Story Pitch: A Place Called Vine

In the heart of Kalamazoo, Michigan, sandwiched between downtown and two university campuses, there is a neighborhood named Vine. This neighborhood, which borrows its name from Vine Street, running east to west through the approximate center of things, is a vibrant haven for a diverse community of college students, young families, and entrepreneurs.  The neighborhood association describes the surrounding “tree lined streets for residents and committed urban pioneers who are reclaiming historic beauties as single-family homes” and promotes the use of community gardens and several public parks. It’s an eclectic place bubbling with a unique culture – not quite like any place you’ve ever lived before.

Chuck Taylors hang next to hiking boots along the telephone lines. No two houses are the same shape or color. Small businesses and one of a kind restaurants flourish on the edges of residential blocks. Students from Western Michigan University cruise the placid streets on antique Schwinn bicycles while others ride longboards down hills named Austin and Grant. On any given Saturday morning The Crow’s Nest – a local breakfast spot – has patrons lined out the door and onto the sidewalk waiting for a table and a good hangover remedy. Houseparties and block parties fill the evenings with music. On the western edge of the neighborhood, the Davis Street football fields stand a few feet above street level surrounded by black chain link fencing with more patches than the authorities care to fix. A sign on the fence modified with black graffiti reads “NO TRESPASSINGVIOLATORS WILL BE PROSECUTED” and the fields are filled with dog poop, empty bottles, and forsaken Frisbees. That never stops the residents from enjoying the 250 yards of green space. Towering above the fields and looking Eastward over the neighborhood is East Hall, a 107 year old, 122583 square foot piece of western Michigan history. Once an academic icon, now it languishes in disrepair, just handsome enough to avoid demolition, it serves as the urban summit of this neighborhood unlike any you’ve ever lived in before.

I’ve never lived anywhere quite like the Vine Neighborhood before. I moved into one of the dozens of rental properties six weeks ago, along with a sizable cohort of my college classmates. We are all sharing in the discovery of this new place and new community. Already I’ve had conversations with my neighbors about compiling a poetry chapbook, starting a photo documentary, even writing songs about this dazzling neighborhood. Something about the place seems to summon creativity out of its residents. I want to spend the next few weeks, as I continue to discover and understand my new home, profiling not a person, not even a group of people, but a place. I want to capture the character of the Vine Neighborhood in writing. What makes this place so special? What does it mean to call this place home?