On this day before Thanksgiving my hubby and I went over to China Alley. This is the area of Hanford, where there was a Chinese community when the town was founded. I took a few pictures, and enjoyed wondering about the generations that had called it home.
There is some very traditional architecture and lots of red! I took a couple of pictures of the doors….they are so interesting. The hardware seemed so old…I wondered if they had an old skeleton key to open the doors.
A few of the buildings had offices and were still in use today. I could close my eyes and imagine what a bustling area this must have been in the past. Why am I thinking about this little Chinese enclave on Thanksgiving eve? Well, I guess it comes down to the fact that every place has a story. And the story of any town, is made up from the stories of its people.
In this little alley were people, who were working hard to make a good life for themselves and their families. I think of these people and I know they are like me.
I know they are like all of us. We find so many ways to separate ourselves from each other, but this alley reminds me that we are more alike than not.
I can just imagine that many years ago, there was a little Chinese woman who thought too much, was a bit of a dreamer and procrastinated so that dinner was late to the table. She loved her husband, children and cat, but forgot to do things they needed sometimes. They loved her back, even though they did not understand her all of the time. The only difference between us was that she would have worn a lot of red. Me? Not so much.
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