[Vision2020] Moscow old and new

[Joan Opyr]

Dear Visionaries,

Just to get it out of the way, I moved to Moscow in 1993 with my 
partner, Melynda, who was born here in 1964.  As Carl will attest, no 
one apart from the Nez Perce have been on the Palouse longer than the 
Westbergs, but Melynda's grandmother, Georgette, worked OB at Gritman 
for about 4000 years, and she probably helped deliver every Moscow-born 
member on this list.  I consider myself and adopted Moscow native 
because, like Joe Campbell, I had the good fortune to "marry in."  I've 
discovered that helps.

I've also discovered that it helps to know and love the Palouse as it 
is.  This doesn't mean we transplants shouldn't get involved in the 
fight for Moscow's character; what it means is that we should learn 
about the city's history, listen to its oldest residents, and genuinely 
care for the town and its people.  I have thought Moscow was the bee's 
knees since I first set foot on its soil back in August of 1992.  I 
came for a week-long visit to meet Melynda's family and never wanted to 
leave.  Why?  Because I had breakfast at the Beanery, bought books from 
Bookpeople, shopped at Hodgins, and hiked at Idler's Rest and Elk River 
Falls.  I remember when the new Tidyman's opened and people came from 
miles around to take a gander at the fancy new joint and get free snack 
cakes from Twinkie the Kid.  Moscow was like the Raleigh of my 
childhood, only even smaller and more intimate.  And so Melynda and I 
packed up our duds and our dogs, and we moved "home."  I have never 
regretted it.

In the South, we make a distinction between Yankees and Damn Yankees.  
We're fine with Yankees.  They move to North Carolina for the high-tech 
jobs and the moderate weather, and they go with the flow.  They learn 
to love North Carolina barbecue, pig-pickings, and sweetened iced tea.  
Damn Yankees complain about how North Carolina is not New York, or New 
Jersey, or Michigan.  They make fun of our accents; they despise our 
food.  They don't want a Bright Leaf chili dog from the venerable 
Char-Broil on Hillsborough Street; they want a Coney Island dog.  I say 
if you want a Coney Island dog, then for god's sake, go to Coney 
Island.  For a long time, Brother Carl and I used REM's "Stand in the 
place where you live" as our theme song.  Love where you are; 
appreciate what it has to offer.  Get into the local foodways, 
folkways, highways and byways.  Listen and learn.

The Yankee invasion has done a lot of good for the South.  People who 
didn't grow up with segregation and Jim Crow laws have made common 
cause with progressive Southerners like Mab Segrest and Morris Dees, 
and race relations have slowly but surely improved.  We needed good 
Yankee transplants, people who loved the South enough to help it change 
for the better.  It's good to have a sense of place, a feeling that you 
belong; it's good to know who you are and where you stand, but there is 
always room for improvement.  Transplants can help us with that.  But 
they have to be willing to be absorbed by the local culture, to learn 
by trial and error what's changeable and what's written in stone.  They 
have to love the place in which they live -- enough to take the heat 
when they buck against an oncoming tide like the Super WalMart and find 
themselves accused of hating the poor, economic myopia, restricting 
choice, and, worst of all, neither understanding nor caring about 
Moscow.

I love Moscow, Idaho.  I love it better than Raleigh, North Carolina.  
There, I've said it.  I have forsaken the land of my birth and embraced 
my inner Westerner.  May God have mercy on my soul.

Joan Opyr/Auntie Establishment
www.joanopyr.com

PS: I have a Resistol cowboy hat.  I'm going to start wearing it 
EVERYWHERE.  It goes so well with my Filsons and Carhartt's.