With the exception of Merriam-Webster, the word “utopia” is open to interpretation, especially when applied to the spirited town of Fairhope.
For example, the late 19th-century founders of the community on Alabama’s Mobile Bay characterized utopia as a populist society based on the idea of communal land ownership and an acceptance of eccentricities and the people who practiced them. Exhibit A: the woman who canoed naked under the pier.
A 21st-century traveler like myself defines the word as a destination with free parking, a swimmable bay, pecan trees, public art, literary legacies and an enthusiastic embrace of the unconventional. Exhibit B: the town-wide celebration of oxygen-deprived fish.
Same city, different utopias.
“Fairhope was founded by socialists, and it attracted wacky people: freethinkers, raw foodists, nudists, free lovers, sculptors, artists, writers,” said Donnie Barrett, director of the Fairhope Museum of History and one of the more colorful characters around. “We still live in that legacy because of the special people who started the town.”
Despite its unorthodox origins, Fairhope does not force its zaniness like a circus clown. For instance, there are no bumper stickers that read, “Keep Fairhope Utopian!” Nor are there banners promoting “A fair hope of success,” the motto that inspired the town’s moniker. More subtly, a local bookstore turned civic pride into quaffable art by spelling out “Fairhope” in coffee beans. The sign looked, and smelled, good.
Only two ideas from the utopian experiment survive today: the Fairhope Single Tax Corp., which owns and leases 4,500 acres and seeds many beautification and cultural programs; and the Fairhope Organic School, created by progressive educator Marietta Johnson. The alternative school relocated south of town, but the former “third-life” (a.k.a., fifth- and sixth-grade) classroom is open to visitors as the Marietta Johnson Museum.
“Education was a life process,” Maggie Mosteller-Timbes, the museum director, explained of Johnson’s philosophy. “There were no tests, no grades and no homework. The child was a whole organism: mind, body and spirit, not just intellect.”
At first glance, the town appears sweet-tea Southern, with spring plantings on every corner and wood benches for those hours when the humidity breaks. Independent boutiques sell a wide variety of dress codes, from frilly dresses for a garden party to Tilley sun hats for an outdoor crab boil.
But upon closer inspection, I sensed something unusual in the air, especially when I looked up. (Note: Severe weather is not typically in Fairhope’s sky; the town is south of the tornado belt, though it is vulnerable to hurricanes.)
A giant crab dressed like a pageant queen hung from the top deck of the history museum. Closer to eye level, a crustacean dolled up like Divine preened from behind a Realtor’s storefront window. She was a big old tease.
The sculptural seafood buffet is part of a public art program inspired by a freak show of nature. At least once a summer, thousands of fish and shellfish float to the surface of Mobile Bay gasping for air, due to a lack of oxygen in the lower depths. Fairhopians rush to the shore with nets and buckets, scooping up their meal plan for the next few months.
_1337038921.jpg)
Loading...
Comments