Oh, They Say That In The Army, The Housing's Mighty Fine
I realize that rants are a lot easier to write (and can be much more entertaining to read) than happy, appreciative posts, but the more tirades I read in the paper and online, the more I feel I need to add one to the other side, to help balance the scales. And so, as I was driving back on post this morning and the gate guard told me to “Have a Happy Mother’s Day,” I thought, “This is a pretty nice place to live.” Now I will tell you all why.
The Gate Guards. Without fail the gate guards here and in Kentucky have been friendly and polite every time I have come through and shown my ID. They say nice things and wave to the kiddies, and on one occasion even began to sing along with them. For the most part they take their jobs very seriously, and always check to make sure I resemble my ID and that neither the ID nor the DOD stickers on the car are expired. Although there was one time when it seemed like Osama himself could have driven up with an ID that said “Skippy O’Connell” and been waved through with a “Have a nice day!” every other time I have felt like the guards are paying very close attention. If you don’t have a DOD sticker, you have to park and take your registration and insurance card in to the guard building for a temporary pass to drive on post, and then pull into a shelter to have your car inspected. That, my friends, is a gated community.
The Yards. While I have covered the yards and attendant yard work on post ad nauseum, over and over , in a redundant fashion , that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate having a big yard. Most people in the older housing areas have a back yard and a front yard, not just a patch of grass in front of the door, but a place where children could play if they wanted to. Everyone’s yard is well kept, and free of dog poop, since dogs are only allowed out on leashes, and the people who don’t feel like walking their dogs have fenced in areas in the back yard.
The Speed Limit. The speed limit on post is strictly observed by the residents and enforced by the MPs. I don’t mean a “speed limit” where you can go nine miles an hour over it and not worry about getting a ticket. Here, if the speed limit is 35 mph, everyone goes 35 mph, and if the speed limit drops to 25 mph, you don’t just coast along until friction brings you back down under the speed limit - you hit the breaks until their speedometer reaches 25 mph. The speed limit in the housing areas is only 15 mph, which is a hard speed to drive since it feels like you are barely moving forward. Why do I like this? Because it takes all of the tension out of driving. You are never stuck behind someone going too slow, because everyone has to go slow. You always know when it is safe to merge or make a left turn because no one speeds up just to stay ahead of you.
One afternoon when my sister and her boyfriend were here (after barely getting on post because they didn’t have an insurance card as described above) they were pulled over in the housing area and asked “Is there a reason you are driving 25 mph in a housing area?” Their first impulse was probably to say, “Because you’re supposed to drive slow in the housing areas,” not realizing that they were actually 10 mph over the speed limit. Fortunately, they did not answer with their first impulse and were able to get away with a warning (and of course the endless teasing and grief that we have heaped on them since then).
The only problem with the speed limit is that it gives children the idea that streets are safe everywhere. They don’t understand that outside the gates, people are speeding, drinking coffee, and talking on their cell phones (not allowed on post), so they don’t have time to swerve and miss the kiddies who have mistakenly chased a ball into the street. Most of the other mothers and I attempt to make the kids look both ways and cross at the corner, but there is so little traffic (and the few cars around are moving so slowly) that it seems rather ridiculous to put them through the ritual. And really, what are they learning about real world street crossing? They’ll have to see cars rolling through stop signs and speeding down side streets before they can appreciate why they must stop and look. Fortunately, most of the other places that we visit are either slow paced or equipped with cross walks and signals.
The Playgrounds. The playgrounds in our housing areas have been plentiful and well maintained. In Kentucky, we had to walk down the street and across a field to get to the playground (which was made out of wood and inhabited every spring by borer bees, but the kids never seemed to mind), but it was worth the trip because it was one of those playgrounds designed for all ages, with progressively longer slides and higher places to climb as you worked your way across the equipment. Every so often we would drive to other newer playgrounds throughout post, just to get a change of scenery and to keep the kids interested. Here in Virginia, we have a little playground right out the back door, and three others a short walk away. There are swings (although I hate swings) at three of them. If we want to take a longer walk or drive, there is a huge new playground less than a mile away that is so impressive, I’ve been tempted to climb it myself (and not just to stop Marty from falling off).
The Sidewalks. I’m sure some people who read the paragraph above about playgrounds may be thinking to themselves, “We have playgrounds within walking distance too, but there is nowhere to walk.” Every post that I have visited has wide, well-maintained sidewalks that can take you almost anywhere you care to go. I don’t know what additional expense is required to put in sidewalks in new housing developments out there in the real world, but it seems like no expense could be too much. I hate to walk in the street, and I particularly hate to walk with my kids in the street. Having grown up in a city, I am used to having sidewalks, and have a great appreciation for them.
The Maintenance Crew. When our hot water heater, or heat, or air conditioner, or plumbing is not working, we can call a work order in at any time of day (depending on how dire the situation) and expect prompt service. For free. In Kentucky we had a rather unfortunate series of plumbing disasters that would cause water from the dishwasher or washing machine (and those are the only two sources that my brain will let me consider) to back up into the house. Usually, two plumbers with a mechanical snake would arrive at our house and fix the problem. They came at night, during the day, on the weekend, and one time at midnight on the night before Thanksgiving. Finally, they decided to bring in a backhoe, dig up our sewer outlet pipe, and replace it, and it was all done for free. One Saturday morning in December we woke up without heat, and we had not one but three visits from maintenance men that day, the last one to give us a few space heaters in case the heater broke again while they were waiting to get the part they needed.
The Neighbors. I have already done a dissertation on neighbors, so I won’t flog that again, but the neighbors you get on post are usually neighborly. The family housing areas are actually full of families, so there is not the usual contingent of sketchy meth-heads, crazy curmudgeons, or partying high school drop outs that neighborhoods on the outside have. Although I have not met a lot of my neighbors, they usually will say hello when you pass them on the sidewalk, and wave when they drive by the house and see you outside. Another advantage is that the neighborhoods are, like the Army, racially mixed. I went to college with more than one person who had spoken to a black person in their high school. Although my kids will not have the experience of growing up in a multi-ethnic and multi-racial place like Washington, at least they won’t be growing up in a mini North Dakota either.
The Surrounding Community. Although most army posts are encircled by a wide variety of peep shows, check cashing vendors, and pawn shops, they also provide easy access to good Korean and German food (since soldiers keep going off to Korea and Germany and marrying the locals). Sports teams and museums in nearby cities often sponsor military specials so that you can take your kids out for fun for cheaper. Most of the people that you meet in the stores or post office are either prior service, Army brats, or have children in the military, so they treat you like one of the family.
I think I have gotten a bit spoiled by all the services and safety that come along with living on post. When we were first married we looked at the rather shabby on-post housing available in Maryland and decided to live off post, but now that we qualify for better housing, I don’t know if we’ll ever buy a house before the HP retires. So what’s the downside? I guess the only downside is that sometimes we go to war. And if we go to war, on occasion your spouse may be sent away to a place where people want to shoot at him/her. But at least it’s not so scary for me to be alone in a neighborhood like this, and it gives the HP some piece of mind that the family is looked after and safe.
The Gate Guards. Without fail the gate guards here and in Kentucky have been friendly and polite every time I have come through and shown my ID. They say nice things and wave to the kiddies, and on one occasion even began to sing along with them. For the most part they take their jobs very seriously, and always check to make sure I resemble my ID and that neither the ID nor the DOD stickers on the car are expired. Although there was one time when it seemed like Osama himself could have driven up with an ID that said “Skippy O’Connell” and been waved through with a “Have a nice day!” every other time I have felt like the guards are paying very close attention. If you don’t have a DOD sticker, you have to park and take your registration and insurance card in to the guard building for a temporary pass to drive on post, and then pull into a shelter to have your car inspected. That, my friends, is a gated community.
The Yards. While I have covered the yards and attendant yard work on post ad nauseum, over and over , in a redundant fashion , that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate having a big yard. Most people in the older housing areas have a back yard and a front yard, not just a patch of grass in front of the door, but a place where children could play if they wanted to. Everyone’s yard is well kept, and free of dog poop, since dogs are only allowed out on leashes, and the people who don’t feel like walking their dogs have fenced in areas in the back yard.
The Speed Limit. The speed limit on post is strictly observed by the residents and enforced by the MPs. I don’t mean a “speed limit” where you can go nine miles an hour over it and not worry about getting a ticket. Here, if the speed limit is 35 mph, everyone goes 35 mph, and if the speed limit drops to 25 mph, you don’t just coast along until friction brings you back down under the speed limit - you hit the breaks until their speedometer reaches 25 mph. The speed limit in the housing areas is only 15 mph, which is a hard speed to drive since it feels like you are barely moving forward. Why do I like this? Because it takes all of the tension out of driving. You are never stuck behind someone going too slow, because everyone has to go slow. You always know when it is safe to merge or make a left turn because no one speeds up just to stay ahead of you.
One afternoon when my sister and her boyfriend were here (after barely getting on post because they didn’t have an insurance card as described above) they were pulled over in the housing area and asked “Is there a reason you are driving 25 mph in a housing area?” Their first impulse was probably to say, “Because you’re supposed to drive slow in the housing areas,” not realizing that they were actually 10 mph over the speed limit. Fortunately, they did not answer with their first impulse and were able to get away with a warning (and of course the endless teasing and grief that we have heaped on them since then).
The only problem with the speed limit is that it gives children the idea that streets are safe everywhere. They don’t understand that outside the gates, people are speeding, drinking coffee, and talking on their cell phones (not allowed on post), so they don’t have time to swerve and miss the kiddies who have mistakenly chased a ball into the street. Most of the other mothers and I attempt to make the kids look both ways and cross at the corner, but there is so little traffic (and the few cars around are moving so slowly) that it seems rather ridiculous to put them through the ritual. And really, what are they learning about real world street crossing? They’ll have to see cars rolling through stop signs and speeding down side streets before they can appreciate why they must stop and look. Fortunately, most of the other places that we visit are either slow paced or equipped with cross walks and signals.
The Playgrounds. The playgrounds in our housing areas have been plentiful and well maintained. In Kentucky, we had to walk down the street and across a field to get to the playground (which was made out of wood and inhabited every spring by borer bees, but the kids never seemed to mind), but it was worth the trip because it was one of those playgrounds designed for all ages, with progressively longer slides and higher places to climb as you worked your way across the equipment. Every so often we would drive to other newer playgrounds throughout post, just to get a change of scenery and to keep the kids interested. Here in Virginia, we have a little playground right out the back door, and three others a short walk away. There are swings (although I hate swings) at three of them. If we want to take a longer walk or drive, there is a huge new playground less than a mile away that is so impressive, I’ve been tempted to climb it myself (and not just to stop Marty from falling off).
The Sidewalks. I’m sure some people who read the paragraph above about playgrounds may be thinking to themselves, “We have playgrounds within walking distance too, but there is nowhere to walk.” Every post that I have visited has wide, well-maintained sidewalks that can take you almost anywhere you care to go. I don’t know what additional expense is required to put in sidewalks in new housing developments out there in the real world, but it seems like no expense could be too much. I hate to walk in the street, and I particularly hate to walk with my kids in the street. Having grown up in a city, I am used to having sidewalks, and have a great appreciation for them.
The Maintenance Crew. When our hot water heater, or heat, or air conditioner, or plumbing is not working, we can call a work order in at any time of day (depending on how dire the situation) and expect prompt service. For free. In Kentucky we had a rather unfortunate series of plumbing disasters that would cause water from the dishwasher or washing machine (and those are the only two sources that my brain will let me consider) to back up into the house. Usually, two plumbers with a mechanical snake would arrive at our house and fix the problem. They came at night, during the day, on the weekend, and one time at midnight on the night before Thanksgiving. Finally, they decided to bring in a backhoe, dig up our sewer outlet pipe, and replace it, and it was all done for free. One Saturday morning in December we woke up without heat, and we had not one but three visits from maintenance men that day, the last one to give us a few space heaters in case the heater broke again while they were waiting to get the part they needed.
The Neighbors. I have already done a dissertation on neighbors, so I won’t flog that again, but the neighbors you get on post are usually neighborly. The family housing areas are actually full of families, so there is not the usual contingent of sketchy meth-heads, crazy curmudgeons, or partying high school drop outs that neighborhoods on the outside have. Although I have not met a lot of my neighbors, they usually will say hello when you pass them on the sidewalk, and wave when they drive by the house and see you outside. Another advantage is that the neighborhoods are, like the Army, racially mixed. I went to college with more than one person who had spoken to a black person in their high school. Although my kids will not have the experience of growing up in a multi-ethnic and multi-racial place like Washington, at least they won’t be growing up in a mini North Dakota either.
The Surrounding Community. Although most army posts are encircled by a wide variety of peep shows, check cashing vendors, and pawn shops, they also provide easy access to good Korean and German food (since soldiers keep going off to Korea and Germany and marrying the locals). Sports teams and museums in nearby cities often sponsor military specials so that you can take your kids out for fun for cheaper. Most of the people that you meet in the stores or post office are either prior service, Army brats, or have children in the military, so they treat you like one of the family.
I think I have gotten a bit spoiled by all the services and safety that come along with living on post. When we were first married we looked at the rather shabby on-post housing available in Maryland and decided to live off post, but now that we qualify for better housing, I don’t know if we’ll ever buy a house before the HP retires. So what’s the downside? I guess the only downside is that sometimes we go to war. And if we go to war, on occasion your spouse may be sent away to a place where people want to shoot at him/her. But at least it’s not so scary for me to be alone in a neighborhood like this, and it gives the HP some piece of mind that the family is looked after and safe.
posted by Shannon at 6:53 PM
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