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| The Roaring Fork River in Basalt, CO |
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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