Sag Harbor-They've Discovered Our Gold
Walking around the corner of a pristine, tree-lined village street, my heart sank at the sight of another moving van in the yard of a beautiful historic home. Greener pastures, quiet destinations, affordable lifestyles. There are so few locals living in their ancestral homes, and those who remain seem to now live on the outskirts-often in more ways than one- with some bit of gratitude to be able to live here at all. It is as if a meteor of money crashed into the center of village scattering those of us remaining in every direction. Few locals have maintained their water view-simple ranch houses replaced by mansions vacant all but a weekend or two a year. The waterfront held captive by arsenals of wealth and investment. Cruise past these homes by boat and you rarely see a family enjoying their waterfront yard-not a game of croquet, a kickball match, no one catching falling leaves. Tall hedges, electronic gates, deer fencing, security cameras-neighborhoods lost. Vacant houses, shades drawn, no one home.
We are all left wondering, what has happened to our quaint village. Many of us are filled with bushels of good memories of growing up in a soulful place so beautiful and free. Empty lots are now filled edge to edge with homes, many obscuring views of the waterfront that once seemed to belong, at least figuratively, to all of us. Others have waved the white flag and called the moving company.
While at a luncheon one day, a fellow local from a neighboring town asked me if I felt inferior-inferior to the newcomers, inferior to the wealth and social standing-inferior to the experiences and opportunities-the homes, the cars, the bank account-because she, no matter how accomplished and worthy-does. It is a question that has haunted me. Is that how we are supposed to feel? Is that how we are made to feel? Where do the two factions meet? Who is trying to hold onto the old ways?
I am reminded of an old quote-something on the order of- “remember, no one can make you feel inferior without your consent.” Have we given consent? Have we watched the old Sag Harbor fade? It’s not just a matter of nostalgia, it may be a matter of being part of a magnified microcosm of an ever-changing world in which the one percent keep floating to the top. Where we are gradually eased out of our homeland by the eastward expansion of those who have discovered our gold and have come to claim their plot-and have the financial resources to do so. Is it our gold? Did the generations before us feel the same level of displacement?
A friend reflecting on the current changing tides of our area; the traffic and crowds and declining reverence and courtesy said, “sometimes I look around and wonder, is it time to go?” I had to answer, “not me”; I have my heels dug in, my parents and my grandparents are buried here, these are the waters my father fished, the land they called home. I still see the faces of some of the people I grew up beside, and if you wake up early enough and take a walk into town, it still feels like home.