Sara Joy's essay below is simple and beautiful, and it highlights a tremendously important topic: the impact of our auto-oriented cities on senior citizens. There's a popular trend in the media right now of talking about how traditional downtowns and urban cores are the "playgrounds of the rich" where young people flock so that they can walk to breweries and restaurants and live in trendy converted warehouses... In fact, walkable neighborhoods are attractive to and needed for people of all ages. Seniors in particular benefit from neighborhoods where they can safely run errands, visit friends, and go about their days without needing a vehicle, since many of them cannot drive.
Unfortunately, most of our cities are designed in a way that makes life nearly impossible for people who don't drive. And the dangers of un-walkable neighborhoods where cars speed through and pedestrians must contend with crumbling or nonexistent sidewalks, unsafe intersections, and so on... well they're actually most harmful to the most vulnerable members of our communities: kids and seniors. A simple moment in a grocery store parking lot brought that home for Sara Joy this year and I'm so glad she was willing to share this story (originally published on Humane Pursuits) with us as she reflected on this important issue. - Rachel Quednau
A couple of months ago, I was leaving the store about 8:30 at night when I noticed an elderly woman pushing her shopping cart into the vast expanse of empty parking lot. The scene struck me as odd because, it being winter in Minnesota, the sun was well beyond set, the weather was nippy, and she appeared to be going in the direction of nowhere with no identifiable car in her line of sight. I shrugged it off and got in my car to head home. A few hundred yards later, as I was exiting the lot, there was the woman again except now she was waving at me. I slowed down and paused a moment wondering what to do. Did she need my help? Was I about to get myself into a situation with a “crazy” lady? I uttered a quick prayer for wisdom and rolled down my window.
She politely asked if I was going in the direction of Western Avenue, which was along my route home. When I confirmed I was, she asked if I might be willing to drive her home. Though I knew better than to really be concerned that she might harm me, I ran through a quick mental checklist anyway of the ways one might avoid being murdered by a stranger. “Establish a personal connection” was one counsel that came to mind, so I asked her name and inquired how she had been planning to get home.
“My name is Miss Mackenzie,” she answered. She explained she had been planning to take the bus, but it had gotten late, and the bus was so complicated anyway. Then she added, “And, it’s just so much nicer to have somebody to talk to.” I was sold. I made room in my backseat for her groceries and we began our drive home. I learned about her years as a flight attendant, what she studied in college, the places she had lived, the languages she spoke... She was a fountain of words. Arriving at her senior living facility, she thanked me and promised that whether it mattered to me, she would pray for me. The truth is, it mattered so much to me.
This story reflects the isolation felt among many of our seniors as they maneuver the built environment. By designing our cities for cars, and consequently neglecting our sidewalks, we have siloed our elders in several ways. Not only does an inability to drive confine many seniors to their homes, but corresponding busy roads and inhumane streetscapes add to the isolating effect by limiting seniors' ability to walk, wheel or bus where they need to go.
A recent article in the Minneapolis Star Tribune highlighted the research of Jessica Finlay, an environmental gerontologist at the University of Minnesota, who spent over a year interviewing numerous seniors living throughout the city. What she found was that small features often made the most difference for livability. For instance, high curbs, bumps, and cracks in sidewalks were cited as physical hazards that kept seniors from venturing out.
In contrast, shade trees, benches, and sit-walls were highly valued "microfeatures" that enabled them to enjoy neighborhood walks and more easily run errands on foot. Additionally, Finlay found that elders who were “enmeshed in their communities,” whether it be through church, volunteering, or intergenerational living rated much higher on her “happiness” scale.
How do we better care for the Miss Mackenzies in our cities? We place benches. We plant shade trees. We maintain our sidewalks. We petition our local zoning codes to allow the construction of Accessory Dwelling Units or “granny flats” that provide intergenerational living opportunities on one housing lot. All of this requires us to notice the small things, to be in the details, and to advocate for those who need a community of caregivers, which actually includes every single one of us because, in truth, Miss Mackenzie gave just as much care to me as I gave to her that January night.