417 years

If you add together the ages of these 7 women that's what you get.  417 years.   That's a lot woman years.

These women are the Slow Ponies and they play old cowgirl music.   Well truthfully it's more commonly thought of as cowboy music, but seeing that there are no boys in this band, you can understand why they made the change.

The Slow Ponies played last night at GroveAtopia's favorite watering hole, The Axe and Fiddle.

I always try to see them when they come to town because they are just so darned good.  It's not often you see women of this age playing music together for no reason other than they have fun doing it.  The fact that they are very good at it is a bonus.

Plus there is an interesting story behind the Slow Ponies.  

They come from Yoncalla, a small town about 25 miles south of GroveAtopia.  Most of the members of the band are Applegates.  As in the Applegate family.  That family has a long history in Oregon.  There is even an Applegate Trail that runs north from Humboldt, Nevada through GroveAtopia and clear on up to Polk County. 

Some of the Applegates settled in Scotts Valley and there they met the local Indian tribe that came to be known as the Kalapuya.   Apparently the patriarch of the Applegates and the Kalapuya chief got along rather well; in fact, as the story goes, the Kalapuya chief welcomed the Applegates and they lived side by side for many years.

Then during one of the efforts to round up the Indians of Oregon and put them on reservations, the military came to Yoncalla to take the band of Kalapuya living there to the reservation.  But the Applegate patriarch would have none of it and managed to convince the officers to leave the Indians with him.

Now this story is important because one of the members of the Slow Ponies who is not an Applegate is a descendant of that Kalapuya chief.  The same chief who welcomed the Applegates to Scotts Valley. She sings the old cowboy songs and harmonizes so beautifully with the Applegate women that you just know all their ancestors are proud.   

Hearing the Slow Ponies sing makes you wish.  If only this harmonic blending of voices could have occurred between the all the Oregon pioneers and Indians so many years ago.  Perhaps we would have truly lived together all these years, rather than first fighting, then living apart.  

That didn't happen, but we do have the Slow Ponies.  Their story reminds us of what did happen so many years ago, and their beautiful harmonies show us what is still possible today.

A job well done

Well now this picture doesn't look like much.  Just a curb and a corner.  A street and a parking lot.  

But just a few days earlier, the scene was altogether different.  This parking lot was bustling.

Since the parking lot was bustling, you already know that this is not going to be about parked cars.  Parked cars do not  bustle.   This story does have cars though.  And trucks.

And friends and neighbors and garbage.  Lots of it.

That's because a group of neighbors got together and organized a neighborhood cleanup right here on this parking lot.  

This was not the kind of neighborhood clean up where you go around and pick up litter and make sure the streets and sidewalks and parks are clean.  This was the kind of cleanup where you help your neighbors haul their garbage and other junk off their property to be properly disposed of.  

Here's what happened.   Friends of Mt. David, a neighborhood group based in GroveAtopia's historic Northwest Neighborhood, noticed that some neighbors had lots of, well... let's call it stuff... in their yards.   

Now this situation can present a dilemma for anyone who is a neighbor.  We all live close together, even right next to each other, yet we are separate.  We respect each other's space and privacy.  

But if there is a problem between us - say, if your yard is junky - how should I tell you?  Send you a note?  Call you?  Glare at you until you ask me what's wrong?  Really, when it comes down to it, there is no good way to tell someone their yard is junky without someone getting mad or feeling awkward or rude, or having their feelings hurt.  

But the junk is still there.  

So the idea behind this clean up effort was to make it easy for neighbors to, well, clean up.

The dumpster was put on this lot, which is in the center of the neighborhood.  Metal was collected and recycled.  Appliances were collected and recycled.  Electronics were collected and recycled.  Limbs and branches were collected and chipped to be used as much in city parks. Neighbors went to each other's homes to pick stuff up.

This parking lot was quite a lively place when all this was happening.

Then it was over.  A few days later, while neighbors were sweeping the lot clean with brooms, a street sweeper happened to go by.  

"Would you please run your sweeper over this parking lot so it can be returned to the owner cleaner than it was when we got here?"

The answer was yes, and this parking lot, the one that just a few days earlier hosted dozens and dozens of neighbors and their garbage and junk, was left cleaner than it has ever been.

Now that's how every story should end.

What a fountain can do for a town

Here is a sad piece of news.   

GroveAtopia has no public fountains.  Not a one.

I'm not even sure if we have any public drinking fountains. Well there is probably one in Coiner Park, but that's not even the kind of fountain I'm talking about.  

I'm talking about the kind of fountain you enjoy.  

There are lots of these kinds of fountains.   Some trickle daintily from one tier to the other.   Some gush high into the air with great force.   

Some sit quietly in a garden corner.  Others occupy big public spaces and invite you to go right in and enjoy them.

That's the kind that's in this picture.  It was taken just the other day on a Sunday morning, in Olympia, Washington.   The fountain is in Heritage Park, and sits between the capitol building and the waterfront.

It's really a very simple fountain.  There are a series of holes drilled directly into the pavement, and from those holes, in varying patterns, at varying intervals, water shoots out.  That's what's happening in the picture right now.

I cannot tell you why this and other fountains like it are so compelling.  But they are.  People simply cannot stay away from them.  If you've ever seen the one in front of the EWEB building in Eugene, or the Salmon Street Springs Fountain in Portland on a hot summer day, you know what I mean.

Maybe it's the delight of being caught completely off guard by a blast of water, or the lure of simply getting wet - or trying not to.  People ride bicycles through them.  They ride skateboards or push babies in strollers through them.  They put cups on the spouts and watch the water shoot them high in the air.  They run through them, laugh through them, prance through them and scream with delight through them.

And all that's happening is water is shooting through holes in the pavement.

GroveAtopia should have one of these.  People would come here just to see a fountain like that.

How to park a bike

Do you know how to park a bike?   Sure you do.  

It's a bit like parking a car.  You pull up somewhere close to where you are going, make sure you are not in anyone's way, lock it, and be on your way.

Wait, are we talking about the car or the bike? 

Well in Portlandia, it doesn't matter.  Both cars and bikes park in the same place.

Here's how it works.

Look at this picture.   Notice the bike racks are in the street in the same place where the cars usually park.  

What the people of Portandia did was to take a parking space meant for a car - one whole entire parking space - and make it into a bicycle parking space instead.

The difference is, you can fit about 10 bicycles into a single car parking space but you can only fit one car. 

Wow!  That means if everyone rode a bike, we would have way more room on the street for other stuff like plants and trees and benches and beauty because we wouldn't need so much room for parking spaces for cars.

Plus the bike riders wouldn't have to wonder where to park their bikes so they aren't in someone's way and they wouldn't have to wonder what to lock their bikes to.  This parking space has a rack.

Plus security.  I mean really.  Who is going to steal a bike from a parking space like this – right out on the road next to the car parking spaces?  If you thought you could get away with stealing a bike from such a public space, you might as well go ahead and steal the car parked in the next space over instead.  The car is probably worth a lot more.

GroveAtopia could do this.   Lots and lots of us ride our bikes all over town.  If we had a respectable parking space downtown – and in GroveAtopia, we would only need one space – our bicycles would always know, without a doubt, where to park.  They would not block the sidewalk.  They would be safe.  And they would not doubt their choice – the bicycles would know it was okay to park there.

Yep.  One car parking space downtown ought to do it.  That's all we would need.  That's all it would take.

Hitching a ride from a fairy

A fairy gave me a ride tonight.   

That's right. A fairy.

This was not one of GroveAtopia's fairies. This fairy came from the magical land of Portlandia.

That's where I was this evening.  The Rose Festival was just getting underway and I was lucky enough to be there for the beginning.   

Imagine that.  A festival for roses.  Of course fairies would be there.

The festival had everything.

Crowds of people!

Fireworks!

Laughter!

Oooohs!

Aaaahs!

Cheering and clapping!

The river!

Boats!

The bridges!

There was even a carnival.

So when a fairy gave me a ride home I wasn't all that surprised.   Well, maybe a little.  Okay a lot.  But it wasn't the fairy part that surprised me.  It was the sheer exhilaration I felt simply being pedaled through the streets on the back of a bicycle built for 3.   

Gliding faster than the cars, faster than the cabs and buses, even faster than a fire truck, I felt as if I was soaring.  

And really I was.  After all a fairy gave me the ride.  

And she was doing all the work.

Rhodies in the road

Do you know what a rhody is?  If you live in GroveAtopia you most certainly do.   

If you live in Rhode Island you think you do but I'm sorry to have to tell you this.  You don't.  This has nothing to do with you or your state.

If you are a roadie for a traveling performer, I'm sorry to have to tell you this has nothing to do with you either.   It does have to do with rhodies and roads, so it would be sensible to think it should concern you, but it doesn't.

That's because in  GroveAtopia, everyone knows that rhody means rhododendron.   

Now class, does everyone know what a rhododendron is?   Since I live here I know, and that makes it hard for me to imagine that there are people who don't.  But part of being a GroveAtopian means trying very hard not to make assumptions about other people.

So I won't.  

And since I don't know if you are GroveAtopian or not, I will tell you just in case.  And I think you will be glad I did.

But where to start?  Do you want the technical explanation?  The one that botanists made up for each other?  The one that some of us can appreciate, but really, when it comes right down to it, most of us can't.   But for those of you who do or want to find out if you do, try  the American Rhododendron Society.  They ought to know.

But most GroveAtopians are happy knowing we just like the way they look.  And because they thrive here we like them even more.

Nearly everyone in GroveAtopia has at least one rhody - in fact they are so prolific right now, it seems as if they are coming out of the woodwork.  They aren't of course, but look.  In the picture one seems to be coming out of the pavement. 

Golly.  We have so many of these beautiful blooms that we can just drop them in the street and continue on our way.  We don't even stop to pick them up.   We may even leave them someplace where they might get run over.  But not to worry, we have so many many more.

Now you might think the roads of GroveAtopia are paved with Rhodies.  

They aren't, but this time of year, they could be.

Between races

Silence.  

That's what happens at my house between races.

Races?  

Well here is something you may not know unless you live in GroveAtopia and it's evening and the weather is good and you want to go outside and savor the cool country air and enjoy the sounds of a country evening.

I know what you are thinking.  Crickets, frogs, the calling of a bird in the night, the sound the trees make when the breezes move them.  If you live in the big city, you might even be a little jealous.

But the only time you can hear those sounds in GroveAtopia is between races.  Car races.  Yep. You heard me.   

GroveAtopia has a speedway. It's the best kept secret in town until you live here.  

That's because when you come to GroveAtopia for the first time, and perhaps you are thinking you'd like to live here, it's usually daytime.  If you are lucky it's during the Lovely Season, and if you are even luckier, you find just the right place.  So you buy it.

Then one night, not too long after you've moved in, as evening falls, you hear a sound that does not belong to the countryside.  You wonder what it is.  Nocturnal bees?  A chorus of chainsaws? Fingernails on a chalkboard?

Then it dawns on you.  It sounds like cars.  Lots of cars.  Not freeway cars.  Not cars moving down the roads nearby.  These are race cars.

But wait.  It stopped and the silence has returned.  Ahhhh.  You go out into the night.  But uh oh there it is again.   Zoom zoom.  

After awhile the pattern settles in.   Some time of zooming, then silence.  Then more zooming.

The zooming sounds like it is in your backyard, but that can't be.  Your backyard is at least 4 miles away from where the cars are racing round and round.   But that's how it is.  

Zoom zoom. 

This old pool

GroveAtopia has a pool and lots of times it is the talk of the town.  

Close the pool!

Keep the pool open!

The pool is old!

The pool leaks!

The pool is too expensive to maintain!

We need a new pool!

I love the pool!

I hate the pool!

My Goodness!

GroveAtopians certainly care about their pool.   Nearly everyone has something to say about it.  

If we could wave our magic wand and completely have our way, GroveAtopia would have a new pool.  It would be a pool for swim teams and a pool for swimmers.  It would be a place to play and a place to splash.  People would come from all around to use our pool.

But we can't find our magic wand at the moment so we must live with what we have.   An indoor pool that looks to be the size of a city block, that once was grand but now is not.   If you don't use it much, then it's easy to forget about it.  If you use it a lot you cannot forget about it, even if you want to.

The schools own the pool, but they share it with the rest of us.  Some of the rest of us think they don't share it enough.  Some think they share it too much.

Some think it's too cold.  Others say it's too hot.

It doesn't have anything fancy.  There's no water slide, no wave pool, no fountains, no hot tub, no steam room, no concessions, no frills, other than a few pool noodles and the largest floating toys I've ever seen.   I've seen a half dozen kids try to pile onto one as if it was a small raft.

When we are not actually at the pool or in the pool we wring our hands.  Can we afford to keep the pool open?   What of the leaks?  Such a waste of water!   And the cost of heating it!  Oh my.

But when you are at the pool or in it as I was today what you see is a bunch of people having fun. Then you ask yourself, isn't this, what's happening right here in front of me, what really matters?   Children splashing, their parents playing, people swimming, people just bobbing up and down, surrounded by the echoing sounds of just plain fun.   

Suddenly the hand wringing fades away and fun reigns.   It's the pool, our pool and before you decide if you think we should close it, come down and watch.   

You won't want to close it.  Instead you will want to go and find that magic wand.

The Decal family

Meet the Decal family.  They live on the rear window of lots cars in GroveAtopia.  I know you have seen them when you are out and about.

They always travel together, always wear white and all line up according to height from tallest to smallest.  

All except this Decal family.  They are different.  They don't all line up together.  One of them, the small boy,  is set apart by himself, way over there on the other side of the window.

I've never seen a Decal family that wasn't all together, and I'll bet you haven't either.  That's why this one caught my eye as I drove down R St. this morning.   I tried to get a picture of it, but really, we shouldn't be driving and taking pictures at the same time.   That could be worse than driving and talking on the phone.  Or driving and watching TV.

So you can understand why the picture is not clear, but I think you can also understand why I had to risk it and give it a try anyway.

Now let's wonder together.  Why was this Decal boy separated from the rest of the Decal family?  What could he possibly have done to be banished to the other side of the window, separated by the rear window wiper, so far far away from the others?

Perhaps he did something very bad and this is his punishment.  Until he pays his penance, he must stay way over there.  When he can behave himself he may rejoin the family on the other side of the window.

Perhaps he is a cousin, or just a friend, and not really part of the Decal family at all.  But then, what would he be doing on the window in the first place?

Maybe he is the son that for some reason lives somewhere else, but occasionally comes to visit. When he does visit, perhaps he is allowed to take his rightful place among the family, but when he leaves, they move him back to the other side of the window, where he remains, all by himself until he visits again.

Whatever the story, I'm glad I'm not that boy.  Because if they never let me on to the other side of the window – never let me stand in my rightful place with the rest of the Decal family, I don't think I'd ever get over it.   

The situation is urgent.  The driver of that car must move the lone Decal boy to the other side of the window so he can join the rest of the Decal family. To leave him where his is, way over there all by himself, is just plain cruel.  

The mighty grass of GroveAtopia

It's a special type of grass that grows in GroveAtopia's countryside. It's not your airy-fairy delicate grass that once mowed becomes lawn. GroveAtopia's grass is something altogether different.

First of all, if you don't tend to GroveAtopia's grass, strange things happen to it. It gets thick and bushy. It gets tall. Taller than you are. And it can get downright mean.

Plus, if you have a few minutes, you can watch it grow.

If you walk away from it, look the other way, ignore it, or just let it be, it will take over, dwarfing you and the things around you.

So there you are with your weed eater facing the mighty grass. And you swear you heard it say, "HA!" as you try with your little machine to bring it down to a manageable size.

And even when you do cut it down, you know it will never ever look like lawn.

No, this is the wild and mighty grass of GroveAtopia and it will not be tamed. All you can really do is wait until heat comes. That is the only thing that can truly defeat it.

The Wave

In GroveAtopia we have a ritual called The Wave. It is not the wave most people think of. It is not the one people do at stadiums where they stand in successive sections creating what looks like a human wave moving through the crowd.

No. GroveAtopia's wave is different.

If you have been in a car in GroveAtopia you know the wave. It is what you do when you see someone you know in another car. You wave.

Usually it is a driver-to-driver wave. I don't think I've ever seen a passenger-to-passenger or driver-to-passenger or passenger-to-driver wave. But that may be because I am always the driver and I really only have time to wave to another driver.

Come to think of it just today I did wave to a passenger. I waved to a boy I know. But he was in the back seat of a parked car and I was on foot. That's different.

The wave I'm talking about is the one we all do in GroveAtopia as we slowly drive the streets making our way to wherever we are going. If you know the driver of a car, and you catch their eye, or they catch yours, you wave.

Some of routine routes we take are fraught with the wave. You see the same people every morning, you know their cars, you see them coming, you catch their eye, you wave. Sometimes you find yourself waving so much you think about getting one of those window decals that constantly waves, but you know that just isn't the same as a real live wave.

There are times when I don't feel like waving. I am grumpy or distracted or I just don't want to do it. But then here comes your friend, and you know you must wave. So you do, and afterward you feel better.

Once one of my passengers had quite enough of my waving. It was a particularly wave-laden morning and fully exasperated, he said, "I wish we lived in a big city where no one knows us so you wouldn't have to wave all the time!"

But he is young and doesn't yet appreciate the wave. One day, when he grows up and has had his fill of the anonymity of the big city, he will think back and remember his younger days when he was the passenger in a car where the driver and those they passed waved to each other for no reason other than they knew each other.

Those waves are our way of greeting each other without stopping to have a conversation. The wave is the conversation, and short as it is, it says all that needs to be said.

A gathering of butterflies

One can never have too many butterflies, but I almost did.

Now that the Lovely Season is in full swing here in GroveAtopia, it is the butterfly's turn. Quite suddenly they are almost everywhere, gracing you with their beauty and causing you to gasp a little should one choose to land nearby.

Usually they appear by themselves, or sometimes in pairs, fluttering, dancing their delight in mid air. When you see them, you can't help but be happy.

But other day when I saw a whole group of butterflies gathered together quietly on the ground nearby I gasped more than just a little. They were all blue-winged and exactly the same size.

Why they were all together on that exact spot I can't say. It looked to me as if there was plenty of room on along the banks of the creek where I happened to be. No need to crowd, there was more than enough room for everybody.

But there they were, clustered together in this one tiny spot. A larger orange butterfly was there too, but it was alone and no matter what it did, it would never really belong to this group.

Now lean in very close and I will whisper a secret to you. It is one I am not proud of, and one you will find yourself needing to forgive me for.

I ran over a cluster of butterflies just like this one. I noticed the fluttering in the middle of the road but I didn't figure out what it was until it was too late. I'm pretty sure I didn't crush them, but I will confess I did not look back to find out. I did not want to know the truth.

So it was solely through happy coincidence that I got another chance that very same day. This time it was as it should be. I was on foot, near a stream, and the butterflies were there, telling me this time they were okay.

The ribbons tell the story

Anyone who is lucky enough to travel the byways and back roads of GroveAtopia has seen them.   Even though you are overwhelmed by the beauty that surrounds you along nearly every road in GroveAtopia, you can't help but notice them.  You see them around nearly every turn.  

There are ribbons wrapped around the trees.  

Sometimes the ribbons are blue.  Sometimes red.  I've also seen pink, orange and white ones.  I even saw a checkered one.  

Sometimes there is only one ribbon.  Sometimes there are several of the same color wrapped around a single tree. Other times there are several different colored ribbons wrapped around the same tree.  

What do these ribbons mean?   Only the forest workers know for sure.  The rest of us can only speculate.   

I used to think that a colored ribbon around a tree automatically meant "cut it down."  Actually, I think a lot of the time it does.  

So a tree with two different colored ribbons around it is really doomed.   Maybe the pink ribbon  means "cut it down" and the blue one means "then shred what's left into a million pieces and make sure there is no sign a tree was ever here." 

That's what I was thinking when I stopped to have a closer look at the two orange ribbons wrapped around the tree in the picture.  Whatever an orange ribbon means for a tree, this one had a serious case of it.  

But then, as I moved closer I saw words on the ribbon.  And they said "wildlife tree."

Oh!  Now that is a different matter.  This tree is not doomed.   In fact it must be doubly important to wildlife because it has two ribbons.   It never occurred to me that these ribbons could mean good news.

However, just because one ribbon bears good news, don't go thinking they all do.  Look at this ribbon.

It says "KILLER TREE."  Yikes!  There is even a skull and cross bones on the side of the ribbon you can't see.  

I can't even imagine what this tree has done to be designated a killer tree.   I didn't know trees could kill anything.  Unless they fall on someone.  

Maybe this tree told someone it was just about ready to fall over, but it couldn't predict when, so just to be safe it asked us to call it a killer tree so people would stay away from it.  It asked us to add the skull and cross bones for good measure.  That tree is actually doing us a favor and trying to protect us!

But I still think ribbons around our trees usually mean that the area will soon look like it does in this picture.

We GroveAtopians are familiar with scenes like this.   We see them all the time.  Sometimes they appear suddenly in the distance, forever changing a familiar vista.   Sometimes they occur right up the road from where you live and you can only be thankful that it's not in your plain sight every day.   

But it's when we drive our back roads that we know we will see them.  Still, as we embark on our journey we may have forgotten a little so the first scene we encounter always takes us aback.  That's because it is in such stark contrast to the overwhelming beauty we've just passed through.

It's as if the further back in the woods we go, the more often we encounter these scenes.  

I guess the forest workers get used to it, but I don't think I ever will.

Speaking of speakers

While downtown waiting to meet a friend at All America Opal Whitely Park, I happened to look in the direction of the Schweitzer's, and there, about a quarter of the way up to the sky, on the pole, was a speaker. Then I looked in the direction of the old McCoy's and there was another one.

Why are those speakers there?  Has anyone ever heard anything come out of them?  Part of me hopes so, and part of me hopes not.

If something did come out of those speakers would it be pleasant?  Would we all look upward, in surprise?  Delight? Wonderment?  

Or would it be unpleasant – rendering us scared or even horrified – filling us with the urge to cower.

What if a siren suddenly blared from them?  Then we would be both startled and confused, wondering what it meant.  Duck and cover?  Stop drop and roll?  

Or is it just a false alarm or a test of some sort which after we recovered from our surprise, we would simply continue to go about our business.

What if a voice suddenly came from those speakers?  Why do I assume it would be there to deliver bad news?  Does good news ever come from speakers like those?  

Or music could come from them, which could be both good news and bad news.  It all depends on what type of music it is.

Actually, GroveAtopia does not need any more sound other than what we already hear. Cars passing, people talking, birds singing, and the invisible sound of community.   

Well maybe a daily thought would be okay.  It could be delivered at noon, after people are already well into whatever they were doing.  It could be a wish, a greeting, or a poem.  Yes that's it.  A daily poem.  After awhile people would start to look forward to that.  They would pause and wait for it.  

That's about the only thing I can think of that should come out of those speakers.  That's the only thing that would make GroveAtopia sound even better than it already does.

Fairness vs. favors

GroveAtopia's governing body is currently wrestling with an interesting issue.  It has to do with deferring interest on certain building fees.  The fees are called SDCs.  That stands for system development charges.  These fees are paid by builders of new construction and are meant to help offset the long-term costs that each new construction project adds to the city's public works.   

Apparently some builders want to start construction projects but they just can't quite pull it off financially.  If only they did not have to pay the interest on the SDCs for awhile, they would be able to begin their projects thereby providing employment to some dozens of people. Maybe it's only one dozen.  Maybe it's even less.  That part is unclear.

So they asked the city council (GroveAtopia thinks they asked the mayor himself) if we could do like Springfield has done and defer interest on SDCs until the new construction project is actually sold.   I think that means these construction projects are being built on spec.  There are no buyers yet, but the builders hope there will be.

Someone thought this was such a pressing issue that the council was told it was an emergency. Yikes!  

Calling the situation an emergency means the usual process can be condensed and the council may propose, consider, pass and enact the whole ordinance immediately.  The catch is that it requires a unanimous vote.

Now anyone who has been watching the city council knows they generally vote as a block.  All except one councilor, who, unlike the others asks questions and does independent research beyond what is handed to the council by the city manager.  Seems like a reasonable approach for any councilor to take, but it turns out here in GroveAtopia, an independent thinking councilor is not only unusual, it is downright fearsome.   

All manner of attempts have been made to silence this councilor.  Name calling, arm waving, eye rolling and general agitation and annoyance and sometimes even yelling are the usual responses.  

This is not how GroveAtopia wants to be governed. 

We want open discourse that encourages different points of view.  We want our councilors to raise questions, to probe, and not automatically accept proposals that are brought before them. We want them to be accountable to the voters and always ask if what they are considering is in the best interest of all their constituents, not just the ones they know.

The SDC proposal struck GroveAtopia as more favor than fairness.  Why should the builders be the only ones whose fees are deferred?   Has the prospect of other fees being deferred been raised? Exactly how many jobs will be created?  What criteria compels us to consider this is an emergency?  Should builders for whom this small amount of money is all that stands between them and their projects really be building at all?  

Can we at least discuss this?

No we may not.  

Instead we will rant and rave, steam and blame because someone dared to ask questions.  Dared to suggest fairness.  And this time, that someone's single vote was enough to stop to the whole idea.

Even in the aftermath, GroveAtopia has not behaved well.  This could be the time when we seek to understand and work to find a mutually agreeable solution that works for everyone. Instead the bad behavior is continuing.   Even on the radio.

How sad.  

Because we know GroveAtopia is better than that.