At its highest point the town sits 121 feet above sea level, which is roughly 122 more than my preferred depth. Here, the salt air penetrates, the Spanish moss sways, and the rhythm of life finds its pace. It is hot and sleepy, save for the regular afternoon thunderstorm. To borrow from Faulkner, some days in August are like this.

Founded as one of the many post-Reconstruction era experiments that dotted the region’s landscape, the spark of idealism found dry grass in this Gulf South community. Established by followers of the philosopher Henry George, the town elected a socialist mayor in 1912, and over the years became home to artists, actors and writers. Every March the city streets play host to a world class art festival and there’s a common saying here that Fairhope has more writers than readers!

To this day it remains a place of unique public-mindedness: home to a single tax corporation, which owns roughly 20 percent of the land; a vibrant performing arts infrastructure; a strong credit union; free parking, and a municipal pier. And for a bit of civic lagniappe there is an iconic clock, known as the ‘gathering spot,’ marking the center of town. Taken together, this town contains all sorts of creative and collaborative spokes connecting back to its foundational wheel.

Like most anywhere, however, Fairhope is an imperfect community by important measures. It is considerably less diverse than its neighbor on the western side of the bay and has seemingly drifted somewhat from its cooperative moorings toward greater concentration of wealth and income inequality. Indeed, while the average household income is roughly 45% higher than the state average, the poverty rate sits persistently stubborn at 10%. So there is no need to romanticize the town even if it was originally hatched as utopia.

Yet, thoughtful people seem to end up here and it is easy to embrace a place that does not suffer from envy and where effusiveness is accepted rather than treated with suspicion. People are genuinely kind, the creative spirit is real, and the nice is nice without qualifiers. It is perhaps not a stretch to believe the breeze that rolls off the nearby bay brings with it a usable past.