IDYLLIC CHANDLER HEIGHTS
IDYLLIC CHANDLER HEIGHTS*
“Life here was once idyllic, charming; here were once no rich, no poor, no high, no low.” — from The Innocents Abroad by Mark Twain
men in faded caps,
hands calloused like the bark of old oaks.
men with wrinkled faces, fresh from the war,
their broad shoulders carrying the weight of the world.
they returned not as heroes,
but as quiet architects of our lives.
they wore sturdy, heavily starched twill pants and shirts,
their hair buzzed short.
they built their lives from sweat and grit,
the pulse of blue-collar resolve woven into our days.
we played in the shadow of their legacy,
with jump ropes, yo-yos, bicycles, and baseballs.
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women in pristine aprons,
laughter and tears etched in the lines of their faces.
women with weary hands, fresh from wartime factories,
their hearts heavy with unspoken dreams.
they returned to a life of motherhood and domesticity,
hands dusted with flour, nurturing the nuclear family.
they wore the fabric of the day, polka dots and pastel dreams,
their hair pinned high.
they built their families from traditional values,
the pulse of feminism vibrating in the background.
we played in the shadow of their unfulfilled dreams,
our laughter a chorus of 1950s innocence.
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we walked barefoot in the summer,
the pavement hot beneath our feet.
we awoke to the rhythmic hum of lawnmowers, and
the smell of fresh-cut grass
we used the pecan trees as fortresses,
mudpies were slung, childhood battles won.
we rode bicycles with rusted chains,
their wheels spinning memories.
we drooled with anticipation as the aroma of barbecues wafted
through open windows.
we savored the taste of fresh-baked bread
mingled with the sharpness of expectation.
we watched lightning bugs dancing,
filling the dusk with their magical lights.
we endured hot, humid summer days
nursing mosquito bites and sunburnt skin.
Chandler Heights, an idyllic neighborhood where the air was thick
with hope and the promise of tomorrow.
*The grassy pasture of Mr. Buhler’s farmland had once been a thriving cotton farm, one of the largest in the North Texas region—a 20+acre piece of land near the center of downtown Garland, Texas. When hard times prevailed, Mr. Buhler sold all but a few acres of his land to a developer who, in 1951, converted the acreage into suburban city streets with row upon row of inexpensive, two-bedroom tract houses which later became known as Chandler Heights. All across America, Post World War II couples migrated to neighborhoods like Chandler Heights. These communities were the foundation and hallmark of the 50s and 60s, an idyllic and optimistic time in America.
Copyright ©
Sara Etgen-Baker
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