No One Would Ever Win a Fashion Award

I just came back from a community meeting regarding healthcare in Wrangell. As one can guess, there was a lot to say, a lot of questions, some answers, a lot of complaints, the urgent need to know that something will get done. As I sat in on the meeting and heard their concerns, it dawned on me that I have started to truly care about these people, about their fates, about the fate of Wrangell in general. Since I came in as a reporter, I came in as an observer, someone who listens and tries to report back what I hear, what I try to understand. I’m oftentimes holding a recorder, taking notes, behind a camera – I’m never quite part of it completely. But I am getting there. Despite these extra objects, or perhaps because of them, I am becoming part of this community. People have asked me and I tell them, I came to Wrangell by choice. I want to be here.

The last town community I’ve been part of was when I lived in Chappaqua. I was part of a college community at Trinity and when I worked at Lingnan, but that is different as it’s shaped around academics. I spent 18 years in Chappaqua, born and raised, and didn’t leave until I went to college. A childhood in that town is one I would never trade and the older I get, the more I realized how extremely fortunate I was.

With that said, I have to admit, Chappaqua was very image conscious, extremely so. In our high school, Horace Greeley, we had this thing about mid-term and finals time. Since we didn’t have classes or full days of school and were only taking tests that we’d been cramming for, students came to school wearing attire that was less casual than normal, comfortable clothes for a stressful time. But the thing was, the majority of students still cared very much about how they appeared, even in sweats (or more likely stretchy pants for girls). The same amount of time, if not more, went into an outfit that was supposed to give off the image of not caring. It was quite amusing and ridiculous. And I’m sure this happened in surrounding high schools and others nationwide – I don’t claim we were specifically neurotic. This type of consciousness wasn’t just among the adolescent, underage crowd. We picked it up from our surroundings, from our parents.

There is zero evidence of this in Wrangell. Surrounding me tonight was a lot of flannel and baseball caps, a man in overalls, women with unmanicured nails, with unmade faces. There was no noisy click click of highheeled leather boots. This would never be a description of a town meeting in Chappaqua. Never. Despite appearances, one could never accuse Wrangell of not caring enough. There just happens to be no room for trendy, no time.

At funerals here even – I’ve been told – while some people will show up in dark suits and dark outfits, the majority of those attending will be wearing rubber boots, jeans, the clothes they wore to work that day. And no will accuse these people of being rude or disrespectful.

It’s usually too exhausting to strip away all that layering, all the extra work one puts into looking good, all the fuss. In Chappaqua, some people – not all – were packages. They came wrapped in pretty bows. In Wrangell, what you see is what you get.

I wonder what they see when they see me. And I wonder, if I’ve begun to care about them, have they begun to care about me?