Village Life: New life as community journalist opens up hard realities about Flint
By Tom Travis I have attempted to dissect the reasons why I chose to leave my job at 50 years old after more than 10 years. I think I’ve figured out the reasoning but it is deeply personal. And I’m more likely to tell you over a cup of coffee at Good Beans Cafe than in a published article. So let’s have coffee. In the meantime, I’m taking on a new adventure, as a community journalist here at East Village...
This Month in the Village: February Features
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Village Life: Every day, I dream of Down Time
By Jan Worth-Nelson Every day I keep dreaming of Down Time. I used to crave adventure, no day complete without a conscious tablespoon at least of risky business, a routine to kickstart adrenaline, an agenda to keep me in the loop – the loop of life, baby. I aimed to be a player. If I didn’t push my limits a little bit, I lost a dram of self-respect. One time I had a lot to prove and I had a drive to Be There, wherever that was. I...
Village Life: Remembering a Flint walk when far away–my secret of self-care
By Jan Worth-Nelson I swear, by the time I stride onto the south end of Kensington, just a few hundred yards from my house, the endorphins already are kicking in. My breathing evens out, and there’s often a cardinal or two darting around in the brush bending over Gilkey Creek. I don’t know what most of those plants are—mostly “weeds,” I guess, but I don’t care. They’re green and they’re wild and they belong there as much as I do....
Village Life: No boundaries for fear–A tale of two Flints
By Melodee Mabbitt On Halloween, I’ll have lived for 10 years in my house in the East Village, or what my mom referred to as “management’s neighborhood.” I recently tried to explain to someone in the neighborhood how different my life was before I came here, when I lived on Bennett Avenue and later on M. L. King. I tried to explain the first violent crime I’d witnessed, and then the next one. I don’t even know if I got them right. Was...
Village Life: The Flint River dumped us, but we got a story (or two)
By Jan Worth-Nelson I told Sarah Carson the river would give us solace—that was how I talked her into it, for my part always wanting an accomplice in my adventures. Two writers who revel in sedentary hours alone. Two writers—one young, one old—rampantly hopeful but almost comically expecting the worst. Two writers who’d never been in a tandem kayak together on an end-of-summer Wednesday. What could go wrong? Ha ha! Here’s the...
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