Old-Timer

“You are one of the old-timers.” I was surprised and honored when a friend called me this. He was in his seventies, I in my thirties. We were having a discussion about the development of land and business in the valley we call home. It’s the same conversation happening in every small town across the country. If population and production are declining, what went wrong? If they are exploding, where did all these damn people come from and when will it go back to the way it was?

Complaining about change is a limerick as old as time. I feel connected to the past even thinking about transitions. Like the weather, the topic has been discussed to death a thousand times over. And yet, it always rises to the surface of social interactions. We can’t stop bringing it up. The joke is that it’s a meaningless exchange and shows no depth to a relationship. But think about it the next time you chat with a good acquaintance. Inevitably, at some point you will mention the rainstorm from last week.

My dad likes to talk about the temperature a lot, like we are some kind of amateur meteorologists. He always wants to chat about precipitous changes predicted in the coming week. I usually end the conversation by telling him, “I have a breaking weather report for you; stick your head out the window and look up.” But the hypocrisy is thick in my veins, because later that night I looked at the weather app on my phone to mentally prepare for the next workday.

Talk about local growth is a different meal on the same menu. Everyone has to eat, and everyone comments on increased traffic.

I love humble people who say they can’t really comment because they have “only lived here for five years.” You know you are living in a deeply rooted community when people still feel like an outsider after half a decade. I tell them that expressing opinions should be as free and easy as tumbleweeds rolling in the wind (I’ve never said this). Your status doesn’t change based on how long you have been getting coffee at the local stand. If you park your car in the neighborhood, this is your home. You get a say.

Back to the comment on my “old-timer” status. My friend was confirming that I have seen a lot of change in my days. I remember a time when [fill in your own personal story]. It’s true, it was different back then. I used to walk through fields and forests void of homes as a kid. The saying goes, “as the crow flies,” but I also journeyed in straight lines anywhere I wanted to go. Did those paths meander through private property or Forest Service land? Of course they did! What is private when you live in the wilderness and are 10 years old? So everything has changed, and I have a recollection of a simpler time. Why does that make my opinion any better than my neighbor?

Well, honestly there is one thing that diminishes my respect for newcomers' perspectives. It’s when they are completely against any new development ten minutes after they get here. It’s the classic, “I got mine, but now no one else can have any.” They were attracted to the small community, but after gaining access now want to be gatekeepers against the next family.

When faced with this conversation, I like to pull out my old-timer's card, and highlight that they used to be considered an outsider. Many people liked the way it was before they rolled in. Anti-growth was always a sentiment in the town square. But basic logic prevailed that change is part of growth. If something isn’t expanding, it is usually dying. It’s actually a privilege to have an expanding economy, with more people eating at restaurants and lodging in the community. All those new houses being built might need a fireplace, which is how I afford to live here in the first place.

I know it’s a little more complicated than this. Why do you think urban development is overseen by local and state governments? It takes planning, discipline, and proper implementation for communities to grow in a meaningful and non-disruptive way. What I’m saying is that it’s silly to stand against the people who come after you. Recognize that change is a part of life.

Another part is reminiscing with an old friend on the porch. Those memories are the kindling that stoke a great, fiery conversation about the old days. As I remember, they were pretty good.