The Oppenheimer Report 7/31/07

When we first contemplated the building project in which we now find ourselves immersed, we realized that we needed more land if we were to achieve our goal. When my father-in-law bought the property, back in the 1960’s, the lot size was only about 6000 square feet, with little or no actual water frontage. Our original cottage stood on a small, pie-shaped parcel of land, and the way the house was positioned on the lot, the Taylors only owned about ten feet of land off their back door. Over the years, my father-in-law managed to acquire from the town what was known as the shoreline allowance, providing him with water frontage and bringing the lot size up to about one half acre. To make a very long story short, after three years of meetings with the Township of Armour, to close a road allowance abutting our property to the rear, and after much negotiation with our ever patient next door neighbors to swap land involved with that road allowance, including over a year of dealings with surveyors, lawyers, accountants, planners, marriage counselors, psychiatrists, witch doctors, etc., we acquired the additional land we wanted. The land swap was mutually beneficial, because we increased our lot size to conform with new town guidelines for minimum lot size, and in turn, our neighbors acquired a good deal of valuable water frontage to improve their lot. As any cottage real estate expert will tell you, water frontage is gold. Although the actual land acquisition and site plans were approved by the town months ago, the final recording of the deeds did not take place until several weeks ago.

When the transfer was finally a matter of public record, Shauna and I invited the neighbors, with whom we’d exchanged land, over to enjoy a celebratory glass of champagne out on our dock. It wasn’t a very fancy celebration - all our patio furniture is stashed away somewhere on this log-littered lot – and we used log ends for seats and a table. Champagne was served in plastic cups, and hors d’ouevres consisted of a bag of corn chips and some smoked oysters and cheese and crackers provided by the neighbors. The mood was congenial and we had a very pleasant time with our new found friends. As the sun began to set, and we were about to return to the claustrophobic confines of our trailer to make our dinner, we noticed a man and a woman on a jet ski, circling around in the lake in front of our place, presumably inspecting our unfinished home. We’re fairly used to curious onlookers at this point, because a log home under construction is really something to behold. Most folks in boats wave, and we wave back. These people were likely not from around here … perhaps they came from the nearby trailer park, or perhaps from the public beach. Not only did they not wave, but as they zoomed off, we all heard the man scream “F-CKING RICH SNOBS!!!!” And YOU have a nice day as well! The obvious lack of respect represented by this unprovoked and boorish comment was a reminder that settling in a small town is no guarantee that one will or can avoid mean-spirited people. That nasty comment reminded me of the big-city ugliness from which we are trying to extricate ourselves. Whether the comment was inspired by beer, or envy, or unfair judgment, or latent road rage rearing its ugly head at an inopportune moment, or a combination of all of these things; it was decidedly bad karma, and it was upsetting to all of us.

They say that karma is a bitch, and I believe that there is yin and yang to every action, Perhaps nothing that we do is absent the judgment of someone else who does not understand us or our actions. If I have learned anything in my 51 years, it is that there will always be someone out there to rain on my parade. I suppose I grudgingly accept this fact, and I’ll eventually shrug off this minor example of human ugliness. Nevertheless, it’s sad fact that, in some microcosmic way, just such a misunderstanding probably accounts for three quarters of the aggression in the world. Now, I find myself diffusing my anger with my imagination. I comfort myself by picturing, somewhere out in the middle of the big lake, night closing in and the warmth of the summer sun replaced by the cold, damp chill of the Northern Ontario night, that man and that woman, out of gas and helplessly adrift on their jet ski, unassisted by the throngs of otherwise friendly “f-cking rich snobs” … and I raise my plastic cup full of champagne to toast their well-deserved misfortune.
- Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2007 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED