Neighborhood Story
The village’s origin rests within in its name. The “former great sheep district” of Muttontown, in northern Oyster Bay Town in Long Island, traces its name to the early English and Dutch settlers of the mid-1600s who found its rolling hills ideal for sheep grazing. These sheep provided the Dutch settlers with mutton and wool.
Around the turn of the twentieth century, wealthy families from New York City built large homes and mansions in Muttontown during the Gold Coast fever. Some of these magnificent examples include Knollwood, a 60-room Greek Revival, Italian Renaissance and Spanish styling mansion erected by Wall Street tycoon Charles Hudson in 1906 with towering Ionic columns at its entrance. The current Woodcrest Club and the Muttontown Golf and Country Club are two other remnants from its Gold Coast past.
After World War II, Muttontown, a village of 6.1 square miles, underwent a significant population growth from 382 people in 1950 to 3,499 in 2003. This small enclave in Nassau County attracted a certain type of person – the wealthy. With a median household income of $184,386, ($140,000 higher than the national median) the wealthy of New York have found an alternative settlement other than Manhattan.
Whether sheep herding and extreme wealth have any direct connection, I cannot honestly comment on, but I can tell you that growing up in the town of Muttontown makes a New Yorker feel as close to New York City as a North Dakotan may feel about their proximity to New York City. Living atop Hardy Hill in our grey painted house, with dark blue roof shingles and a darkened red door literally made me feel as if I lived on top of the world, but stuck in the middle of nowhere. As I would gaze down on my neighbors, town and practically everyone else around me as a kid, I would wonder if there was more to life than the grass fields, the large houses, and Route 106, the road that connected us to the towns of Syosset, Jericho and the rest of the world. Was there anything else more enjoyable for a young boy other than grass fields to run around with his friends, play catch with his brother and dad, and find escapes from his mom after setting a prank on his younger sister? Life was one game after another, whether I was running off to soccer practice, getting ready for a baseball game, or training for my next cross-country race. My house and neighborhood provided every opportunity necessary to stretch my legs, improve my throwing arm and golf swing, and even allow me to become a decent basketball player.
Exiting the neighborhood through its windy roads and undulating bends, you are distracted from the traffic of 106, but can see in the near distance an entrance to a completely different environment, a forest. Soft dirt paths lead walkers, horses and riders into the 550-acre Muttontown Preserve that is open to the public. Part of the Preserve used to be Hudson’s Knollwood estate, before King Zog I of Albania bought it in 1951. Zog never resided in Muttontown, and sold it a few years later in 1955 to Landsell Christie, who made a fortune mining ore in Liberia, and destroyed Hudson’s mansion in 1959 after the house experienced extensive vandalism. In the past 40 years, the county has purchased about 430 acres from Christie for the preserve. I have frequented its running trails during my returns from the city, avoiding hundreds of piles of horseshit as opposed to the masses of people I have to maneuver through when running in the city.
The thirty mile drive my family and I would take monthly to Manhattan solidified in my mind the huge separation from my home and the world’s largest city, which was essentially next door geographically. Driving down Fifth Avenue or through Central Park seemed dirty and dark, confusing and nauseating, as I never looked forward to spending too much time in what many have called, “the world’s greatest city.” Cabs flew by us screeching their horns, and masses of people seemed to be in a rush to go everywhere but where they were, as life in the city seemed too hectic, and no one seemed to take a breath to look around. I never imagined living in the loud, chaotic, Manhattan or New York City would be the ideal life for a young man. But here I am in midtown east Manhattan, looking out of my mom’s apartment on the 25th floor gazing down on the miniscule cabs, and pedestrians that shuffle around with somewhere to go, but never satisfied from where they’re coming from; as I wonder which life is more worthwhile for a New Yorker, and also wondering how much my life has changed from my Long Island days atop Hardy Hill. Is the prestige, power and size that is associated with Manhattan really what makes New York so special, or does the calm, clean-aired, rolling green hills of Muttontown create a sense of calm that is worth more than any high rise, studio apartment or loft?
Perhaps there are benefits to both my past and present neighborhoods, but I will always be proud to acknowledge my Long Island roots, and defend the grass fields, dirt trails and dense woods that I grew up in and helped mold me into the person I have become today.
Tags: Travel, Travel Writing Class
