Some pictures need a story. They beg for it. Some explanation of what that is all about. I sat in the car waiting to resume our trip home, and caught a glimpse of Wuethrich Realty. The building sits next to a highway, and surrounded by miles of flat farm land. Flat land is a normal site when you are in Northern Indiana. Here smack dab in the middle of it is Wuethrich Realty, and this building.
The orange door caught my eye right away. What a neat color choice for a 70’s looking building. It provides a nice contrast of color against the brown/green backdrop of the landscape. There is so much brick. I mean a lot of brick. I wonder if this building was built to house the realty business. I wonder if it was an office for a gas station corporation, a farming co-op or maybe even a doctor’s office. I don’t know. I just know that’s a lot of brick.
The landscape screams dryness, desert, and conformity. It’s uniformity compliments the conformity of the brick. I can begin to see the need for the orange door. I guess if the building weren’t surrounded by so much green farm land then I would feel even more desolate as I look at the landscape, but perhaps the uniform bushes provide a contrast to the lush and fertile farm land.
Northern Indiana has fertile land. Dark black dirt that is meant for growing, not getting stuck in. Unlike Southern Indiana where I am from. The only thing our dirt is good for is getting stuck in.
So what’s up with the flag. Oh yeah, it’s Memorial Day weekend. Of course. Patriotic. Okay that’s good. The tiny flag pole, and flowing flag don’t match the rigidity of the building, but perhaps it does. The military is rigid. Ok. That works.
Now the small fence structure outlining the front of the building is a mystery to me. Is it an edge guard for the building from the road? It definitely looks like an after thought. It is definitely providing an outline of where to park and walk. The roof to me says 70’s. It looks like we are in the 70’s right now though. I mean the building and roof are in pristine condition. As I look at the building I just want to know what’s going on in there.
What will it be like when I walk into the entry way?
Are people nice?
Are there many offices? Are they as nice as the outside of the building?
Then my mind begins to wonder. I own Wuethrich Realty. I picture going home to my farm house. Perhaps I farm as a hobby, or perhaps my spouse runs the farm. I run the realty business. Our realty business has been going for like, forever. It’s what we do because it’s what they did. People in Francesvile know that we do realty. We know these people and they know us. We are the local realtor, just like there is the local bar owner, local preacher, and the local doctor. It’s from a time that wasn’t so long ago. When things in small towns were still local.
We stop by the local cafe some weeks to grab a cup of coffee. We have a business to run so we don’t join in on the daily ritual of coffee and gossip. Yet we want to be a part of it. Being a part of it gives us the opportunity to keep up on what’s going on, and maintain a local identity. It keeps us a part of the list of locals that people go to for services.
Our home though is the old emerging into the new. We look and smell local. A long drive way leads up to the white two story farm house. There are three large barns that surround the home. The farm is massive, but appears small. It is well kept to mask the massive business that it is. The locals don’t like it when you sell out. We look and act local. So Wuethrich Realty will survive. Inside is the realty. A web of technology surrounds the home where we are busy running our conglomerate. Something no one would guess by looking at the farm, or our 70’s orange front door building.
Inside we are managing websites, building networks, conducting world wide meetings, managing properties, and living as people in today’s world. Before we walk out though we put on our facade. A facade that screams local. We blend in. People come to us for services.
We have people over. Oh how we have a great time. We take a break from managing and enjoy the people in our circles. Farm parties is what we call them. Good food, music, and friends. It’s not an Amish barn raising, but it’s a local farm party. Where we think of old times with fond memories, and bask in our ability to keep the changing world away from our small community. After the party ends we go back inside the white farm house, and there our conglomerate awaits.
People come to us for a service. They come to us because we are local. They know us and we know them, and they tell us about how they need to sell the farm, buy land, or move. They occasionally tell us something we didn’t hear at our farm parties. They tell us how they are moving to bigger cities where things aren’t so local. The life of a farmer isn’t working out. There children are moving on, and it’s time to join the world. We suddenly wonder if they know our secret. We joined it a long time ago, but haven’t told anyone. We are too afraid that if we do they won’t rely on their local realtor any longer.
Wuethrich Realty. A local realtor, that provides service for the locals. Yet who knows, laughing quietly to myself, what’s really going on there.
Musings from my trip up North.