notes on community

April, 2021

From my porch at the end, I can see all the way down to the giant cottonwood standing majestic, over three stories tall.  Two large swings hang from its mighty limbs.  Between my porch and the tree, I see our lush rain garden and the row of condos opposite mine. I see Suzanne’s red azaleas, Sarah’s peonies starting to open, Rita’s roses about to bloom, coreopsis and columbine lining the sidewalk. It’s a wet April morning.  A mourning dove and a mockingbird share the sweetness with me.

I live in a cohousing community in Germantown in Nashville, Tennessee.  The cottonwood is the heart of our community.  Everyone loves it and wants to protect it.  Even when we can’t agree about anything else, we all love the tree and agree about its value. 

The history of the cottonwood is shrouded in mystery. Neighbors told us when we built that it had always been here.   Over a hundred years, one arborist claimed.  The city arborist said, “No way. Cottonwoods don’t live that long.”

You think of cottonwoods along streams and rivers, not flourishing in the middle of a city.  But when we dug the basement, we found an “everlasting” spring feeding the cottonwood.  After many meetings and weeks, we engineered a solution to the problem that wouldn’t threaten the cottonwood.  Then came heavy rains and we found an “opportunistic” spring, flowing only when there is enough rain.  This delayed our basement weeks more. 

We bought our land, nine-tenths of an acre, about four city lots, in a neighborhood caught up in change.  On one side of us there are proud old houses built in the 1800’s, and on the other sits the abandoned Werther paper factory, the actual plant in the story of “Driving Miss Daisy.”  All around us are old building being converted to condos.

When we bought it, our plot was a grassy area with trees, an informal dog park.  Needless to say, the neighbors were not happy about our taking away their green space.  To add insult to injury, we asked the City for a zoning variance to allow four fewer parking spaces than the ordinances called for.  Eight of us appeared at the hearing, and only one man, Lane Easterly, opposed us.  But Easterly represented the Neighborhood Association. The board gave us a month to get together to see if we could work out a solution.

The next Tuesday night we went to the Neighborhood Association meeting.  We groaned when we saw Easterly presiding.  “I know why you’re here,” he told us, “And we don’t have time for you tonight.  But that man there,” pointing to a man in the back to his right, “and that man there,” pointing to his left, “are architects.  You get with them, and we’ll approve whatever they approve.”

We met with the delegation from the Neighborhood Association and showed them two plans: the one we had proposed, and one where we could comply with City ordinance by sacrificing the cottonwood.  The next time we appeared before the zoning board, Easterly stood with us, approving our variance. 

When I look at the cottonwood I see not only its beauty, or kids enjoying the swing beneath it.  I also think about the civics lesson I learned.  I was reminded that our little cohousing community is part of a larger community.  And I learned that people of good will can work together to solve problems.  I sometimes see Lane and Jeanece walking their dog or out in their yard.  I howdy them, and sometimes stop to chat.

Update:

Five years later, our cottonwood has gone the way of all living things.  It could no longer safely support the swing and became a potential hazard.  Sadly, we had to cut it down.

The yard is still a focus of community, even without the cottonwood. It's just different. We hold outdoor movies, play corn toss, and kids play water games. We've planted a red oak that is getting on up there, and a peach tree that's been loaded the last two years. The expanded garden has plenty of sunlight and grows impressive herbs and veggies.