No Fooling

A joke can be a story with a punchline. It can be a ruse or a prank. In years past, when I have written April Fool’s Day columns, the editor has sent me a note saying he’s added the line, “Happy April Fool’s Day,” because it’s not necessarily clear that my column is a joke. But that was, of course, part of my point.

This year, I had planned to write about how our village has made it illegal to use leaf blowers. What economists said would be detrimental to the economy of men who make a living with those blowers, has instead blossomed into an artisanal raking moment. Bespoke rakes, custom rakes, even a smart rake to tell you when you’ve had enough, I rake. It’s not a joke, it’s a dream. So I didn’t want to make fun of it.

These blowers have crept into every season and hour of our lives, the only way you don’t hear them is to be running something noisy of your own. If sound had a horizon, it would be them, a droning heard in all directions. I scrapped my plan and began down Narrow Lane instead, where about half way, in a wooded area, is Sagaponack’s sole public toilet.

Some people think the issue is a joke, but then they too are going down Narrow Lane and suddenly, on this otherwise bucolic passage, there is the toilet. The generic blue porta-potty is not pretty. There are ways it could be improved. Building one out of wood, as homage to this place’s agricultural heritage, would be acceptable. Pay tribute to the largesse, make it grand. Those are the technicalities of design. However visually jarring the toilet may be, the debate about its very existence is the confounding one. Why does a residential neighborhood need public bathrooms? Those two things are mutually exclusive, no?

The confusion may lie in the use of the phrase residential neighborhood. It is true that Sagg does not, and never will, have a bustling downtown with businesses and restaurants. Instead, every road and lane is house after house. With few exceptions, each house represents a place of near constant industry. We do not live in a residential neighborhood so much as we live in a factory of residences. And the streets here are not unlike those in a small factory town, busy at starting and quitting time with the people who build, service, alter, clean, landscape, mow, tear it all out and start over again — working in these existential factories of the good life. But often without access to a bathroom. It can begin to seem like a joke.