Sunday, June 18, 2023

Fancy New Lightbulbs

 

The Roaring Fork River in Basalt, CO
How many Aspen locals does it take to change a lightbulb? Seven. One to change the lightbulb and six to say “It’s just not as special as the old lightbulb.”

Recently, I caught myself explaining the location of a new café in downtown Aspen in reference to the business it is replacing. “It’s on the corner where the blahblah was.” My parents visited me here a couple of weeks ago and stayed at the place “that used to be the yuttah-yuttah”. I’ve concluded that this is the defining characteristic of someone who qualifies as a “local” here – as though their mental map has several-inches-thick liquid paper on every business name, one layer for each change over time. The classic Aspen local’s response to this idea is “Well, that’s Aspen for you,” with an air of resignation about the special nature of this place. Except that I’m pretty sure that I’ve felt this before. Hmmm …

When I was a kid, my family used to pile into the station wagon, drive a billion hours to Cape Cod, and take the world’s coolest ferry to decamp into a rustic cottage on Nantucket that was a nice stroll for my scrawny little legs from the legendary ice cream joint on Main Street in town. I loved it then and now. I remember the island having an always-relaxed pace, everyone being friendly, and my parents not worrying about whether we’d be safe walking or biking to town or to the beach or just around the neighborhood. Doing all of the above while barefoot was marvelous.

I do have one very particular and very distinct memory about Nantucket that’s been on my mind lately. We would occasionally head to a beach on the other, ocean-facing side of the island for the day where the body-surfing was better, there were a few more people, and the previously sleepy little airport was nearby. I can see clearly in my mind’s eye the sight of a big jet operated by New York Air flying low overhead, landing gear down, about to off-load a hoard of city folk onto the bucolic island we so adored. My visceral response definitely was not ‘there goes the neighborhood’. My response, clear to me to this day, was to wonder whether we were part of the problem, whether we had merely been the advance guard of the coming invasion. First came the nice family from Upstate New York who fit in and appreciated putting on blue blazers for that special dinner in the White Elephant and the next thing you know The Sweet Shop was replacing bottomless cups of Bundt-brewed coffee with GMOfree-oatmilk-onesplenda-tumeric-chai-lattechinos and soy-based vegan cheese. And traffic; lots and lots of traffic. We definitely talked about this as a family and I recall that our conclusion was that our having been there before the onslaught didn’t mean we were entitled to begrudge it, even if we preferred Nantucket the way it had been.

I’ve lived and worked in the Mad River Valley in Vermont where New Jersey natives complained to me about the influx of new people ruining their preferred vibe. I’ve had third generation owners of old holiday homes in Wanaka complain about the snobs from Auckland buying up new homes in ritzy, expansive sub developments before going back to Christchurch or Wellington for their office work week. And so it all feels familiar when someone who came to Aspen as a ski bum after college in the 1980’s complains about all the people in town.

Please don’t misunderstand me: I am not saying that all development is good or that unbridled growth is a fait accompli. I do believe that there are deep-seeded, very serious issues to confront about the future of these sought-after places and worrisome concerns about what those problems tell us about our society. I do not believe that vegan cheese is a sign of the demise of Western civilization (although it may be). I just think that a little perspective is vital to the important discussions about the future.

The reasons people gravitate to these places are still right in front of our noses and a joy for everyone who arrives on our shores. As long as it stays that way, we can focus on how to keep the “welcome” sign on the door. And now, I’ll stroll in the sunshine to my favorite downtown Basalt café for a slightly too expensive but delicious al fresco breakfast burrito without worrying about my place in the arc of this town’s history. It’s not The Sweet Shop on Nantucket, but it most certainly will do the trick. Besides, those new light-bulbs are a big step forward.

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