Greensboro, Alabama does exist. It sits on a sun-stained swath of land south of Birmingham. The dirt in this region is a markedly dark, nutrient riddled breed of soil; originally earning this widespread region its name: Black Belt.

As the flagship of Hale County, Greensboro is minuscule, with the population maxing at 2,300. It’s all a Faulkner narrative could convey. Within a classically aged disposition it harbors the archetypal features of small town America including the characters and characteristics that render any southern novel accurate; the town drunk, the omnipresent nosey sourpuss, the haunted mansion, each living cliché contributing to Greensboro’s modern mythology. In contrast, there are progressive elements of contemporary thought stationed periodically throughout the county. There are non-profits contributing to the green movement harnessing the potential for use of local resources. Pecan brittle and bamboo bike businesses have emerged inspired by the underused local products.

Working here for the last two years at a grass roots level to combat the social issues rampant in this region has brought some of the most joyful moments and fulfilling relationships of my life. It is through these experiences that I have come to understand the culture of Greensboro and its exclusion from contemporary society. The high school dropout rate is deplorable and most of the town is dependent on government services. The system is broken in this region and it has always been. It’s just so easy to change the subject.