Phases of Nature, Cities, and Life

Atlanta, GA

July 11, 2020

Nature moves in cycles. As do generations, and civilizations. In the last couple weeks, our sons passed minor milestones, portending major ones. I’m afraid our civilization did as well. 

David turned fifteen in December. Unlike many that age, he was in no hurry to get his Learner’s Permit. By the end of February, he decided he was. But then facilities closed in response to the C-virus. When they re-opened, waits were long. No test times were available till a week ago Wednesday. 

I drove him there that afternoon. Twice. Once to take the test, and then again after returning home for the Social Security card we didn’t bring the first time. With all documents in order, David signed in, took his test, and left licensed. Among the few silver linings on this cloudy year is that Atlanta roads are as empty as we could hope for our younger son to practice driving. 

The Atlanta air is also as clear. Both of particulates and of planes, which is ideal for our older son to practice flying. He has been doing so for a couple months, and within a few weeks should be ready for his first solo effort. He had hoped to obtain his pilot license before leaving for school. But the weather hasn’t always cooperated, and time is getting tight.

This week, as Alexander continues his summer classes online, he registered for his fall classes on campus. We only hope school will be…and stay…open. Auburn expects to welcome all students to “The Plains” as planned. But this year, when corporations can’t give guidance and meteorology is our most reliable science, nothing is certain. 

Still, I am glad he chose a small town for college. To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose. History follows phases, and we are entering one favorable to small towns. Or to no towns at all.

William Strauss and Neil Howe wrote a book, The Fourth Turning, to which I have frequently returned. When I first read it twenty years ago, it was interesting. When I re-read it several years ago, it was fascinating. 

Now, it is almost frightening. The book describes recurrent historical patterns of 15-20 years each, from High, to Awakening, to Unraveling, to Chaos, and their respective generational archetypes. One generation learns, the next forgets. By the authors’ projections, and our own eyes, we are entering a trough. 

Sixty to eighty years separate these tumultuous periods. The Wars of Religion (1580s), the English Civil War (1640s), the War of Spanish Succession (1700s), the French Revolution (1780s), the War Between the States (1860s), World War II (1940s), and now…?

Lord Byron anticipated this thesis. He speculated that great nations followed similar sequences. They begin with freedom, progress to glory, then to wealth, and on to vice, corruption, and…finally…barbarism. 

The lines are not always clear between each phase, but statues and monuments may serve as a proxy. They tend to go up in the earlier periods, and come down in the last one. And they usually aren’t the last things to fall.

Over the last month, cities themselves seemed to be coming down. At the least, many are boarded up. It’s unclear how they recover, and it’s sad. Particularly since, over the last couple decades, many cities had revitalized. Ours among them.

For Alexander’s last birthday, we had Sunday brunch in Midtown Atlanta. In the year he was born, we probably wouldn’t have considered going there. There were only a handful of restaurants, few people, and limited activities. It just wasn’t an option.

But in late February (not even five months ago!), cafés mingled with upscale housing, seats filled the sidewalks, and pedestrians strolled leisurely along Peachtree and its bustling tributaries. After we ate, we spent the day sampling shops, relaxing at coffee houses, and imbibing the pleasures our rejuvenated town. It was delightful. But was it fleeting? 

After people fled urban areas fifty years ago, they spent decades reluctant to return. Then…slowly…they began to trickle back. Derelict neighborhoods were improved, old homes were remodeled, and new ones were built. Abandoned buildings were occupied. More people moved in, crime subsided, and businesses began returning to the cities they had fled. 

Then, few months ago, the pendulum reversed, albeit with a pandemic push. Faith in a town is like trust in a person, or in any collection of people. It is slowly won and quickly lost. Between their reactions to a virus and their accommodation of violence, have cities relinquished their residential appeal? 

If nothing else, remote work will be more prevalent, alleviating a need to be near a central office. Rents have long been prohibitive in large cities. With riot and respiratory risks added to the mix, how many people will pull up stakes, and not come back?

I don’t know, and it’s too early to tell. Besides, I am probably not the best person to ask. Many urban offerings are wonderful, but at my own phase of life, they are not necessarily things I need to be immersed in.

For years we’ve considered a second house as a potential vacation home. We never did so seriously, and refrained for several reasons. In part, we didn’t want to feel obligated to go there any time we wanted to get away. Now we may want one in event we feel compelled not to stay.

We’ve started poking around online, but have not yet looked anywhere in earnest. But as our sons ease away, and the world closes in, a remote retreat may make sense. The question is where.

The last few weeks, I have been recovering notes and reliving memories from one of our trips to France. It has been a nice escape. And it has made me think not only how much I’d love to return to that country. But that particularly in this one, the appeal of the city is yielding to the lure of the country. 

With the prospects of urban tumult and the potential for rural relief this seems, even in north Georgia, a time more for the Loire than the Louvre.

JD