Poverty in Madison
I only had half cigarette yesterday–actually just a few puffs. It helped that we had Arctic temperatures and blowing snow that I didn’t want to stand in, even for a cigarette. Plus, I got my feet wet walking to the office from the parking lot yesterday morning. That always does it for me–I shivered the rest of the day, long after my feet had dried. I’ve never gotten acclimated to Madison’s weather.
One snowy Sunday afternoon, shortly after I moved to Madison, I took a drive downtown to see the sites and find my way around. Now, Madison is truly a gorgeous small city. We have lakes, parks, the university and a thriving, if small, arts scene. It’s quite a progressive town, which suits us just fine.
On that afternoon drive, however, I stumbled across a sight that sent me into a state of shock. Right in the middle of town was a field full of shacks. I mean sorry-looking shacks, perched on the snow. My God! I had no idea that Madison had that level of poverty. It looked like the hills outside Tijuana, Mexico. I questioned whether the move to Madison had been smart for us.
I happened to mention this experience to a new acquaintance. He asked me where this shanty town was and I gave him the general location. Suddenly he clutched his stomach, turned purple and started howling.
It seems the shacks I’d spotted were really ice-fishing shanties on snow- and ice-covered Monona Bay.
