Now the calendar had hit a road bump, but we still needed to do whatever we could to make sure he didn’t get the necessary approvals.
“Now here’s a sight for sore eyes. Brat One and Brat Two!” Angus Backstead, the auctioneer, came up and threw his huge arms around me and Eleanor. We found ourselves crushed against his mountain man frame. “What’s goin’ on, girls? Good turnout tonight for the NIMBY meeting, eh?”
“The what?” Eleanor had almost disappeared under the folds of his ski jacket, but I could still hear her muffled voice.
“NIMBY. Not in my backyard.” Warren took off his glasses and polished them carefully.
Angus chuckled. “Yup. Always produces a good showing. We like the concept of affordable housing, but just not here. Right, missy?”
I almost expected Angus to rub his knuckles across the top of my head. He was like the big brother I never had, and we’d spent many an enjoyable day hunting for dusty treasures at flea markets and yard sales.
“I’m warning you, things could get ugly,” Angus said. “If we’re going to win the war, we gotta be ready to fight. Cassell knows he’ll make a boatload of dough in the end and he’s used to dealing with these types of legal battles for his builder’s remedy. Right, Warren?”
Warren nodded. “I’m going to look for an opportunity to accuse the board of spot zoning. They’ll hate that.” He straightened his tie one last time and headed for the front of the room.
“What’s that?” I whispered to Angus.
“Spot zoning is when a certain party is being favored for no good reason. Or at least not one that’s made public.” He nodded toward the podium. “It’s showtime, folks.”
With the appropriate amount of fanfare, the supervisors, township manager, solicitor, and police chief entered the room, took their seats, and the meeting was called to order.
After the pledge of allegiance, roll call, and the approval of minutes from the last meeting, the chairwoman announced the first item on the agenda. One resident was seeking a variance to the ordinance that required a three-acre lot to keep livestock. She owned two potbellied pigs and argued that they weren’t really livestock, but pets. She went on at length how the pair, called Eggs and Benedict, were docile, intelligent, and well-trained, and brought up a seemingly endless parade of people to testify on their behalf.
“Dang, but she’s makin’ me hungry,” Angus murmured.
Eleanor sighed. “Yeah, Daisy, we could have skipped all this nonsense. We would have had time for dinner after all.”
The variance passed, probably because the supervisors were so glassy-eyed they could hardly see their notes.
After we suffered through various other mind-numbing matters on the agenda, the chairwoman finally announced that Beau Cassell was filing a request to have Glory Farm rezoned. The builder had already presented his preliminary plans before the zoning hearing board.
“Now we are going to open up the meeting for citizen comments. Please state your name and your association with the property address at the microphone.”
Althea Gunn spoke first. She was our church secretary and a forbidding woman who cowed much of the congregation into submission. “I, for one, would like to see that old farm sold as soon as possible. The place is a nuisance and an eyesore. Neighborhood kids have broken in, partying and doing who knows what else. It’s only a matter of time before something bad happens. I hope that Mr. Cassell’s request is approved without delay.”
Odd. As a longtime resident of the village, one would think she’d want to protect open space as much as we did. Although it wasn’t just Althea. As other members of the public got up and spoke in support of the development, it seemed there was a small faction that really liked the idea.