and wired for the 21st century. But these new houses look a little strange and change the complexion of the neighborhood. Sometimes not a lot of thought goes into the style of the new houses, giving a kind of schizophrenic look to the neighborhood. Continue reading