The Connecticut Civil War

I live in an odd place.  It's an island, about 12 x 5 miles off the coast of Cape Cod.  It's called Nantucket by most, though "The People's Republic of Nantucket" might be more accurate.  

I am thinking of a better description.  I call it "New Connecticut".  Though I know at least 2 reasonable people from there, the name is not a complement.

I feel that I have a short time in which to be objective.  I am in a unique position here.  I wasn't born here so I will never be a local townie, and haven't developed a hatred of all outsiders.  I live here year-round and hang out with other locals, so I don't think they are all brain dead hicks.  And when I work, it is for all sorts of people.  After nearly a year, I think that I can identify the problem with Nantucket.

The problem is squarely with the people of Connecticut.

We all have a natural instinct to reproduce our surroundings wherever we go.  I have hung the same pictures in the same sorts of places in the last 5 places I lived.  My wife arranges each kitchen to resemble her mother's (which in turn resembles her grandmother's).

I was working a job the other day among a grouping of cottages on the East side of the island in a community called Sconset.  We were pruning a giant Norway/Sycamore maple for a client, a mostly reasonable young grandmother type from Connecticut.  She had just shown up for the season, and wanted more sun to fall on her patio without opening up a view to the municipal water tower.  Her name was Diane.

While Diane sat on the porch and called out instructions on which limbs to remove, her neighbor, Emma, pulled up in a loaded down SUV.  The tree in question straddled the property line between Emma and Diane, in the middle of a giant privet hedge.

Diane: "Welcome back, Emma."

Emma: "Good to see you, Diane."

(The women, of course, could not see each other through the giant privet hedge.  Only from our vantage point in the giant maple could Sam and I see both.  They stood, not facing each other through the hedge, but looking west along the property line at the tree, and presumably the skyline behind.  In fact, they never saw each other throughout the whole of the conversation.)  

Diane: "How was the Steamship?"

Emma: "Calm.  It was a very nice ride over.  So, are you having work done on this tree?"

(The pleasantries were quickly dispensed of, and the tone changed.  Sam sighed audibly, roped off his saw, and leaned back in his saddle with a resigned look.  I followed suit.  We obviously weren't dropping branches on anyone today, not yet anyway.)

Diane: "I'm having some of the branches on MY SIDE pruned off.  I want more light on my patio."

Emma: "You could just cut the whole thing to the ground instead..."

(Sam covered his face with his gloved hands.  I couldn't tell if he was laughing or crying.  As a veteran of the Nantucket service sector, he was obviously preparing for what came next.)

  

Diane: "I am not letting you cut the tree down!"

Emma: "It would be better for your neighbors.  You're being selfish!"

(Ah!  The plot thickens.  Or, er, clarifies.)

Diane: "No one wants to look at the water tower!"

Emma: "I think the water tower is pretty..."

(Let's be fair.  I have heard that the coatings on the steel tower change colors with the angle of the sun, and they are really cool at sunset.  It isn't as stupid as it sounds.)

Diane: "You also thought you spoke for everyone in Fairfield."

Emma: "That was different."   "How much to cut off everything on my side?"

(As usual, when faced with responsibility and decision making, I fake a Russian accent and say "Talk to boss.  Boss him." and point toward Sam.  Sam, realizing that he has a client already under contract sees an opportunity to pad his estimate.  He takes sides, saying that he can't prune any more off the tree this summer, seeing as how it would be bad for the tree and unfair to the current customer, etc.)

Diane: "You know I won't allow you to cut the tree down.  It's common property.  We've been through this, here and back home.  It always ends with..."

(As you recall, they can't see each other.  While Diane speaks this last sentence, Emma storms toward her house.  Diane stays, looking West, speaking until she hears the slam of her neighbor's door.  Diane harrumphs, disappears inside, and returns with a glass of white wine.  It is 1030.)

Diane: "OK, where were we?"

Diane and Emma live in the same community in Connecticut, possibly even abutting property owners like they are here in Nantucket.  And like the loaded down SUV, they have brought too much with them.  Psychological baggage, so to speak.

People usually vacation for a new experience, a chance to hang out somewhere cool with amenities dissimilar from those at home.  But if you are from Connecticut, you apparently are unhappy unless you can bicker with your neighbors over the visual aesthetics of your yard.