I came home to Greenport, and found that it's slipping away

Last year, I moved back to my family home in Greenport. My husband and I chose to settle here after decades of working in cities around the country.

Weeding my grandmother's lilies-of-the-valley while watching the ferries sail back and forth to Shelter Island makes it seem as if nothing has changed. But that famous phrase by novelist Thomas Wolfe — "You can’t go home again" — comes to mind as I walk around this small maritime village.

Many of my former neighbors and friends have sold their homes and moved away. The scruffy-around-the-edges Greenport that I’ve loved is being replaced by supersized houses with relentlessly irrigated lawns. Stories of million-dollar-plus sales of mostly "second" homes are passed along with increasing incredulity by folks whose families have been here for generations.

The North Fork way of life is evaporating, its land and resources gobbled up by overdevelopment. Some affluent newcomers refer to people whose families were fishermen, farmers, boatbuilders, artists, and educators as "leftovers." I feel their absence keenly but something more tugs at me. This village, incorporated more than 180 years ago, is a microcosm reflecting seismic changes throughout the East End.

There is such a thing as too much money when it displaces the people and values that make this place distinctive. Yes, this is how the market works, but for those of us who think of home less as an "asset" and more as an extension of family, it’s hard to watch. High sales prices push up comparable values but also push out the deeply rooted families that make up a community.

The effects ripple out. Greenport's hospital and nursing home, small businesses, hotels, and restaurants are unable to recruit and retain local workers. Our fire department is desperate for volunteers. Meanwhile, we witness a daily "parade" of vehicles driven by carpenters, landscapers and nurses who live "up west" because they can no longer afford to live here.

I know there’s no stopping complex systems that involve money, land, and labor. Still, I remain hopeful. After all, the "systems" are us. I find myself pondering how we might engage and harness the professional skills of our new neighbors to help working families and seniors stay in their homes, raise their children, and age in place. So far, we’ve had some meaningful public dialogue and proposals to limit hotel construction and short-term rentals and permit accessory dwelling units and shared single-family houses, a throwback to Greenport’s 19th century history of rooming houses.

Zoning and planning are key but not the only toolbox. We can mobilize neighborhood volunteers to help seniors and lower-income families maintain the safety of their homes, including contractors to assess vulnerabilities to flooding and storms. We can build local apprentice programs to teach the skills required for climate adaptation services, an emerging market need. Our moderate-income families and seniors would benefit from local housing funds and revolving community loans to assist with rentals, upkeep, and upgrades. These funds could be replenished by foundations, philanthropists, investors or businesses profiting from local development.

Some days, watching the ferries glide across the bay makes it seem that time has stood still. Maybe I can’t help feeling nostalgic for a way of life that is slipping away. But I’m also confident we have the capacity to develop this community in ways that support everyone who wants to live and work here.

This guest essay reflects the views of Suzanne Donovan, a retired nonprofit director, policy advocate, news editor and writer now living and volunteering in the Village of Greenport.