This place pulls and pushes like the tide
Nat Polk of Bay Shore uses his metal detector at Robert Moses State Park, amid strong winds and high surf Friday. Credit: Barry Sloan
What's it like to live on Long Island?
It's the beaches, so many beaches and so close, with their soft sand and ocean breezes and seafood shacks, and all the water all around us for swimming and sailing and fishing and kayaking and just quietly contemplating the wonder of it all.
It's dangerous drivers who speed and weave and tailgate, the general disrespect for the rules of the road such that stop signs and red lights and lane markings are merely suggestions to be disregarded when inconvenient, and the guy who cuts you off and forces you to slam on your brakes and then gives you the finger when you hit your horn in defense.
It's the restaurants on seemingly every corner and every block of every burg offering every cuisine known to humans at an amazing variety of price points, so much so that you can surely eat your way to heaven.
It's the sky-high price of housing and the gnawing reality that you can pay more for rent for a much smaller place than your living situation demands than you would pay for a mortgage elsewhere for a house much bigger than you really need.
It's the schools whose reputation gives you comfort that your kids and grandkids are being set up for success later in life with all they are learning and all the extracurricular activities they do.
It's the school taxes that never stop rising no matter how high they are and that eventually have you wondering whether you're receiving commensurate value for what you're paying.
It's autumn with its crisp air that you want to gulp down in huge draughts and its Technicolor trees and deep blue skies dappled with clouds and its farm stands with pumpkins and apples to pick and corn mazes to explore and its long walks through soft beds of fallen leaves that get you more energized than tired.
It's storms more intense than ever that batter our shores and fell our trees and cut our power and flood our streets and plant in us the nagging suspicion that we are one really bad one away from true catastrophe.
It's the big city right next door with its endless array of entertainment, cultural, sports and dining offerings, and it's our many small downtowns here whose streets pulse with similar choices and energy.
It's the traffic, all the traffic, predictable and unexpected, at any time of day on any type of road, the rush hour crawl and the Oakdale Merge and the Sagtikos parking lot and the Long Island non-Expressway and the East End trade parade and the grade-level crossings and the all-season potholes and the day-after-day monotony of it all.
It's the beautiful parks with their paths and benches and playgrounds that offer solitude and solidarity and serve as refuge from the madness, the music venues that provide a different sort of escape in all their sonic variety, and the cafes that deliver caffeine in an astonishing diversity of flavors and styles.
It's all of the taxes for all of the services from all of the many levels of governments that only always point in one direction, and it's some of the people in those governments who seem immune to the reality that many taxpayers only have so much to give.
It's your friends and families and lifelong bonds you've formed, the experiences that have colored your life and shaped who you are, and the neighbors and strangers who come to your aid when you need it.
It's the ridiculously high cost of living overall and the balancing act you must perform to enjoy all the good things here.
It's the yin and yang of life on Long Island. It can make you feel like you have to leave, but you just can't bring yourself to say goodbye.
Columnist Michael Dobie is a retired member of the Newsday editorial board.
Michael Dobie is a retired member of the Newsday editorial board.
