I recently moved to Kalamazoo, Michigan. I live in
a lopsided, three-story, mold-accented, rental house – with seven other people.
My housemates include an aspiring photojournalist, an Ultimate Frisbee guru,
three National Science Foundation sponsored scholars, two practicing microbrew
specialists, and a bike mechanic. The walls of our nearly 100-year old home hum
with activity. And we are never alone. Across the street, three starving
artists endure and paint and smoke away their days. Next-door, our neighbor
Mike – or “Mikey” as his uniform reads – can be found most nights either
barbequing on his front porch or working on renovations to his recently
acquired 1980’s RV. His engorged American Bulldog, Lexi, is always by his side,
or pooping in our lawn. Our block perpetually smells of marijuana, charcoal,
and mildew. It rings with the drone of stereos and window fans, punctuated by
occasional screams of laughter and carburetor backfires. Garlic mustard shoots
outnumber flower beds, and it simultaneously looks as if everyone has just
moved in is about to leave. I live on a street named Austin, on a hill named
Prospect, in a neighborhood named Vine. These blocks, near the heart of
Kalamazoo, are sometimes referred to as the “student ghetto” with the full
spectrum of connotations that the title bears. The place is dynamic, potent,
and very much alive, and I have to admit, it’s rubbing off on me.
The Vine Neighborhood, near the urban center of
Kalamazoo, is sandwiched between downtown and two university campuses. The
place, which borrows its name from Vine Street, running east to west through
its approximate center, is a “vibrant haven” for a diverse community of college
students, young families, and entrepreneurs. 75-80% of all properties in the Vine Neighborhood are rentals
according to the Neighborhood Association which also describes the
surrounding tree lined streets as a place for “committed urban pioneers who are
reclaiming historic beauties as single-family homes”. As the result of this
heterogeneous makeup and the relatively transient nature of the people who live
here, Vine feels quite unlike most urban neighborhoods. It’s an eclectic place
bubbling with a distinctive culture. The streets come with the antics associated
with the emancipation of a college experience, balanced with an atmosphere of economic
redevelopment, a few young families, and a long and colorful history.
When I recently spoke with Steve Walsh, the cordial
Director of the Vine Neighborhood Association and a new neighbor of mine, our
conversation quickly turned to the subject of history. As one of the oldest neighborhoods in
Kalamazoo, Vine has been home to dozens of generations of traditional families
and “families” of college students. It has changed significantly as the waves
of new homeowners and tenants have flowed in and out of the blocks over the
decades. The neighborhood officially
dates back to the 1840’s
but by the turn of the century,
the Vine Neighborhood was
one of Kalamazoo’s most fashionable neighborhoods and slow changes began
that would eventually result in the unique place that Steve and I live in
today. As the years past and the twentieth century rolled on, residents could eventually live,
work, and shop all within the
borders of the neighborhood.
As small businesses began to pop up within the borders of the neighborhood, Vine became an ideal place for all
types of people to live – a trend that Steve believes still holds true
today.
“As demand increased for university students in the area, the original, large properties were chopped up and subdivided to make
more room - smaller lots with more homes made more sense, and more money.”
In
several cases, Steve explained, older buildings were
moved back in from the street in order to make room for new houses, resulting in the helter-skelter
patchwork of properties you can see in the neighborhood today. As the neighborhood’s composition changed significantly, students and other low-income groups took
advantage of the newly available, convenient, and affordable housing niche.
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The rippled
and cracked sidewalks of my new neighborhood haphazardly collect
half-block-long pools of rainwater in the spring. The low points on Davis
Street are frequently visited by children jumping and stomping in the puddles.
Their shrieks of laughter are a reminder that actual children live here along
with the college students.
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On Saturday and Sunday mornings the corner of Vine
and Westnedge, the patrons of the Crow’s Nest – a local breakfast spot –line up
out the door and onto the sidewalk waiting for a table and a good hangover
remedy. The house parties and block parties that fill Vine Neighborhood
evenings with music and drunken pedestrians often end here. And it’s not the
only good eatery in the area. Half a dozen small, locally owned restaurants and
bars dot the neighborhood including O’Duffy’s Irish Pub which, ironically,
draws a relatively affluent, middle-aged crowd into the “student ghetto” six
nights a week.
“I have to say, the people here in the Vine
neighborhood really care and are really supportive of each other and this
restaurant.”
That’s the sentiment of Chris Danek, the man, entrepreneur,
and aging hippie who has been behind the Crow’s Nest for the past 18 years. The
restaurant thrives on the Vine neighborhood, reportedly experiencing a 20-30%
loss of business in the summer months after Western Michigan University
students leave town. The place has become an icon among student tenants in the
neighborhood and features a 24-hour café and bakery that have both spawned from
the nearly two decades of success Chris has experienced.
“It’s a great place to live…on the cutting edge of
something.”
∙∙∙∙
For the past
three Tuesdays, a woman, always in a maxi skirt, has been flying a kite on the
Davis Street fields. Last Thursday I walked past a grad student playing
saxophone on his front porch – shirtless. On Friday night I saw two tandem
bicycles at different points in the neighborhood as well as a group of kids
dressed as Jedi playing with glow-sticks as light sabers.
∙∙∙∙
Chandler Smith is a Kalamazoo College student who
lives in the Vine neighborhood. When I asked him to summarize how he felt in
his new home he responded with a story.
“I was out back, taking pot-shots with [my
buddy’s] BB gun. You know, just popping eggs and bottles in the backyard and a
few shots kept bouncing off the wood fence, when all of a sudden I hear this
lady’s voice right, and she just yells, ‘Learn to shoot better so you stop
hitting my fence!’ It was really funny. I just froze, like my mom had yelled at
me or something, but she clearly was cooler than my mom would have been.”
Chandler brags that his aim has improved; his
neighbor hasn’t called the cops or piped up about the shooting since, but the
encounter “sums up the atmosphere on [his] block. Everyone is chilled out and
decent…the place has good vibe.”
∙∙∙∙
Chuck
Taylors hang next to hiking boots along the telephone line at Vine and Davis.
The sacrificial footwear seems less like a gang sign and more like artwork;
either alternative is highly plausible.
∙∙∙∙
The other week I was walking through the
neighborhood. As I rounded the corner at the base of the hill I lived on, past
a tall rose bush, I was nearly run over by a girl on a bicycle. It was a girl
named Michelle, a classmate, friend, and neighbor of mine. She had been racing
her antique Schwinn down Austin Street, where I lived. Fortunately, the
forty-year-old brakes on her bike still functioned and she narrowly avoided
knocking my block off. When she stopped to say hello, and reprimand me for
walking so carelessly, she brought up a poem she had recently written about the
Vine neighborhood.
“This place is like walking through a poem!”
