There are all kinds of borders. I like to walk along what could be called a socioeconomic border in nearby Everett, WA. In about 15 minutes I can be on Grand Avenue. At the north end it has grand houses, towards the southern part of my walk the houses are working class. The street runs along the top of a bluff overlooking a part of Puget Sound called Port Gardner, which used to be pretty much a working port and waterfront. Now, not so much.
The biggest of the big houses are multistory and have views, although not today. It's raining and there is a heavy mist between my eyes and the yachts moored at Everett Marina and Everett Naval Station, where only a hint of our big carrier suggests itself. Hat Island seems to be there and Whidbey Island's coast appears and disappears. That view west is as gray as my thoughts.
A couple of hundred feet below at the bottom of the bluff are the train tracks used as a switching yard but the clanks and groan of humping rail cars are also muffled in the mist of January. The tracks hug the bottom of the bluff north under the big houses and run south to the paper mill that dominates the shoreline and the views of the raggedy houses where its workers once lived. They now house poor people from all walks of life.
A few of the relatively smaller north end houses are for sale: $695,900, price reduced. Of course the really big ones do not include prices or a plastic box stuffed with Xeroxed full color description sheets screwed to the For Sale post. They cost what they cost. Scoop Jackson's house is on Grand Avenue so, you know.
I like to walk on Grand Avenue. In the rain. In January. On the first day of the year I'll probably go broke. Which is another story and one that certainly isn't and won't be original.
