She’s on the Inside Looking Out

Retire to the Village of Fearrington: Be neighbors with bluebirds, hollyhocks, shops, a country inn and fascinating people of all ages .

--advertisement in The New Yorker

All was well here in Fearrington until the Inn at Fearrington Landing opened. The inn brought in outsiders. Until then we had nothing to fear but Fearrington itself.

On a typical morning, I would get out of bed, throw open the wooden shutters of my cottage windows and begin to sing, “Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah.” Before you know it, my neighbor, Mr. Bluebird, would be on my shoulder. We’d have a brief philosophical discussion about truth--what’s actual. When everything was quite satisfactual, we’d head down to our neighbors across the meadow, the Hollyhocks.

It was the Hollyhocks who first noticed what was happening. Bev Hollyhock was at the shops one day and was about to reach into the pickle barrel when a stranger pushed ahead of her and grabbed the exact dill Bev wanted for lunch.

Next thing you know, Chuck Hollyhock was driving up to the shops when a big Mercedes-Benz zoomed in front of him and took the place right in front of the door to Pop’s. Even though the rest of Main Street was empty.

Suddenly we noticed that Old Smitty’s Place up on the ridge had been purchased and was being renovated. Landscaping had come to Fearrington.

But the final straw was when the zoning notice went up on the bulletin board at Four Corners. That’s when we realized what was happening to our little town. The New Yorkers had come.

So, we held a meeting at Town Hall. In attendance were me, age 64; Bev and Chuck Hollyhock, both 57; Mr. Bluebird, 22; Betty Bluebird, 19; Baby Bluebird, 4 months; Pop, 81, and Smitty Jr., 47.

Fascinating people of all ages.

Smitty explained that he sold the inn to the New Yorkers because he needed the money for collagen injections for his wife, Lureen. Without treatment, Lureen will lose her skin tone and her characteristic luscious lips. No one, of course, wanted to see Lureen with loose lips.

As he was explaining this to all us Fearringtonians, the New Yorkers walked in. Sheena was wearing a faux leopard coat that darn near sent the Bluebirds to the rafters. Miles had one of those ponytails.

They presented their plans. They want to expand the inn to include a health club, which anyone in the town would be given off-hours privileges to use. I guess a relaxing steam bath at midnight might not be so bad.

I was kind of worried by the concept of a wine bar on the Fearrington River side. But the New Yorkers reassured us that it would be enclosed with a little greenhouse so that if the customers got tipsy, they couldn’t just toss their goblets into the river.

The New Yorkers also wanted to add a tasteful mini-mall on Main Street. Miles said it’ll have a neo-Queen Anne facade to blend in. They’re calling the whole development The Shops.

Finally, Sheena and Miles offered to buy us out. I got $220,000 for the cottage and 90 acres, which includes Lake Fearrington, site unseen. I didn’t tell them about the algae situation. Ha, ha. Caveat sucker!

I wasn’t sure where to go, so I looked in the back of Smitty’s New Yorker magazine and found this:

In the Spirit of Santa Fe: Presenting the Quail Run resort condominium community, minutes from the heart of Santa Fe and in close touch with her soul. Spacious floor plans feature patios and decks for elegant outdoor living and spectacular views of the mountains. Complete recreational facilities and 24-hour security provided. Prices start in the low $200,000s . . . .

I can see myself now, sitting there sippin’ margaritas on the deck at Quail Run. Heck, I could use a warmer climate. And I’ve always had a yen to get in close touch with the soul of Santa Fe.