this place I have disowned and reclaimed, loathed and romanticized

I was reading Salon today, like a cool kid, and I read an article in which the author describes her hometown. I thought to myself, 'What a deeply humanizing essay.' In those exact words.
My home is located in just about the middle of North Carolina. This county I live in is filled with small towns, medium towns, and rural backroads of grass and gravel. One of the best things about the County is that it is absolutely, unarguably beautiful. The most beautiful time is just before the sun sets- something about the sunshine and the grass and the flowers almost makes me want to cry. My busride is over an hour long, so I have the time to stare out the window for extended periods of time. My home itself straddles the line between the County and The Town. I have a Town address, but attend a County school. The politics between the two regions are entirely too complicated for me to attempt to explain, in this post anyway.
I love the County and I love The Town. The Town is a college town, right next to the oldest public university in the entire United States. Main Street's highlights include a vintage shop, a dress shop, a used bookshop, a comic book store, a head shop, an anarchist bookstore, a denim store (?), a record store, an art supply store, an art museum, a sushi restaurant, another, crappier sushi restaurant, a pizza place, a Mediterranean deli, two spirit wear stores, a movie theatre that seems to play only movies that are at least one year old, another, better vintage store, more than a few bars, a Ben and Jerry's, and a Dunkin Donuts. Clearly, this is where I belong. I feel as though I could not have created a better assortment of businesses- the only thing I would think to add is a strip club. (Though for all I know there is one)
The County contains another town, which we shall refer to as 'the town'. The lack of caps is to distinguish it from The Town, but also to illustrate its inferiority. This is the place about half of my high school peers call home. Main Street of the town includes a restaurant, a 'soda shop', an antique store that is only open for a few hours on Sunday, an African Goods store, a Sheriff's office (though I think it might be abandoned), and an actually fairly decent jewelry store. At the end of Main Street- yes, it is a dead end- is The Courthouse. The Courthouse burned to the ground last winter leaving behind the brick frame and what I referred to as a child as 'King Soldier', actually a bronze revolutionary war foot soldier on a 10 feet marble pedestal. I'm not entirely sure how the denizens of the town were able to afford such a thing- perhaps it was a gift in the same way that the statue of Liberty was, except instead of France it was The Town.
the town claims Courthouse Rebuild efforts are underway, but driving by weekly gives me the distinct impression that said efforts have since been abandoned. And so The Courthouse and King Soldier, once enforcers of law and order, now loom over the town as a reminder that you really should replace that faulty wiring in your ancient house.

the town as it is today, but without the roof. Or the trees.

The rest of the County, or so it seems to me, is entirely farmland and farmhome- I both pity and envy the residents of the town, because though they have likely never ventured further than the coast, or Virginia if they're lucky; they live in beauty that never ceases to amaze me whenever I drive through. It's not that my neighborhood is ugly, exactly- it's just unremarkable. I'm grateful, though, not to live in the field of duplexes, or in one of the tree-less suburbs that surround my neighborhood, formally known as Highland Forest.
One of the more interesting parts of the town is the abandoned trailer park directly across from my high school. It's absolutely fascinating- dozens of trailer sprinkled over the hill, in various states of disrepair, all abandoned. Daily I wonder about the abandoned trailer park- Where did these people go? I found a photo album on flickr of it, annoyingly all in black and white, illuminating nonetheless. Fascinatingly, they left everything behind- clothes, televisions, bibles, canned food, folding chairs, and ghettoblasters. I wonder if there was a fire- but if there was, why aren't the trailers and everything in them burned to the ground? And if they didn't burn, why didn't the owners come back? It's sad, but this is one of the top ten places I fantasize about visiting when I get my learner's permit.
There are so many other things I could tell you about The Town and the town but I think these stories are probably only interesting to me, so I bid you adieu.