Another Ranch House Demolition-the End of an Era

The Ranch House

Walking down my road I saw a sign that foretells the possible demolition of a fine ranch home on our street. I had flashbacks of the family growing up there, the small tree that was decorated for Christmas and through the years grew way above the rooftops. I watched the couple age and pass on and their children move not too far away. And now all of that life lived will make room for something new-new home, new memories, new family. Back then modest homes sat near the middle of half acre lots with plenty of field and fauna around their edges. Now the field and fauna are often annihilated and edges of homes stretch within inches of the property lines.

Traditional Ranch homes are disappearing from the Sag Harbor landscape but here is the story of what it was like to grow up in one.

My mother grew up on the periphery of Lutheranism but converted to Catholicism when marrying my father. The priest’s advice regarding child-bearing was, ‘you have them and the Lord will take care of them.’ Although at the time the advice might have seemed a bit trite and overly simplified, in the end I think he was right.

My parents first settled and started their family in a shared home with relatives on Madison Street. As the family grew my father bought an acre of land on the water in North Haven for $1,750.00 and built the small ranch house there, overlooking the creek and a bit beyond a view of the once quiet bay. Although it was only a half mile from the bridge, family and friends warned that it was way too far from civilization.

There were my parents and six siblings who grew up in that small ranch house that I would venture to guess started at less than 1,200 square feet. One small bathroom shared by eight of us with Ming green fixtures and a cast-iron radiator where my mother warmed our towels for our baths. Three of us fit into the tub for Sunday night baths followed by the Ed Sullivan Show and orange ice cream sodas.

Three small bedrooms branched out from a center hall which was used as our indoor gym. We spent some hours there pitching pennies into a jar, playing ‘Monkey in the Middle’ and whatever game our young minds could conjure up. At one point three of us shared a bedroom incrementally smaller than most walk-in closets. Two in bunk beds, and me in a single bed under the window. There was a small closet to share and a dresser where we each had a drawer; hand-me-downs didn’t have too far to go. Whoever was born last spent a good amount of time in my parent’s room until they outgrew the crib.

The kitchen was the heart of the home with eight of us gathered around the Formica table and chairs for pretty much three hot meals a day. The youngest sat in a chair that had two little steps to climb and often ate from a lunch sized plate. It was surely a sign of growing up when you were finally afforded a full-size plate and a regular chair at the table.

There was a large picture window in the living room that looked out over the creek which is where our Christmas tree settled each year -and a door leading to the outdoors from the dining room that had a two-foot drop where a porch might have gone. When my grandmother moved in with us the dining room became her bedroom as family space grew smaller. As fifth of the six, I remember always pursuing some quiet space, spending time in the closet and looking for an extra minute or two in the quiet bathroom. I wonder at times if these formative years didn’t create my constant quest for space and quiet.

The lack of indoor space forced us outdoors where the wilds of North Haven afforded us an endless playground- undeveloped, unfenced and open to our imaginations. At first our driveway was made of stones and we would spend some time at night tossing those rocks to make sparks and trying to break them in two to see if some sparkle lived inside – a lackluster geode of sorts. We had a canoe and an old row boat for exploring the creek and spent quite a bit of time fishing for minnows with a locust branch with a straight pin attached. There were kites to fly and kickball games and a pure and expansive freedom that fed our souls. The neighbors had a Copper Beach tree that we would climb and be able to see town from its upper crown. I believe that tree is still standing probably since the time that Sag Harbor was first settled. There were clams and crabs and mussels and a yard filled with fruit trees and growing gardens. The one thing about small ranch houses is that it forced you outdoors to find peace and a little bit of elbow room. Perhaps that is what folks are looking for when they build their mansions to the very edge of their properties.

As I grew, I always looked for my own living space-spending some time sleeping in the hall and then down in the unfinished basements where haul seine nets hung from the pipes and spiders procreated at bay. As my older sisters grew my father built two bedrooms and a bathroom onto the house and when they left for college I moved in- at least temporarily. Those rooms became the annex for the Whalers’ Motel-and when our nine rooms filled my father would rent my sister’s rooms to folks who had nowhere else to go. I believe it was the initial notion of an Airbnb.

Almost all of my friends grew up the same way- large families- small ranch homes. And aside from one friend with a swimming pool, it was an equal playing field. We each had a bike, a pair of sneakers and the freedom to grow alongside each other without envy or judgement. There were no lavish birthday parties, no sports cars or mansions with cattle grates.

We spent most of our young lives outdoors- forest bathing before we knew of the concept. Creating this internal notion of life that came without directions and surely without a power cord. It seemed to me to be the way that the human mind was designed to develop - without hovering adults, busy extracurricular schedules and planned playdates. It was wholesome, organic, free.

Ranch homes and large families seem to be disappearing from the Sag Harbor landscape-replaced by a new way of living and growing. Yet, this way of life had its place in the formation of our generation and our world. As we see each ranch home demolished, with it goes the echoes of the families that grew up there- this simple yet simply beautiful way of life.