Just Because a Place is Picturesque, It Doesn't Mean It's Your Home. Or Does It?
Like many beautiful, historic small towns, the pandemic has inspired a really strong influx of new residents in Chestertown, some lured by family and friends, many others by its ambience. It's a romantic place, with brick sidewalks, a thriving downtown with shops, galleries, theater, festivals and restaurants, and a pastoral location on the Chester River. Chestertown has the highest ratio of historic houses in Maryland, just behind Annapolis.
It's a college town, which brings in fresh influences and ideas. It can feel peaceful here, world's away from big cities (we're within 90 minutes of Philadelphia, Baltimore and Washington, D.C. so we literally are a bit far away). And as anyone who knows me knows, I've literally been wearing rose colored glasses around town -- for a long time.
Imagine my surprise (and it reminded me of memories I'd long forgotten) when I stumbled onto "A Nice Place to Visit," a story I wrote for The Washington Post during my first year here. It's not so rosy. In the story, I was clearly having a hard time adjusting. I'd been seduced by the ambience here -- like so many newcomers I run into these days -- and it took me a long time to make my peace with the town. The big realization, the one that really turned me onto this path, was this: “Just as a boater must give into the rhythm of the water, a newcomer to a small town -- vacationland or any land -- must adapt to its rules and rituals and customs rather than the other way around.”
On that insight, the pink-tinted glasses returned, and have stayed pink, over the past 25 years or so. I visit California often, and particularly love its Central Coast and the Anderson Valley, above Healdsburg. Every now and again I feel the lure of the pecker's holiday hobby. Mostly it's ignored. This is home.