A Neighborhood Obituary

Met an old friend on the sidewalk near our home yesterday. We were out, walking our new puppy, and our friend was instantly welcoming, bending down and petting, using his puppy-love voice. He knows. Friendly neighbors and wagging dogs make the world go round. It was good to see him. It had been a while. His dog was there behind him in the car.

As we hugged, then spoke, our conversation quickly turned. We learned he was just here in the neighborhood, picking up his mail. He had moved out of his small rental cottage of nearly a decade. We stood in disbelief. His rent had been raised to $5,000 per month, and he has a son just starting college. It was a tough but necessary decision. Staying wasn’t an option.

And then suddenly he was gone. He drove off and waved. Our hearts sank.

And as we stood there and looked at his now-vacant house, we tried to imagine who would afford that small place at that price. Not our dear friend, it seems.

About a block farther down De la Vina, another couple we know has just found a new place to live in the valley. We spoke with them last week. They’ve been our neighbors for more than 20 years. Real fixtures in the ’hood. Their small rental is now up for sale for way more than their rent would support. We will miss them and their Schnauzer clan.

Across the street they are just finishing a small hotel where guests check themselves in and out without staff. The small businesses there are gone. A block and a half away, a yellow city permit sign proudly announces yet another house is being converted into a vacation rental. It is one of the nicer homes on the block.

In our immediate neighborhood we used to have small shops that were run out of old homes. It made the place pretty cool. There was a dress shop, kids’ tutoring, a tea and knitting shop. They were also known for antiques. Those shop owners were neighbors and friends. We used to shop there just to visit.

Today, the tourists staying there are paying about four times the neighborhood average because they get free Wi-Fi and a city tour map. And they only need to commit for a month. And in our neighborhood, a monthly rental is short-term. No one stays for longer.

Generally, these visitors are a friendly lot, anxious to tell us about how much they loved Super-Rica and wondering if the Farmers’ Market is just on Saturdays. I’ve stopped even trying to learn their names.

When we arrived home, we noted the house next door was still empty. At nearly $10,000 per month, our San Jose investor landlord neighbor may be aiming a little high. It’s pretty quiet most of the time. And we never see anyone at the Seattle attorney’s rental a few doors down either.

We still miss the families that used to live across the driveway. They are friends we haven’t seen since the house was sold and they moved away.

We went inside and had a glass of wine. Lots to ponder. It seems like the death of something we know, something we are a part of, something we love.

We are feeling the conversion of our downtown neighborhood into an extended-stay motel house by house. And while it seems almost intentional, it may be that technology is simply outpacing our community response.

We have a few neighbors still left who rent, but all of them know that any day, they could hear the news and they would be forced to leave. Leave their homes, maybe leave town, possibly leave their jobs. They are quietly anxious, and it is heartbreaking to talk to them about it.

It’s a familiar refrain that you can read about in many nicer communities, but I couldn’t help myself. Our neighborhood is dying, and someone needed to draft the obit.

It is so easy to speak dispassionately about workforce housing, gentrification, and the concentration of wealth. But these stories are personal. About what some people are doing to others. One neighbor at a time.

We’re fortunate, and we’ll hold on and continue to enjoy the pleasures of walking to the market and restaurants and biking to work. We’ll still greet others on the sidewalk with a smile and friendly hello — even if nearly all of them are just passing through. Downtown Santa Barbara is still my favorite place to be, but without the neighborhood we helped build.

Goodbye, my friend. Rest in peace.