There Goes the Neighbourhood

Just down the street from me there's a housing development called Don Mount Court. At least, there was. It's in transition now: parts of it still stand, parts are being destroyed, and parts have been redeveloped into a series of plain-looking red brick townhouses that go by the lofty name of Rivertowne.

Don Mount was ugly, to my eye anyway. For one thing, it was clad in white stucco, which never seems to look good in our northern climes, but looks a lot worse after a generation of east-end grime has streaked and stained it. For another thing, Don Mount was vaguely Spanish-inspired. All those vaulted arches looked odd in a neighbourhood otherwise defined by red brick warehouses, ramshackle corner stores, and east-end row-houses like mine. And there's just something about subsidized housing that all the aspirations of an ambitious architect can't hide.

Well, that's the way it is around here. It's not a romantic neighbourhood and really never was, although it's tempting see it that way, now that the espresso bars and bistros are rolling in. The homes are homely, and the neighbours aren't always neighbourly. It's been the home of the working poor, including my own family, for generations, not a place many people ever dreamed of living.

Still, it's something to see the force of change roll in on caterpillar treads and simply tear a building down. It wasn't pretty, but this was someone's home. Quite a few people's homes, in fact. Maybe the families that lived here will get to move back in when the redevelopment is done, and the new improved subsidized housing is in place. Or maybe not. In this part of town, change is the only constant. But I guess that's true everywhere.

I watched this big digger tear the place apart for awhile one morning. The sound tore through the morning air. But this little movie I shot is silent, and so was I.