I was walking past a construction site on North Rouse the other day, and I stopped to look at the framing. They are putting up a structure that looks like a very large, very expensive shoebox. It is situated roughly four feet from a charming 1940s cottage that has been sitting there quietly for eighty years.

I remember when I bought my home in 2006 for a normal amount of money—about the price of a mid-sized sedan today—people were concerned about whether the neighborhood would “retain its character.” Looking at the site, I think we have successfully transitioned from a town of characters to a town of clever vertical storage solutions.

It isn’t just the height that bothers me, though I do find it impressive how they manage to block the sun for three city blocks at once. It’s the math. I saw a brochure taped to a nearby fence offering “Efficient Urban Living Units” for a price that would have bought a small ranch in the Shields Valley back when I moved here.

“It’s about density, Howard,” my neighbor, a man named Gary who moved here in 2018, told me while we both watched a crane swing a steel beam over a row of lilac bushes. “We need to maximize the footprint.”

I asked Gary if we were maximizing the footprint so that more people could live here, or if we were just trying to see how many square feet of luxury vinyl planking we could fit onto a single lot before the ground complains. He didn’t have an answer, but he did mention that his own condo has a really nice fitness center that he hasn’t used since the Obama administration.

The problem with building four-story boxes next to houses with front porches is that it confuses the neighborhood. The old houses look like they are waiting for a train that stopped running in 1965. The new ones look like they are waiting for a Wi-Fi signal to tell them where to go next.

I suppose I am just nostalgic for the days when a house was a place you kept your lawnmower, not a vertical hedge fund. When I bought my place for a normal amount of money, the biggest concern we had was whether the snowplow would hit our mailbox. Now, the plow barely fits through the streets because of all the delivery trucks parked in the bike lanes.

I’m sure these new units are very high-quality. They probably have excellent insulation. But I can’t help but think we’ve traded the view of the Bridgers for a better view of our neighbor’s smart-fridge settings.

Maybe we should just build houses that stay on the ground.

Howard Benchpress owns a home he bought in 2006 for what he describes as ‘a normal amount of money.’ He brings this up frequently.