Northport, Long Island, New York
Northport is a quaint little village that sits on the north shore of Long Island about an hour and a half train ride from Manhattan. Both of my parents were born there, as well as all of my aunts and uncles. Some family still remain there after having kids and raising them in the town, but most have moved and some have passed away. My parents left Northport in the 70s and moved into Manhattan, had me, and then decided to follow their life’s path separately. When I was nine, my mom and I moved back to Norhport. Her parents and her sister lived there, and all of my dad’s brothers, whom she remained very close with even after they got divorced. I think my mom felt very safe there, it was familiar, it was her youth.
Northport is an old place, it started out as a farming town in the mid seventeenth century and didn’t earn it’s name until 1837 when shipbuilding became the village’s principal business. You can feel the age of the town when you walk the streets, it’s like you’ve been placed into a time capsule. So much of Northport seems eerily unchanged from when I was a kid, and I hear the same thing from many generations before me. The village is peppered with long forgotten cemeteries tucked into ancient woods with gravestones that look like they were hand carved yesterday, but the dates on them tell a different story. Some of the storefronts and signage are so perfectly aged and weathered, they seem like they were placed there by a set director from Disney. The Northport Sweet Shop is an old diner that used to be there when my parents were kids. My mom used to sit at the counter in her cheerleading uniform and drink milkshakes with home made ice cream as she made eyes at my dad down the way. I could feel her there this last visit. My uncle and I sat at the counter and shared an ice cream soda and a toasted bran muffin. I didn’t want to leave, It was such a perfect wholesome moment and I wished I could go there every day and duplicate it.
My uncle has a wonderful little house situated on a stretch of beach called Makamah. You can step outside his back screen door and find yourself in the soft sand of the Long Island Sound. If you walk left when you leave the house and follow the arched stretch of beach, past the fisherman looking for blue fish, past the channel that leads you into a labyrinth of marshes, you will find yourself in Crab Meadow. The meadow is really a beach that has been there since before the Revolutionary War, one of many small beaches that can be found all over the village. My mom and I used to live down the road from this beach and many summers were spent sitting on that warm sand eating frozen snickers that are sold from the little concession stand that resides there. Some of my friends lived in the neighborhood of Crab Meadow, you can almost see my childhood ghost riding bikes through the streets and setting up lemonade stands on late summer nights.
There seems to be no end to the charm that Northport maintains. Lewis Oliver Farm is a historic landmark that used to be a working dairy, but is now home to a slew of animals, including a giant and boisterous pig that looks like he’s fifty years old. The farm leaves a cart of carrots out so children can feed the animals when no one is there. You can tell the animals get fed often, they come right to you when you walk up to the fence.
There is a huge depression in the center of Northport called Steer’s Pit, which is the result of sand mining in the 20s. The sand from the pit was shipped to New York City by barge, mixed, and then became the sidewalks of Manhattan. You can stand on the top of the pit and look out at one of the most beautiful views in the town. The pit is now populated with homes, some sports fields and every summer becomes the backdrop for the Fireman’s Fair. I’m going to go to that fair this summer. It’s been sixteen years.
I left Nothport prematurely when my mom had died and I moved to Los Angeles. Because of this I romanticize a life I never had there, or one that I wish I had. I have these vivid dreams of Northport, and my friends, the Sweet Shop, the marshes, the docks, all of it. Like it’s some movie that takes place in a lost and forgotten time, and I was sucked out of it and desperately want back in. But I might be able to see Northport differently because I had to leave, I might be able to appreciate it differently. I am very happy to be near it again, it’s only a short train ride away now.
Though there is one very sad and very ominous presence that can’t be ignored in this town. It sits on the back of Northport like a tumor and you can see it everywhere you go, with every perfect view and every blue sky this thing is there. It’s a giant power plant called LILCO (Long Island Lighting Company), and it has been named the number one polluting power plant on Long Island and the second most polluting plant in the Northeast. The plant billows from it’s massive stacks 5.2 million tons of carbon dioxide every year, and is exempt from the Clean Air Act emissions because it was grandfathered in when the law was passed. I hate that Northport is it’s home, it hurts my feelings, and I feel like it’s killing people. I have no proof of this next statement, but I feel like it’s infiltrating the water and giving people cancer. I can name six people, my mother included, who have lived in Northport and died of some kind of cancer. But somehow these four colossal smoke stacks have become such a part of the environment, most people that live there don’t mind them one bit. It’s almost a defining feature of the landscape.
There is so much more history about Northport that I could get into, from the Underground Railroad to Jack Kerouac and Walt Whitman, the clay cliffs and the Piping Plovers, but I’ll leave that to your own interest.
Northport is a very magical place. I know that people take with them different emotions and experiences from the places that they’ve lived and places they visit, but I hope if you ever get to Northport, you’ll be able to take with you some of the enchantment.
*Thank you uncle Chris for your help on this project, your beautiful home, and your wonderful cooking.
Recognition
It’s so important to recognize the positive things that people do. It’s so meaningful when you simply say, thank you. The ability to reinforce positive behavior through recognition is such a great power. You can turn someone’s mood around completely, just by noticing a small gesture or by acknowledging a huge accomplishment. You have to be aware, you have to pay attention to the small details that make up your day.
I hate when people don’t say thank you after you hold a door open for them, it makes me nuts. It always prompts me to yell out a big angry “you’re welcome!”. But it’s amazing how I get all happy and hippy when someone does say thank you, I think it’s a big wonderful world.
I also think the service industry is a thankless land filled with complaining patrons and pains in the asses. People have that fucked up sense of entitlement, like giving respect to the ones serving them isn’t necessary. Like it’s their right to be waited on and not a privilege.
It’s one of my favorite things to be super thankful to the bus boys at restaurants, or baggers at grocery stores, cab drivers, garbage men, those guys are the best, say thank you to a garbage man and you’ll see a face light up, seriously, yell “thank you!” to a garbage man as he’s lugging a heavy can over to the back of that smelly truck, it’s amazing. I like to appreciate the people that work their asses off and probably don’t get thanked as much as they should. And who knows, maybe I over thank, maybe it’s annoying, but I can’t help it, it makes me feel good. And it’s not like I’m condescending when I say it, I really mean it!
I guess I just fear any hard work, or good deed going unnoticed, because I know how far a little appreciation can go. I know that when I’m acknowledged for doing something well at work, my productivity and my passion increases significantly. When I feel like I’ve worked really hard on something, and no one bats an eye, it bums me out and I can see it affect my output. It’s not like I need constant kudos or anything like that, just a “nice job” now and again is perfect.
So now, I’d like to recognize all of you that take the time to read this blog and look at the photos I take, it means a lot to me, it gives a lot of purpose to my life, and I thank you very much.
Shopping
Man, there’s a lot of shit to buy in this city. It’s unbelievable how many adorable boutiques there are, each one stocked with loads of beautiful crap to lure you inside. Every neighborhood has it’s own cluster of stores all with their very own look and style. It’s overwhelming. The stuff is expensive too. You start getting used to seeing t-shirts for a hundred bucks, so when you see one for eighty you get excited. That’s kind of on the cheap side of expensive too. The average price of a nice blouse is about $200. It’s tough when I’m in one of these stores and I see a tiny sprite of a girl who looks twelve bringing a handful of clothes to the register and I’m waiting behind her with my one little sale item from last season. It’s not that I’m broke, I just feel guilty spending money sometimes. But I have to get over that, what the hell do I work for?!
There’s boutiques here that end up revolving too. One month it’s a hipster store overflowing with boat shoes and jumpsuits and the next moth it’s a wine bar. Some stores only last a weekend, people set up sample sales for a couple of days and try to make some extra money before their stuff gets shipped off to Loehmann’s.
I’m not complaining, I think it’s amazing to have such a huge fashion pool to swim in. I just can’t try to keep up with the girls that are slaves to it. I have to admire them for the time and money they spend, pick up a few ideas, and execute my style in my own way. Luckily I’m more attracted to old jeans and a white t-shirt. Although, the old jeans and white t-shirt probably cost me around $500. Whatever, it’s New York!!
Support
Support is such a vital part of any relationship, it is the steel bars that strengthen the foundation. When you can give someone your support, fully and unselfishly, you have the opportunity to deeply strengthen a bond. I know it’s hard sometimes, to define the line between the support of another and the compromise of yourself. But if you’re in any kind of healthy relationship, you will feel so appreciated for giving so much. And when you see in someone’s eyes how much your support means, it almost makes you forget about yourself completely.
I do think it’s important to realize that even if we don’t believe in a loved one’s theories, or ideas, or passions, it’s still necessary to show our support for them. The support is not about us, it’s about them, that’s what is so beautiful about it. I don’t mean to say that you should support immoral behavior of course, just that if someone believes in fairies and gnomes or UFOs and you don’t, it doesn’t mean you should squash their dreams.
Your mate can be one of the most significant pieces of your life, and to cultivate a thoughtful support system within your relationship can bring in so much trust and closeness, it’s amazing. Your support of each other will allow the relationship, as well as one another, to achieve such wonderful goals. You can really see the difference between a strong relationship, and one that lacks support. You can really feel the difference.
I’m sure in the future there will be instances where I’d rather not give my support because of some selfish reason. But I’m going to do my best to see the meaning of my support in the other person. And all I can hope is that someone would do the same for me.
Personal Evolution
It’s amazing how you can feel yourself evolve. If you pay close enough attention, you can probably remember those moments when you’ve changed your opinion about something due to more time spent on this planet. e.g., I remember somewhere during my eleventh year of life spinach didn’t make me gag anymore. When I was fifteen I started to think my boobs were cool. Twenty was the year I really started to feel independent. At twenty five I remember the day I gave myself an eating disorder and at twenty seven I remember the day I realized I missed bread. When I was twenty eight I started to thoroughly enjoy Frontline. These are little examples of personal evolution, I’m sure as time goes by they will get smaller and give way to the greater life realizations that wisdom brings.
I’m sensing one of these personal transformations now. I have this desire to search inside myself and gain insight that I think I’m missing. I feel manic and I want to calm myself down. I’m constantly frustrated that I’m not doing enough, whether it’s photography, writing, exercise or work, I always have this frustration like it’s not sufficient. I hate that. I used to love that sensation, the anxiety that drove me to wander the streets and shoot and find myself in strange places, pushing my limits. But now that feeling is giving me agida, it’s bothering me, and I’m ready to ditch it. Although, I still want to challenge myself and do the same things that were driven by mania, I just want to be a little more relaxed while doing them. I think it will allow me to better enjoy my experiences and my work. It’s like I’m looking at life with my eyes squinted and tensed, I need to open them up and let more light in.
So, I bought a couple of self help books about anxiety and living in the present, we’ll see how it goes. Life’s a journey and I can’t be afraid to make some changes. It’s fun. It’s like I’m creating a new version of myself. Don’t worry, you’ll still recognize me.
