Editor's note:

This was written by a teacher and homeowner in West Seattle, but what she describes is relevant to what is happening here in Ballard, too. We would be interested in hearing from Ballard residents who have had similar reactions to the changes in housing all around them. As the piece states, we live in a community, but not all of us are aware that we have a say about such changes.

By Jennifer Hall

Ah, summer.

It's a time for harried teachers to rest and reflect; a time for us to center ourselves in our homes and our families. Most of my West Seattle summers have left me tranquil and refreshed. My family even starts to like me better because I finally get the time to cook, clean and do the dishes on a regular basis.

In years past, the chore that brought me a real measure of serenity was to stand in my un-updated kitchen, washing dishes, pots and pans, and looking out the kitchen window at our lovely pocket view of the Sound, the western sky and the Olympic Mountains.

The house across the street was a large two-story, environmentally friendly structure, with a lawn and lovely landscaped plantings. It afforded us a friendly view of it and around it. In late spring, the house was torn down. A landscape-blighting, three-story McMansion now stands in its place.

It stands in the space of the lawn, the plantings and of the people who used to stop and visit that house, the lawn, those neighbors on bygone summer afternoons. There is no place to stop and visit now. The Behemoth still under construction far exceeds the footprint of the former house. It extends almost to the street. By coming forward and going up, it has taken away the best part of our view.

The framing for an obscenely large garage happened one day. There went our kitchen view. Instead of lilacs, a sliver of mountains and sea, flowers, green plants, and a welcoming back patio, I am now compelled to look at what amounts to somebody's big backside while I'm doing the dishes, and let me tell you, it ain't a pretty sight!

I have come away from the summer, not so tranquil or relaxed, but afflicted with what I not-so-laughingly refer to as "View Reduction Psychosis". I suspect that my husband and neighbors are similarly afflicted. They just don't admit to it as readily as I do. I'm a bit mouthier, you see.

My husband and I feel guilty and self-conscious about succumbing to this psychosis. We know that it is an affliction that generally affects property owners. We know that we are privileged people. We are privileged to live in West Seattle, so close to beautiful parks and the Puget Sound. We are privileged to be homeowners and fortunate to live in a relatively peaceful city.

We are lucky that, unlike many people in Seattle and King County, we do not go to bed hungry at night. We know that it is unhealthy and narcissistic to hold on to personal resentments. It's far healthier to attempt to turn negative emotions into positive action.

For example, we could lobby for City Councilmember Richard Conlin's proposed legislation (that would limit new construction after tear downs to two stories, and 35 percent of lot space), and we could hold green construction sustainability salons in our living room, since a prime example of what we need to lobby against is right across the street from us.

Yes indeed, there may be an "upside" to the ugliness after all. It has already stimulated my creativity. I have thought of several pet names for the 5,000 square foot, two person dwelling that has assimilated most of the green space and wild life habitat across the street. "Darth Vader Skysucker" and "Habitat for Inhumanity" are among the more printable of them.

My hope is that a little humor will help my burgeoning "View Reduction Psychosis" simmer down to a more manageable "Bye-Bye View Blues." Still, it's hard to do an emotional about-face when you wake up every day to an elephantine monstrosity that is right in your face.

Now, I really don't want to sound all self-important. We know we're not alone here. The issue of neighborhoods being affected by the inconsiderate construction of out-of-scale, view-blocking McMansions is going on all over Seattle and across the nation. So-called McMansion ordinances have been approved in some cities, and they have been proposed in Bellevue and Seattle.

On a micro-level, what is happening across the street from us is happening globally. The bottom line is that in order for a few people to use up too many resources, the bulk of the people have to have resources taken from them. Our view was a resource. Neighbors on either side of us and up and down the street also have to make do with fewer resources. Less western sky. Less sun. Less moon. Less stars.

During the beginning phases of construction, our neighbors were asking, "Don't we have neighborhood review?" In theory we do, but there is no mechanism in place to allow input from neighbors whose environments can be dramatically altered by the construction of mammoth-sized single-family residences.

If we're building communities, part of being in a community is being responsible to each other. We can organize block watches, but how about watches that watch out for the emotional state of the neighborhood?

As was reported in an August 8 article of the West Seattle Herald by reporter Tim St. Clair, "It's wise to be in good standing with your new neighbors, so obstructing their vistas with your new home isn't the best way to break into a new neighborhood."

The new neighbors better not expect the Welcome Wagon to be rolling over from our side of the street any time soon.

Jennifer Hall is a West Seattle wife, mother, and high school teacher.