Madison, AL: Suburbia Done Right?

All my life I’ve lived in Suburbia. I was born in Suburbia, AL, moved to Suburbia, AL when I was 3, and moved again to Suburbia, AL when I was 13. There is a decent possibility that after my time in Ithaca, I will live in Suburbia, (INSERT STATE HERE). Now, you may ask, “what is Suburbia?” I will now attempt to answer your valid question.

“Suburbia,” as I define it, is a general term for all the suburbs in the country. After all, they do not differentiate between themselves too greatly; if you aren’t a GeoGuesser professional, you’d have a hard time distinguishing between Sammamish, WA, and Saugus, MA. More specifically, I define Suburbia as towns without a precise downtown, whose business districts lie along stroads, and with a relevant portion of their citizenry working in a nearby city. 

The first Suburbia I grew up in was Hoover, AL, and it may be the most anonymous suburb in the country: no charming downtown, awful stroads (Highway 31), virtually no walkability or bikeability, and almost exclusively zoned for low-density development. The focal point of Hoover was the Galleria, a massive suburban mall which now lies almost completely abandoned, an empty carcass standing in its wake. Hoover has some nice parks, but they were all extremely hard to get to by foot or by bike, as evidenced by Walk Score’s rankings of 17 and 12 for walkability and bikeability in the town.

When I moved to Madison, at first I didn’t think it was much different. It too did not have a charming downtown. It too had awful stroads (Highway 72, Madison Boulevard). It too was mostly low-density development. However, as I became more familiar with Madison, I realized it drastically splits from Hoover in several ways. When one looks at the “Walk Score” website, they would find Madison’s scores unimpressive: a 17 for walkability and a 34 for bikeability. I find these numbers unfair. From where I lived, it was possible to easily walk or bike to my high school, a Publix, a park with pickleball courts and a pool; two greenways and numerous restaurants were also available via sidewalk/bike path. Many Madisonians share this bounty, as the two main N/S arteries, Hughes Road (where I lived) and County Line Road, were interconnected by paths of some sort; it was not uncommon to see hundreds of people on these paths in the summer evenings. Madison further separates itself from Hoover in that medium and high-density zoning is much more prevalent in the former, as Madison’s population density is twice that of Hoover’s. 

Sunset in Madison, AL (photo mine).

To me, Madison’s main boon is its two greenways. Located on opposite sides of the town, Mill Creek Greenway and Indian Creek Greenway are wide miles-long paths that allow residents an escape into nature. Mill Creek is closer to County Line Road, while Hughes Road residents enjoy Indian Creek; the residents between the arteries can walk to either trailhead if they so choose. Both paths are incredibly flat and have swimming holes for the hot summer days. Madison’s greenways have always given me a space to run and decompress when necessary, an opportunity I would’ve never had in Hoover. Hoover has a greenway in the Moss Rock Preserve, but it is incredibly rugged, contains no aquatic opportunity, and is only accessible via car. These three restrictions constrain the Preserve from attaining the utility of the Madisonian greenways; its ruggedness forbids the aged, its lack of water forbids hiking on a summer day, and its inaccessibility via foot dissuades truly long hikes. 

Bob Jones High School XC Practice at Creek Greenway (photo mine).

While Madison and Hoover share similar faults, Hoover feels placeless, while Madison does not. In Madison, one can walk to the store and pass by their neighbors near the fire station on Thomas Drive. In Madison, one can walk their golden retriever on not one, but two excellent greenways. In Madison, one might see a column of bikers climbing the minor hill on the Hughes Road bike path. 

None of those things could happen in Hoover.