The Quest to Leave Atlanta

Orange and white, the colors of this small seemingly stray cat shone brilliantly next to my black
knee-high boots as it rubbed against them. I was careful not to kick the cat as I moved inches to
the left; hoping to discourage further contact as I spoke with a native Jacksonville resident.

“Most of the older generation have moved away or died. The children own the houses now. They
either sell the homes or let them go to the city, because they don’t pay the taxes or don’t keep the
houses up. It’s because they don’t know the history. You know?”

I nodded and moved away from the cat again.

“Do you know who owns this house? I know it’s a lot of investors buying and selling, but I’m
not an investor. I want to live here. I plan to move here and retire.”

“Yes. I used to play in this house.”

Through her car window she proceeded to tell me about the home and its former occupants. She
relayed the renovations throughout the years and the minor problems with the home. I gave her
my number and told her to have the owner contact me if they wanted to sell it. My crew and I
viewed a few more homes before returning to Orange Park as the rain started.

It was the most productive day in terms of learning about the neighborhoods. Friday we arrived
in Jacksonville and viewed most of the 46 homes that I’d researched online. Since it rained most
of the day, the opportunity to talk to people about the neighborhoods did not present itself.

However, Saturday started off with sunshine and intermittent overcasts. We drove to some of the
houses I wanted to view and drove through a few neighborhoods not on my list of homes to view
but from the car looked worth viewing or were suggested by residents I encountered. Around
lunch time, my companions and I drove to a house on my list and noticed other houses for sale
and some that might soon be for sale in the neighborhood.

Since we were still in the pandemic and a social reckoning, I yelled from the street. It was a
social act that would have previously been perceived as rude.

“Hi, my name is Pearl and I’m looking to move to the area.”

A thin, average height woman with a long brown ponytail glanced up from her washing machine
that was outside, under the carport.

“Hi.”

She continued with her chores.

“Do you like the area? I’m looking to move into the area.”

She told me that she liked the area as a man walked out of the door. They spoke for a moment,
and then he came out to greet me. I was nervous, he wasn’t wearing a mask, neither were I or my
friends. Once he began walking toward us, we reached into the car and put on our masks.

“This area used to be filled with gangs, but I came down from Chicago. In the past 15 years, we
managed to get some of the people out of gangs and into full-time jobs.”

Driving past or pulling into their driveways, his neighbors waved and greeted him.

“Hey, Joe.”
“Good evening, Joe.”

“How ya doing?”

We waved and I exhaled. It was a familiar feeling of home.

“That house has a lemon tree, it will have fruit this year. That one has a pear tree and they taste
pretty good.”

On the first day, I was unable to meet any of the neighbors of the 34 homes we viewed. On the
second day, I met some neighbors and found two homes with edible vegetation.

After speaking with the long-bearded gentleman and waving to more of his neighbors, we drove
further north to another house. The owner selling a nearby house happened to be there.

“I did all the renovation myself. Here, look at the before and after photos.”

I looked as close as I could as he swiped right, and I stood about 3 feet away.

“This is more than I wanted to spend.”

“Well, I have another home that hasn’t been renovated. If you purchase the home, I’ll do the
repairs based on what you want.”

“What’s the address? I want to look at the area.”

Passengers seated and strapped in, I consulted the GPS, dropped his card in my cupholder, and
began to drive.

Sitting behind a large tree with a full canopy and in the middle of a .1-acre lot sat a noticeably
condemned brick house. It was near a park in an older established neighborhood. According to
the neighbors, the older generation was dying and the younger generation either sold or rented
their homes. Some houses were forfeited to the county for non-payment of taxes. I was even told
that one of the renovated houses was purchased for a mere $300 and is now being rented for
$1,200 a month. I just wanted to find a place to own and live, which led us to the house where
the cat found my boots appealing.

Overall, the trip was educational, even though I didn’t find the house or the neighborhood where
I would live. Jacksonville is a large land mass city in the United States. In fact, based on land
area and population, Jacksonville is the largest city in Florida. It is full of new and old
neighborhoods with varying lot sizes, spotty city water and sewer service connection to homes,
well water and septic tank plumbing. Some homes used solar panel energy and rain harvested
supplemental plumbing. With the variety of options, I was sure I would eventually find a home.