A grainy television screen flickers inside a low-ceilinged, well lit, room. Its walls are pale blue, its carpet, dark green. Next to the TV is a fireplace, enclosed by a brass gate. Multiple twisted knobs line the gate's top and sides. On the overhead mantle is an oblong box. Like the gate it is made of brass, and has the same twisted knobs along its edges. A medium sized sconce above the box, and two small lamps on either side, illuminate it.

Directly across is a couch: navy blue checks, white background. Above the couch hang nine small drawings in rectangular frames. They are arranged in rows of three. Top: broom, vacuum, mop; middle: refrigerator, cupboard, sink; bottom: bed, vanity, chest of drawers. One of the drawings, the cupboard (center piece; middle row) is missing. Its place on the wall, now empty, is even a lighter blue than the rest of the room. Next to the couch is a potted tree. Strands of flickering white lights wrap around it.

Behind the living room is a kitchen. On the stove is a pan covered with aluminum foil. Beneath it, a warm, as yet untouched, stew of sausage, garlic, potatoes. Next to the stove, on the counter, sits a loaf of baked bread, still in its pan, an uncorked bottle of red wine and an unused long stemmed glass. Behind the kitchen is a small pantry, well stocked with tins and jars: oysters, jams, olives, crackers, artichoke hearts, orzo, cookies. The pantry looks onto a back yard with rose and lilac bushes, and a raised bed herb garden.

Breeze blows through the single story home; its front and back doors are open. Bits of dirt and gravel are visible, even on the dark colored carpet, from one end of the house to the other. Outside the ajar front door, on a small, enclosed porch, is a mat that says: WELCOME. In front of this home, a yard, facing an empty neighborhood street. It is a well-tended street: trim lawns, tall trees, manicured bushes. The houses are freshly painted and in different colors: yellow, white, red, gray, green. On the curbs sit tiny bundles of garbage and large bins of things recycled (tomorrow is trash day). Neighborhood residents are conscientious of the environment. They: garden, take short showers, recycle, ride bikes, limit use of electricity.

Streets are empty because neighborhood residents are in a meeting, inside the Community Center. There is a steady drizzle.

A bell rings, street lights go on and off, signaling the meeting is over. The Town Founder walks outside of the Center, and stands at the top of its broad staircase. She is a tiny figure, striking in a black long sleeved t-shirt, silky white skirt falling loosely above her knees, revealing a sculpted set of legs. Around her neck, several strands of tiny, brightly colored, lights. They flicker on and off.

She shakes hands with the departing people, now leaving the building, walking down its wide steps. A double decker bus is parked at the bottom of the steps. Some of those in the crowd board it. The rest walk to their individual homes, many hand in hand, huddled together under umbrellas, tarps, rain ponchos.

The bus driver pulls up to the gate, waits for it to open, and to get exit clearance. This happens (green light, open gate), he beeps, drives away, waves a friendly good bye. The riders also wave. The bus is full. Where the bus travels, outside the neighborhood gate, there are no people, no foliage, no houses for several miles, just an expanse of concrete. The closest neighborhood, where the bussed in people live, is thirty miles away. Their community is not yet as developed as this one, which is why they visit regularly for support and advice.

In the back of the bus sits a young woman, cradling a canvas bag. Her cheeks are deeply flushed. She hopes no one notices that she was not at the meeting, but very carefully going through the Founder's home, trying to learn what she can about this successful woman, who brought the neighborhood to where it is: green, clean, enclosed, and with a consistent supply of gas and electricity. She wants what the Founder has. Not just the community. She wants the Founder's understanding of structure and maintenance of such a place. And she believes a clue lies in the cupboard drawing she carries with her. The cupboard is structured, she notices, in the exact shape of the Founder's neighborhood. She believes when she gets this drawing home and examines it, the individual shelves and drawers will mirror the housing, business and park placement of the Founder's neighborhood. She believes the large drawer in the drawing's center stands for the Community House. The shallow space above that for the park. The multiple little drawers below, f or family homes. The large shelf at the bottom for the school, the medium shelves in between for stores, the fire/ police station, post office.

Her plan is this: get the drawing home, and copy it exactly. Copying the drawing exactly will give her a feel for the Founder's thinking on structure. When she returns for the next regularly scheduled visit with her group, she will re-hang the drawing, and try to track down a neighborhood map. Despite all of the chatty meetings with the Founder and her neighborhood residents, no one has ever shown her group a map.

Some day she hopes to meet, one on one, with the Founder. Maybe even colleague to colleague. But until then she must be secretive about ways she learns from her. Tonight was not her first visit to the Founder's home. She wants her own raised bed herb garden. Already she has planned, when her yard has enough soil, to plant rose and lilac bushes in her yard. She plans to buy a television, just like the Founder's, and have something resembling the brass fireplace gate and its matching box. She has a list of things she will stock in her pantry, when she has the money and there are grocery stores in her neighborhood. She has collected a few strands of lights she will drape around her neck, and around the indoor potted tree she will have in her living room. She looks forward to a time when she has a kitchen and can make stew of sausage, potatoes, garlic. She is sure she smelled fennel in the Founder's kitchen. When the time comes to make it she will add that to her stew, too.

by Lynn Crawford

 
more columns by Lynn Crawford and Ted Pearson