Looking out my Backdoor: Everything changes

Remember when the Big Store in Havre was Buttrey’s? What a magnificent place to shop, in the Atrium, with an escalator. That was truly “down town”. And Havre boasted many, many smaller stores, enough to satisfy any shopper’s needs.

Then the Mall on the hill was built; things changed. Stores closed in the center of town. The Mall struggled, filled, struggled. Another big store came to town. An independent grocery left.

My heart lurched when I read that K-Mart, Sears and Herberger’s are due to close. To me, these seemed to be community keystone stores. Things change.

Havre, the community and the area it serves, is an anchor for people from hundreds of miles around, including a steady stream of visitors from our northern neighbor. I’ll watch proudly, hopefully, while Havre bucks up, takes it on the chin, and comes up with a plan for revitalization.

Years ago I learned that often a “disaster-of-the-time” enables me to make changes for the better. The curse becomes a blessing. Often, not always. Depends on me. Am I willing to step beyond my comfort, go out on that fragile limb and make a drastic change?

This morning I asked Leo to take me into my little town for a shopping. “A shopping.” That is the way I want to say it.

We could drive to Guadalajara where every Big Box store created lives. Last year I walked into one of the largest malls in the world. Inside is a store with shoes, a pair of which costs more than my net worth. Fascinating as that mall can be, I was uncomfortable.

The first stop today was at the egg lady’s. This woman in her 90s is very poor but behind her humble door, back of her dwelling place, she has a large courtyard with garden and chickens. I buy my eggs from her.

Across the street I sent Leo into the plastics store for heavy trash bags for lawn clippings. I went to the candy store next door for coffee caramels and Hershey’s kisses. My neighbor Erica is ill and chocolate cures everything.

Next stop the Farmacia Similare for my anti-inflammatory, the only “real” medicine I take. Around the corner is the Comex where I stocked up on throw-away brushes, a liter of marine varnish and one of black paint for metal. I want to spruce up my gate and my patio furniture.

From there we whizzed around another few blocks, parked and walked to the Mercado where I filled my basket with mangoes, nectarines, tomatoes, onions, peppers, bananas, broccoli and a baking potato. And peanuts, so I can make peanut butter.

The next tienda supplied me with cheese, also crema for which there is no exact equivalent in our stores, and a jar of Nescafe Decaf, for those rare times I want an afternoon coffee.

Up the block and around another corner, I bought la licuadora, a blender to us, from one of our small appliance stores. I didn’t think I’d ever buy one. I get by without electric appliances. But I have grown fond of the aguas made with liquefied fruits and vegetables. A blender makes that job easier than my by-hand method.

In another store I found a new dust pan. My old one broke. Our dust pans here are on poles like a broom. No need to stoop to the floor.

I finished my shopping with a clutch of fresh cinnamon sticks, long as my forearm, from yet another tienda. I prepare my morning coffee with all the pomp and circumstance of a Japanese tea ceremony. Grind beans, heat the French Press, put in coffee and a measure of stick cinnamon, pour on boiling water, cover and brew. Ah, the flavor.

Everything changes. In the last year, the powers that be in our little town let be built two Big Box stores, to the consternation of the majority of the people. Some like one-stop shopping. Personally, I like “a shopping” which routes me all around town to the little tiendas.

Tiendas. Malls. Down town. Out of town. Remember when you ordered from Sears or Monkey Ward and took what you could get? The future is the present and past combined. We order online, without touch or real knowledge, and hope we can live with what arrives. Changes?

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Sondra Ashton grew up in Harlem but spent most of her adult life out of state. She returned to see the Hi-Line with a perspective of delight. After several years back in Harlem, Ashton is seeking new experiences in Etzatlan, Mexico. Once a Montanan, always. Read Ashton’s essays and other work at montanatumbleweed.blogspot.com. Email [email protected].