Being an adult with small children in the not-so-small town of Cary has made me appreciate the simplicity of growing up in the actual small town of Whiteville.
Sure, I enjoy the bustling array of things to do in the city at any given point, and the readily available delivery of any world cuisine my palate so chooses. However, there are some things you give up in exchange for a lavish city lifestyle, and what I mean by lavish, I mean not having to slow down for a combine taking up both sides of a two-way country road.
As a child in small-town Whiteville, summertime was our favorite season of the year.
Summertime was when we would still be outside until dusk, listening to the gentle buzz and chirps of the tiny occupants of the night. It was not unusual to see children laying on a grassy field silently tracing the paths of lightning bugs as they hover lower and lower to their destination of an unwitting nose.
If we weren’t outside enjoying the summer heat, we could possibly be found taking our shot at the local bowling alley, cruising the “strip” of downtown to see who had the coolest wheels in town, or burning up the floor at the skating rink. We also had a village of people who were assisting in our rearing. We all knew if we did something wrong, it would certainly get back to our parents or grandparents.
Gone are the days of an unobtrusive life. As I look out of my window, I see no lightning bugs. I hear no crickets singing their melodious songs while bullfrogs provide the low-pitched harmony.
What I do hear is the constant roar of fire trucks, ambulances, and police cars rushing to save the day. I look in the sky at night to see no stars and hear no crickets – no matter how late it may be. When my children go outside to play, there are no open grass fields within walking distance for them to lay and deeply inhale the viscous summer air.
The only grassy field in the vicinity of Cary is on the Dorothea Dix campus, yet still, it isn’t the same. And if you do make it out to Dorothea Dix Campus, there is no guarantee it will be peaceful as it is juxtaposed between Central Prison, Western Boulevard, the State Farmer’s Market, and the hustle of downtown Raleigh. There is no simplicity to life living in the grandeur of the city.
On a recent visit to my small-town hometown, I solicited my stepfather to take me on a field trip through Whiteville in hopes of rekindling my love for home. What I found instead was an unfamiliar place.
In recent years there have been quite a few floods that have sadly demolished places that were once upon a time, homes that were filled with laughter and life. Now all that is left are these skeletons of buildings with broken windows and remnants of lingering trash from town loiterers.
Seeing the former high school tied off and patiently awaiting its own fate, brought back a plethora of memories and nostalgic emotions which made me long for times past. I envisioned the end of each school year – students clamoring in excitement to see who can secure the most signatures in their yearbooks. I could hear the joyous laughter in the antiquated halls and the not -so-joyous yells from whatever teacher happened to be in the same vicinity coaxing us to move along and stop crowding the hallways.
I was overcome with emotions dating back to the late eighties and early nineties when life was so much simpler. When children actually went outside to play and were not fixated on the latest and greatest TikTok videos. This short-lived field trip was just enough to bring back the summertime small-town memories of why it is so amazing to grow up in a place like Whiteville.
So yes, it is nice to have the luxuries of convenience at your fingertips, but at what cost? I would give nearly anything to see my children enjoy playing in an expansive grassy field until dusk or to wade in a shallow pond feverishly searching for crawfish.
As a young adult, I could not wait to leave my boring hometown of Whiteville to see the lights and city action. However, as a perceived “grown-up” with small children in a large metropolitan area, I now appreciate the simplicity of growing up in an actual small town.
Yes, I would gladly give up my access to fresh Poke bowls being delivered to my front door for a small-town summertime.
Home is where the heart is, and Whiteville will always be home.
–Shaina Hall is a guest columnist who misses her hometown, and comes home to visit her family at every opportunity. This is her first column for CCN.
