From the slow lane: Our own Island caught between clashing forks

Is it any wonder that Shelter Island sometimes feels like the unwanted child in a custody battle, getting tossed between the legislative districts of two forks, neither of which really seems care if they get us or get to keep us?

Yes, well, it’s déjà vu all over again! In 1992 — 20 years ago — I wrote a column about being plucked out of the South Fork and handed back to the North Fork, where, by the way, many Island locals felt we always really belonged anyhow. And I can still recall even years before that, when Shelter Island was originally removed from the North Fork and placed in the South Fork state Assembly district, that my mother-in-law was one of many locals who objected.

“We are not South Forkers!” she insisted and resented being lumped with the demographic that drank bottled water back when those bottles were made of glass and who tied their sweaters around their necks instead of wearing them.

“We’re flannel and Timex; they’re linen and Rolex,” she said. “We’re fried fish and Friday night home games; they’re quiche and celebrity softball. We’re Jell-O salad and Heavenly Hash and they’re cilantro and crème bruleé!” She had a dozen more we/they comparisons but by then I had stopped listening.

My mother-in-law vowed that, no matter where the lines were drawn, in her heart she would always pledge her allegiance to the North Fork.

New to Shelter Island then and unfamiliar with the idiosyncrasies of either fork, I didn’t understand what the fuss was all about. But I learned the first time we were invited to an engagement party, on the lawn, beside the pool, in the Hamptons. “Casual,” the engraved invitation said and, silly me, I believed it.

This “casual” party was different from the casual pool parties I’d attended on Shelter Island or anywhere else along the Riverhead-to-Greenport corridor. For starters, the women on the South Fork actually wear what is described in Neiman-Marcus catalogs as “elegantly understated, ideal for casual soirées” on the lawn, beside the pool in the Hamptons. (I added the part after “soirées.”)

My casual cotton dress was purchased through a catalog, too: Sears; and described thusly: “Machine washable, no ironing required.” I wondered what was going to happen to those elegantly understated outfits when people got thrown into the pool, which is what often happens during the second hour of a Shelter Island or North Fork party. That did not happen at the soirée.
This was an early summer party but nearly all of the guests had deep, rich tans, the result of winter in Palm Beach. I had a Florida tan, too, on my scalp, from spending five days standing in lines at Disney World.

Several South Fork guests asked where I came from (how could they tell I wasn’t one of them?) and when I said “Shelter Island” they said, “Oh, Shelter Island. How cute,” and moved on in search of someone higher on the East End ladder.

Another difference between the opposing forks is the type of food served at their outdoor events. There were no disposable foil trays of “serve yourself” sausage and peppers or kielbasa and sauerkraut (all North Fork staples, along with baked ziti and baked beans) on the South Fork.

At the party of my undoing, the hired help proffered paper-doilyed platters of unfamiliar delicacies. I thought I was popping a Ritz topped with grape jelly into my mouth. The jelly was caviar; quite a shock when one is expecting Smuckers. It ruined the lining of my purse forever.

There was plenty of glitz at the party but I thought it was kind of boring. Nobody’s Uncle Joe sat on the beer cooler and played the “Too Fat” polka on the accordion. No one told “remember when” stories or karaoked to all the songs from “Grease!” and no one was tossed, fully dressed, into the pool. What’s up with that?

So now the South Fork is about to welcome us into the fold once again on January 1 as we join its county and state legislative districts, even after hardly missing us when we were taken away last time. Back then it didn’t appear that anyone “over there” cared about retaining custody. At the time, people’s overwhelming response when asked how they felt about losing Shelter Island was “what?”

Except for one golden-haired, golden-tanned, golden-jeweled matron who commented that she had come to the Island once, and found it (us?) “interesting,” but sadly non-Hampton and she didn’t think it (we?) would “blend” with the South Fork.
She, just like my mother-in-law, had her own we/they comparisons (one of them being that when we try to tie our sweaters around our necks we look like we have wool goiters). Her list was long and the next time we are together at a “soirée,” I’ll tell you what the rest of them were. Just don’t stand too close to the edge of the pool!