My husband and I are looking for land to build a house somewhere north of the Twin Cities. We currently live at the cross-section of two 55-MPH county roads where noise from traffic and nuisance neighbors has increased. We're looking for a quiet sanctuary where we can eventually retire. Last week he sent me a Google Earth pin of 5 acres of property in a rural neighborhood about an hour north of the metro. I opened up the pin to see this in Google Earth: At first glance, it looks nice! There are existing trees to the south and east and plenty of space. Neighbors' houses aren't right next to one another. Could be the peaceful retreat we're looking for! Then I zoomed out. We've had enough negative experiences with several current neighbors riding noisy ATVs around the neighborhood that I always carefully examine the neighborhood around any property we're interested in. This, below, looks like our worst nightmare. We drove to the property to check it out and it looked idyllic. The neighborhood was very rural, there was a lot of vegetation, it was high ground, not wetland. Private, peaceful and quiet.
Then we drove by the property with all the dirt trails. It's important to note they own a tiny house and but have a huge pole building full of trucks. The trails had deep ruts - likely not from ATVs but from trucks and jeeps. Here's my worst case scenario: This neighbor regularly invites all his beer-swilling, redneck friends with their jacked-up 4-wheel drive vehicles and they go mudding around the property all weekend. Maybe there's a live band, speakers hooked up high on poles so everyone racing around in their trucks can hear it. They shoot off fireworks all night, tattooed women take off their tops, there's devil worshipping and a human sacrifice. Demons are summoned, dark thunderclouds roil overhead and Gozer arrives, unleashing Zuul and Vinz Clortho who rampage through the neighborhood, devouring everyone's small pets. Etc. Thank God for Google Earth. We could have made a horrible mistake.
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Sometimes my paranoia gets the best of me and I imagine my neighbors holding weekly meetings to schedule how they are going to annoy me.
These meetings would be led by the neighbor to our north, because she likes to control things and I imagine her telling the other neighbors her master's degree makes her the obvious choice to lead. These imagined weekly meetings would be to schedule noise nuisances and I picture them going something like this: Neighbor North: Now, of course I'm doing more than my share of the work by having my dogs outside barking all day, every day. So I need the rest of you to fill in time slots with your own special projects. Alcoholic Douchebag Neighbor: (taking a long swig of his MGD) I'm already planning to drive my Harley around the block multiple times this weekend. NN: Good, good. Needlessly revving the engine? ADN: Of course. Every time I pass by her house. NN: (rubbing hands together with glee) Perfect! How about you, Amy Arborgedden? AA: The kids and dogs will be outside all weekend. As you know, my youngest has only one volume. She'll be yelling as long as her little lungs will hold up. Which, I promise, is indefinitely. NN: Nice! How about you, Gray House Guy? GHG: I'll have my pet bird in his cage outside when it's not raining. NN: The one that screeches, "AFLAC!" over and over? GHG: That's the one. NN: Blue Dump Truck Neighbor, how about you, what will you be contributing to this weekend's Noise Fest? BDTN: I'll be pounding on my dump truck with a sledge hammer for no apparent reason whatsoever. NN: Oooh, delightful! How long? BDTN: All weekend. Alcoholic Douchebag Neighbor: Hey, I want to add something. NN: Of course! Highly encouraged. ADN: I'm going to mow. NN: ... Okaaaay. ADN: It's going to take me all day. I'm going to start/stop multiple times. You know how it takes most people about an hour to mow? I can stretch that shit out for hours. Days, even. NN: Oh, yes, I've noticed that if you're not on your Harley, four-wheeler, golf cart or using your leaf blower, you're typically mowing. We all admire your dedication to the cause, D-bag. ADN: (blushes humbly while taking another long swig on his MGD.) Neighbor from the SouthWest Enters, breathless: Sorry I'm late! NN: (Sniffs in annoyance) We were just about to adjourn, Southwest. SW: Sorry, I was just picking up my chainsaw from the shop. I've decided to take up chainsaw carving. I'm going to be working on a ten-foot replica of Mt. Rushmore this weekend. Everyone applauds, cheers and someone whistles between their fingers. NN: Great work everyone! Meeting adjourned. Dear Neighbor to the North,
I recall you proudly telling me your first dog was a rescue pet. You remember him, the one who got hit by a car twice while under your care because he wasn't contained in your yard? He had to have his jaw reconstructed and lost a few teeth before you finally put in an invisible fence. Remember how he kept eating cough drops because you hadn't installed your new medicine cabinet yet. It was sitting on the floor and he kept getting into it. You thought it was cute that he was basically eating poison. He was so lucky you adopted him, God rest his soul. And years later, you've started your own pack, maybe thinking yourself the neighborhood Cesar Millan. I'm sure the three dogs you currently own are also rescue animals. And this time you trained them with the invisible fence, so they stay safe in your yard. All day. All year around. Even when it's -15 in the winter. Maybe you weren't thinking "audible lawn ornaments" when you adopted them, but that's what they are now. You rarely interact with them except when getting in and out of your car. They are crazy for any attention, so they bark. They bark at joggers, bicyclists, neighbors. You leave them out all day, even when you aren't home. In fact, sometimes it's late into the evening before you do arrive home and let them in. In the meantime, they've been barking. All damn day. Several times I've asked you to please manage your dogs' barking. In writing and in person. And you do manage them after I've asked. For about three days. And then it's back to the old habits - your dogs barking, you ignoring them and me watching our property values decline. It's spring now and we can finally open our windows to air out the house. Oh, wait, no, we can't. Because when your dogs HEAR us open our windows (or front door) they start barking at us from across the street. In fact, when our windows are already open and they hear us open our Goddamn oven door, they start barking. That's right, I can't even open my own squeaky oven door without your dogs going on high alert. There's no point in asking you to manage your dogs anymore because YOU. DON'T. CARE. You don't care about your dogs while at the same time you probably brag to your friends you've rescued these animals. Sure, they have a home, of sorts, and are fed. But that's about it. No one in your household gives a crap about those dogs. At least they have each other, passing joggers, bicyclists, the UPS guy and my squeaky oven door to entertain them. Stop puffing yourself up with how noble you think you are by adopting rescue pets. You're a horrible dog owner. Sincerely, Neighbor South Last night at about 8:45 PM I heard the familiar sound of a helicopter flying overhead. Familiar, yes, because nearly every day since we've lived in our home (twenty years), the helicopter flies over between 8:30 and 9 PM.
Several years ago I was at a neighborhood party and I overheard someone talking about a resident of our small town (population 16K) who owns a helicopter and flies it to and from work. I wasn't engaged in that conversation, so I didn't hear the rest of what they said nor did I have the opportunity to ask questions. The subject changed and life moved on. A few years ago after hearing the helicopter fly by, I did a lazy Google search to see if I could determine who the pilot was and any other interesting information. My search terms consisted of "helicopter" and the name of our small town. The results did not provide any information. More recently I performed a more aggressive online search with specific keywords and learned the pilot lives only 4 miles north. He had been involved in a few legal disputes regarding his right to use his property as a heliport. He lives on 1 acre. A heliport. On ONE. ACRE. At least one of the legal disputes began because of neighbor complaints. No Kidding. Imagine relaxing with your family, watching your favorite TV show or lying in bed to read a book at the end of a long day only to be rattled with the CHOP-CHOP-CHOP-CHOP from your neighbor Stanley's Rotorway Exec two-seater coming in for a landing at the "heliport" next door. One acre is not a lot of space. My house sits on just over 1 acre. I can't fathom a helicopter landing on the front lawn, though I suppose in an emergency, it's possible. There are other considerations when landing a helicopter in a semi-rural, residential area, especially at night. Kids, pets or wildlife running around, weather and wind. Power lines. I looked at it on Google Maps and though the pilot's yard is mostly open, there are trees - hardwoods and pines - on the neighbors' properties and along the road. Seeing the satellite map view makes that 1 acre seem oh, so tiny. It would be more appropriate if the pilot's property were, say, around 10+ acres and his heliport was situated smack in the middle. My friends and family know that I'm very particular about neighbor "etiquette" - behavior and common courtesy. I've experienced more than my fair share of crappy neighbor situations, like a Halloween party with 300+ attendees (resulting in multiple stabbings) to having my yard set on fire. (Stories I will share later.) I wouldn't be thrilled to live next to a residential helipad. I'm sure there's more to the story. And maybe through the course of his daily commutes the pilot has stopped to perform search/rescues of lost hikers, a la Harrison Ford. That would be cool. Or maybe he IS Harrison Ford. My husband and I are planning to move soon and we've been meticulously researching neighborhoods in hopes of finding our dream oasis of property; a sanctuary for eventual retirement. In addition to all the other criteria we have in mind, we'll need to add "no residential heliports nearby" to that list. |
About Sally FarleyI'm a typical, hardworking Midwesterner, enduring (and sometimes participating in) the passive-aggressive complexities of life in Minnesota. ArchivesLinksAsk a Manager
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