Still beautiful after all these years
Commentary by JOELLEN COLLINS
Lately I’ve started to join the chorus of people who are
fearful that we may lose some of the very qualities we moved here to find.
When I first moved to Ketchum from California in 1982, I thought I’d
found paradise. Eighteen years later I still believe this is one of the best places in the
world.
When I try to describe my home to those friends who’ve never been in
Idaho I have a hard time. I mention its physical beauty, the delight of changing seasons
(always a happy surprise to a Californian), the amazing cultural life for a small town
and, always, the depth of talented people who locate here. Most of all, though, I note the
close connections and warmth of the inhabitants of the Wood River Valley.
I’ve written columns before about the kindness of our community, the
way people who live here rush to help each other in crises. I’ve seen that quality of
compassion where I work at least three traumatic times this year. We do help each other in
tough times.
But lately I’ve started to join the chorus of people who are fearful
that we may lose some of the very qualities we moved here to find. We are afraid that our
attractions have spurred so much growth that the small-towns we love are going to be
eclipsed.
Let me say that I found the same impasse in the Serra Road area of Malibu
where I lived over 20 years ago. No glitzy beachfront, but rather a rural enclave in the
foothills overlooking the ocean, the Serra Retreat was a riotously gorgeous place of crisp
ocean air, bougainvillea, swarms of Mariposa butterflies, small and relatively modest
adobe and ranch homes, a dearth of sidewalks, and proximity to Malibu Creek and the lagoon
where my children could explore tidepools. It attracted young families.
I generally had six to eight kids playing in my yard after school. We were
the kind of people who had block parties on the 4th of July, arranged open neighborhood
barbecues, played softball together every Sunday morning at a dusty diamond nearby, and
generally felt a very close sense of community. Some of us had survived the destruction of
our homes after the 1970 brush fire, so we shared the sense of being veterans as we helped
each other rebuild. Whatever the reasons, we knew we had something special when we were
together.
But then the word got out that there was a beautiful spot only 12 miles
from Santa Monica where property prices were relatively low, and the sweet, close
neighborhood changed. I characterized it as each driveway trying to out-Mercedes the next
one. Rock stars and EST gurus moved in, and suddenly the property owners were presented
with a request to construct a guardhouse/kiosk at the entrance to Serra Road to "keep
out the riffraff."
Now I don’t deny anyone the right to construct homes on buildable
lots that have the kind of beauty and view that I once enjoyed. Who am I to say that I am
the last person who is entitled to enjoy that panorama? But when does the building stop?
When does the quiet and serene place cease to exist?
We are confronted with the same dilemma now in the Wood River Valley. I
know that longtime residents, or natives, viewed my arrival from California in 1982 as a
kind of forecast of rampant "Californization." My daughters begged me to get rid
of my California license plates as soon as possible; I clearly recall some resentment
towards us because we were from that "awful" state. So I don’t want to
engage in the kind of myopia that denies access to our gorgeous area to those who settle
after us.
But I think we all recognize that something has to be done to prevent the
"uglification" of, at least, our public areas. I believe people have the right
to design their own homes as they wish within whatever codes they buy into in the first
place. Obviously, if they purchase a parcel of land in a place that requires red tiled
roofs (like Palos Verdes, Calif.) they have to keep that integrity of design. But I see no
problem with blue roofs or treehouses. I worry about setting myself up as the arbiter of
other’s tastes.
Nonetheless, I was aghast recently at a drawing of a proposed building in
Ketchum. Lest I be too "political" in what is generally not a political column,
I will not identify it. I do think we need, all of us, to remember why we moved here. It
certainly wasn’t to be surrounded by structures better built in Las Vegas. And, while
I realize that people are becoming happily rich selling their older buildings as tear
downs, and I might think differently if I had a small old house on, say, Leadville, I
still worry that in the quest for profits we will destroy the proverbial goose that laid
the golden egg.
So I am applauding the efforts to forge a sensible comprehensive plan. I
hope we all become more vocal in our endeavors to preserve the integrity of our beautiful
valley.
In my worst nightmare I foresee a time when power and money will create an
atmosphere in which the hillside ordinance (a measure passed by the Ketchum City Council
in 1987 aimed at preventing the proliferation of homes on hillsides) will be compromised.
If I don’t speak up now, and if we all don’t, then we will indeed lose our
paradise.
I enjoy singing the praises of my valley. It is still beautiful after all
these years. Let's hope it stays that way.
