Ah, the City of Linton, a shining example of fiscal responsibility and forward-thinking! Not. If you’re measuring success, Linton might finally deserve an award — not for budgeting, but for breathtaking levels of mismanagement.
It’s a city that’s mastered the art of saying “We just don’t have any money ’round here for anything nice like that. That, by the way, is a phrase spoken in the predominant language of the area — otherwise known as “small town” — and that particular phrase translates to “We ain’t doing squat like you’re all crazy sayin’. So, just get on back into the fold before somethin’ bad happens to ya.”
For years, residents have been told there’s simply no funding for quality-of-life amenities. Nice parks? Too costly. Walking paths? Not in the budget. Community upgrades? Dream on! Okay, okay… maybe just fix the broken sidewalks and the 50-odd non-working fire hydrants, at least? Maybe? Pretty please? Crazy talk!
Meanwhile, over 600 acres of city-owned timberland on the northeast side of town is busy rotting itself into oblivion and entering the pearly gates of forestland heaven. That’s not metaphorically — well, the forest heaven thing is maybe — but the trees are literally rotting. Trees are falling over themselves like it’s a group trust fall exercise gone all wrong. Just let go because we have you! Oh… nope, sorry.
So, while City Hall cries we’re all poor and we should run without shoes, an actual forest of money trees is collapsing into decaying rot right under their noses. Nature’s version of a slow-burning dumpster fire.
But it’s not just benign neglect. That would almost be preferable. No, this land has been creatively repurposed into a dumping ground instead — a charming collection of broken sidewalks, chewed-up asphalt, splintered wood chips, and whatever other, say, “leftovers” that need a good hidin’. Because when you own a vast natural asset, what better use than turning it into a non-income-producing landfill and call it the “Conservation Club”? After all, nothing says “community pride” more than treating 600-plus acres of woods as the equivalent of the bed of your cousin’s pickup truck after a demolition job.
Oh, and let’s put a locked gate up, too, so no one sees any of this.
But here’s the part that’s truly impressive — in the worst way: this land could be making money, a lot of it. It may be a wild and crazy idea, but strategic timbering, real forest management, and just a hint of common sense could turn that decaying acreage into a long-term source of income for our little town. Responsible forestry. Selective timbering. It’s almost as if there’s a whole profession built around this exact concept. Oh wait!
Not just a one-time cash haul or blow-it-on-a-huge-mistake-of-a-hideous-sculpture money, but a renewable and sustainable annuity of sorts. That’s right; revenue that would come back again-and-again, like magic. Except it’s not magic — it’s called basic land stewardship. Put another way, it’s called managing it like a grown-up, like an adult, who can balance a checkbook.
In any regard, that’s the kind of revenue that funds awesome splash pad parks, elaborate trail systems, and nice community spaces without the hand-wringing — or without additional taxation either. Imagine this: walking and biking trails winding through well-maintained forest, native wildlife flourishing, boundless educational opportunities, and maybe even — brace yourself — eco-tourism.
But no! That would take vision, leadership, and a basic understanding of asset management. Instead, we’ll keep pretending this dump — er, forest — is invisible. Not seeing the forest for the trees, you know. (Sorry, you knew that line was coming, right?) Or worse, let’s just make it a dumping ground for whatever the City of Linton doesn’t necessarily feel like dealing with right now. Here today, gone tomorrow — to the “Conservation Club,” that is! Maybe even Jimmy Hoffa is out there, somewhere, who knows! If DraftKings ever offers odds on that, I’ll put a little money on it.
But I digress…
So, here we are: sitting on a potential gold mine, letting it all rot away, while the city points fingers of blame and tightens its fiscal belt a notch more. It’s like watching someone starve to death while sitting in front of a pantry full of food — they just refuse to open the door. It’s not locked. There’s a sign saying “Welcome!” there. And a doorman is patiently waiting to assist in the endeavor, too.
But sure, keep telling us we cannot afford nice things. Just don’t say it too loud — the trees might hear you, right before they collapse into another pile of wasted opportunity for us. After all, the deer are probably really starting to enjoy the city-provided ambiance there, too.
The author, Christopher M. Wathen, is offering this series of sarcastic “Editorials” to promote critical thinking in the planning and management of our hometown — or “truth with a barb, ” as he describes them. Stay tuned to next week‘s cynical, child-of-the-90’s installment. Wathen is also the author of a few books now available on Amazon, including his latest work Finding Telly: A Playful Romance as well as other fiction and non-fiction.