Best of Nashville
Sam and Zoe’s is my coffee shop, and Venus and Mars is my thrift store. Every day, I see one or both of the patrol cars charged with protecting my satellite city full time. My home is in Berry Hill, a city that enjoys all the amenities of Nashville with none of the fuss. Around morning rush hour, the rest of you pour into this square-mile of mine, and I wonder if you’ve even noticed that the street signs change from green to blue. When you pass Curious Heart off the corner of Bransford and Thompson Lane, do you glance over, like I do, just to see if any new aliens have landed? Do you wave hello to Mrs. Grissom and wonder if she’s really in there, whipping up her famous chicken salad? Or marvel at the running waterfall at Jack Steakley’s plumbing? On the way out, do you know you’re passing the cemetery where Tammy Wynette is buried?
Nah. You come for the beads, garden supplies and candles. You show up to have a pet cremated or groomed, to attend a yoga class, have a violin repaired, or buy a pack of stretchable body parts. And we know—you were the ones grumbling about the hold-up on Bransford during all that construction. You probably hoped they were widening the lanes so more of you could squeeze through our eclectic neighborhood with its funky bungalow-style shops, but you were disappointed when you realized it was just to put in a sidewalk. But you’ll still keep coming here to eat Mediterranean, Mexican or Caribbean any old day of the week. Us, we live here, with 400 businesses, 700 people and a spaceship. We’d appreciate it if you’d leave it as nice as you found it. —Tracy Moore
When we got ready to buy a house 11 years ago, my wife and I looked at East Nashville, Sylvan Park and 12 South. But Woodbine was love at first sight. We loved the tumultuous ethnic mix of continents and cultures, the record shops, the close proximity to, well, everything. There was also the thrill that we could buy a two-story house built in 1920 for a fifth of what it would have cost in Sylvan Park.
The clincher, though, was the tree. The backyard had something I had never seen in my life: one of the magnificent old American elms that sheltered residential streets in the time of carriages, before the elm blight brought them down. And for all the seedy car lots and pawnshops that blighted Nolensville Road, above them we could see the tree line—sugar maples, silver maples, walnuts, pecans, reminders of the days when the area housed a vast nursery.
Woodbine has changed since then. Older residents moved on; young couples moved in with cribs and paintbrushes. The three blocks of Nolensville Road near my house are essentially a compressed globe. A walk takes you past Persian and Turkish restaurants, an Indian grocery, La Ilusion Bridal Shop, and any number of lunch carts and taco stands. It is what I always wanted from a neighborhood: a connection to the world outside, and yet a world unto itself. But wherever you go, you can still see the trees. In Woodbine, there is shade for all. —Jim Ridley
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