Before devastating floods on Saturday night, Old Ellicott City (the town right next to ours) was full of life, a certain kind of life that exists only there in that quirky mill town built by Quakers, of houses that look as if they are holding on dearly to the sides of hills, of dusty shops selling antiques and knick knacks, of cafes, restaurants, tattoo parlors, tarot card readings, ghost tours, of the sound of trains on tracks and the whistle blowing above, and the Patapsco River flowing below. Sometimes a serenade on the cobblestones. Sometimes an artist painting plein air. Always the same man blowing giant bubbles just across from the Phoenix Emporium. It is the kind of place where everything feels narrow and twisted and slightly off in the best kind of way. The kind of place that enchants.
Today Main Street was closed so clearing and rebuilding could begin. This town has been here before, and history shows that it will, indeed, find its way back.