A Tree Falls in Jackson

A Tree Falls in Jackson

A tree falls in a yard on a street that borders my neighborhood. The grass grows up around it. The house is vacant. A house on a boundary street that dictates what might be inside the package: is it a nice place to live with manicured lawns, bright painted colors and friendly people who walk the streets and wave hello to passersby?

A tree fell. No one tends to it. Did those responsible for the property hear it fall or see the aftermath of limbs and twisted cable lines scattered across the sidewalk used by residents? Doubtful. It was owned by a New York company that recently sold it (and about a half dozen other homes in my neighborhood) as a “package” to another cash investor; this time, an investor in Atlanta, Georgia. 

Design4Good was established to fight this type of out-of-state cash investors who are encroaching on my neighborhood and using it to make money. Recently, the Wall Street Journal wrote a piece about the impact of cash investors in the metro Jackson area –Everyone's a Landlord - Small-Time Investors Snap Up Out-of-State Properties. I was mentioned in the article for my personal mission to turn the tide of this community-wrecking phenomenon by renovating homes and selling them to homeowners. 

The WSJ photographer took pictures of the blighted home in the picture and other neglected properties owned by out of state investors. While this particular photo didn’t make the paper, it inspired me to share the “behind the scenes” ugly that these investors bring to a community. 

It is time to take back our neighborhoods. Concerned citizens need to ask city officials for local regulations. Registered voters need to ask their state and federal representatives for legislation. We see the tree. We live by it. We walk out in traffic to go around the debris left on the sidewalk. And we know it is flat wrong for some far-away corporation with deep pockets to leave their dirty work for someone else to clean up.

Helen

Last week Helen left her home of 60 years against her will for a nursing home. She is probably getting better care than she was at home at age 97, but the impact on our community is significant. There is a void where once there was a bright, red-headed firecracker who was our icon.

Helen was part of the scenery. Every night from 4 to 6 she could be found sitting in her driveway with her best friend Lila (weather permitting). Sometimes they would hold court until late in the evening when there was a willing group of neighbors and plenty of wine to keep the party going.

Helen was a trailblazer. In the 1960s she became the head of the bank examiners for the state of Mississippi – a professional woman in an era that had few women to claim that title. 

She was an inspiration to all. Helen attended every neighborhood meeting and her watchful eye ensured that we would never give up fighting for our community. Truly a member of the greatest generation, she never viewed service as a sacrifice, but as a joy. She loved working on the bake sales, pig roast and anything else to help weave together our community and keep us strong and vibrant.

At neighborhood pub parties, the Fourth of July parade or the annual New Year’s Day tree burn, she was the first to arrive and reluctant to leave. The community was hers – her pride and joy – and she loved to celebrate it. 

While she was of a generation that many would consider “old school,” she was anything but. She changed with the times, never holding judgement against anyone. A close friend was our neighborhood Methodist church gay pastor who left the clergy to become the state’s Human Rights Campaign director.

Helen was not afraid of death and embraced the idea of leaving this world to rejoin her beloved husband Manny, but she never embraced leaving her home and her friends who had been such an important part of her life. 

We mourn her absence in our community deeply and painfully. While we will see her in her new surroundings, we will share in this sorrow. Helen is supposed to be ending her days on her street in our community with a big party send off.

No one has ever given us the sense of place and commitment like Helen. If we examine the reasons we have invested our time and money in the community to make it better, Helen floats to the top of the list. 

There were times that our work, family or other things were a larger priority than our friendship with her. But, none of those things affected the deep bond we shared. In the last few months that she was living in her home, we clung to every moment. It was as if years of our connection were compressed into a single moment. 

It is hard to write a tribute to someone who has been such a huge part of our life. Whatever we write will never capture her laugh, her smile, her “glasses of wine,” and her undying loyalty to her friends, her church and her neighborhood. We love you dearly Helen. You made the world a better place. We love you and we miss you.

Sincerely,

Your neighborhood.  

We Rescue Houses

Almost daily the mail contains an appeal from someone wanting to buy my house. Cash offer, quick sale and no closing costs! I used to call the number on the card to tell them to leave my neighborhood alone. It is not for sale.

As the out-of-state hedge funds started circling like vultures, the direct mail became more frequent and I was overwhelmed by it. My calls were ineffective and the tsunami of investors just kept growing – and they upped their game with some new tools – text messages, phone calls and even national tv advertising – all directed towards buying my house. Quick sale! Cash offer! It sounds so good. So easy. What could possibly go wrong?

My neighborhood was built in the 1950s. The ranch-style houses and a few mid-century moderns make up the landscape. A couple of churches and an elementary school from the era are embedded in this small community. It is like living in a time capsule. Most of the houses are modest by today’s standards.

This has painted a bullseye on my community by the “We Buy Houses” movement. Most of the original owners – of the Greatest Generation lore – are gone. Their children or grandchildren have moved to bigger cities or suburbs. While there may be some sentiment about the old house, a “quick sale, cash offer!” is an attractive alternative to the expensive and time-consuming effort to update an old a house and put it on the market. 

When “We Buy Houses” strikes, a house dies and the stability of a neighborhood is capsized. Whether its ripping out original wood cabinets for cheap pre-fabricated versions or laying laminate over wood floors or spraying paint over surfaces like hinges and doorknobs, it is a renovation nightmare of cheap, sub-par materials to a house that was built to last. The style and era of the home is of no concern. If the materials are on sale at the surplus store, that is what the house is going to get. Investors have a formula for making money. If the house needs more help than the formula allows, it is going to get the short end of the deal. 

Neighborhoods should not be fodder that line the pockets of investors. The houses in my community and in many communities across America have stories to tell. It is not acceptable to turn over the history and architectural integrity of a home to a shark trying to turn a quick profit. It takes care and money to maintain these older homes and make them livable for another 70+ years. 

A couple of times I have confronted local investors and asked them if they would be willing to sell their properties in my neighborhood so I could renovate them properly. Remarkably, I received the same answer from my inquiries: “Not interested. This is ‘working well’ for me right now.” Neighborhoods are where you are supposed to live – not where you are supposed to make your living!

My husband Bill reminds me frequently, “you don’t have the resources to fight corporate investors.” He is right. I am not a Wall Street company with deep pockets. I am a homeowner. A neighbor. A community advocate. Defeat is eminent.

But, I refuse to go down without a fight. I want to rescue every house. And then, I want to help others do the same in their communities. 

So Goliath, watch out. I am coming after you with my tiny slingshot of cash and a lot of debt, but an abundance of ire and righteousness for saving my neighborhood.

Cocktails at 6

Six feet apart, that is. There are no words to describe this terrible pandemic that has infiltrated every corner of our country. It is an unsettling time and we have good reason to be afraid.

In my introductory blog, I spoke about the bonds of a community and how we care for each other and share our lives. There is no frame of reference for what we are going through now. It is hard to know what to do. But, slowly but surely, I see my community coping and coming together again.

We are reinventing how to fellowship. Last night, my husband Bill and I stood in a yard with three of our nearby neighbors. We went separately into our individual homes, poured individual beverages of choice, but then shared a cocktail hour standing more than six feet apart.

We “caught up” – talked about working from home, talked about our kids – all the things we take for granted in a non-pandemic world. I didn’t mind standing for almost an hour and talking to each other from across the yard. It was healing to see my neighbors again.

And in my former busy life, I failed to notice the neighborhood baby boom. In the new stay at home reality, the streets are noticeably full of parents with strollers. I wear the Mrs. Kravitz label with pride, yet, somehow I missed the babies who were being born! And other new faces who are taking in some fresh air, walking the dogs, getting through this disaster the best they can.  

“Hey Bill, look out the window. I’ve never seen them before. Have you?” has become a regular refrain at my house. I feel an incredible sense of community and hope in this dark time by seeing the people who live in my neighborhood.

Community matters. We give comfort to each other even in our distance. Tie those white ribbons around your trees for our health care heroes. Cheer the postal workers and delivery truck drivers who are keeping us stocked. Pray for the small businesses and restaurant workers whose lives are interrupted. Support them any way that you can. 

Walk down your street and raise a glass to us and what we can do together, even when we are six feet apart.

Love Where You Live

Love Where You Live.

In 1993, my husband Bill and I bought a modest 1950s ranch house in Jackson, Mississippi. It was a starter home in an older neighborhood. The house featured typical horizontal lines of the era, a roman brick fireplace, oak flooring and a huge, one-acre lot filled with old-growth trees. It was a community that was developed primarily to house veterans post-WWII. The “G.I. Subdivision” consisted of streets like Naples, Melbourne, Childress and Normandy to reflect battles from the war. The lots were provided to veterans in a land grant program offered by the city. In those days, it was a neighborhood brimming with children, dogs, schools and places of worship.

When we moved in, some of the original residents were still around. It was a risky move because we weren’t sure which direction the neighborhood would go once the elderly residents were gone. Would the homes retain their value or would once-loved structures sit empty and boarded up? This sense of uncertainty led us to be active in our community. We got to know the other neighbors and helped create a neighborhood association to preserve its history and way of life. Ultimately, these efforts led to a wave of young, first-time homebuyers who gave the old neighborhood the “next generation.” My children grew up in not so different ways as their predecessors from the 1950s — roaming the neighborhood on bikes, catching fireflies and playing baseball in the local sandlot.

As our family grew, we had to convert a garage to carve out more space. We upgraded bathrooms and the kitchen to make the home more modern. But further improvements might not be recouped in the real estate value of the home. Was it time to move on?

While it’s true we did shop around, we couldn’t make the decision to leave. Our children grew up here. We had buried beloved pets in the yard. We painted clouds on the ceiling of the nursery for babies now grown up. We knew all of our neighbors and we had been to more of their weddings, baptisms and funerals than we could count. Our neighbors were our best friends. We stayed for love of home.

So with this introductory blog, I invite you to join the movement to love where you live. Host a gathering at your house and get to know your neighbors. Attend a community meeting and volunteer to clean up a vacant lot. Knock on the door of an elderly resident and learn the history of your community. Buy a neglected home and restore it lovingly to keep your neighborhood vibrant and strong.

I am not a professional designer and I don’t flip houses for profit. I am passionate about my community and I use my love of place to guide design decisions.  I rely on advice from my mother, who has an incredible eye for design; my best friend and business partner who flips houses professionally in Atlanta; my realtor, who grew up in the neighborhood; and the pooled talent of my neighbors who choose to stay and build our community.

Liz