By Anne Scheck
“Please be a good neighbor.” This simple request was made publicly at the last Independence City Council meeting. It came during a hearing for bringing 70 new acres into the city, by annexation. And, as Independence expands there with a proposed 100 more homes, the concept of neighborhood seems to be on many minds.
The comment actually came from a Monmouth resident, Marilee Westfall, who expressed concern about the potential impact on traffic along her street, Madrona, from the project. Madrona now ends at a cow pasture – a field where new houses will go.
But it’s not development itself that’s become a common topic. It’s the possible loss of what one Independence resident called “an old-fashioned, small-town feel.” After all, it’s the people here – not the elected officials, not the downtown shopping, not the Salem proximity – that are the top reason for livability on surveys about life in Independence.
“We can go for a walk and spend more time visiting neighbors along the way than actually walking,” said Margaret Cleveland, a 21-year resident and a member of the board of the Independence Airpark Homeowners Association. Trust among neighbors – even those who live several streets away – is a big benefit, she added. That’s a view shared by Jeremiah Ellison, a Minneapolis city councilor and the keynote speaker at a meeting in Eugene of city planners from across the state in late October.
How important are neighborhoods? “On a scale of one to 10, they definitely are a 10,” he said.
He represents a ward with seven distinct neighborhoods in a city that lists 10 times as many. The two essential factors: solid infrastructure and a highly utilized park within walking distance – a hand-in-glove relationship that means residents can mix in a friendly way, he said.
The annexation will substantially increase the size of Independence. That fact apparently prompted the two newest members to the city council – Shannon Corr and Jennifer Ranstrom-Smith – to inquire about city outreach to Monmouth city government and local school administration. The city planner on the project, Fred Evander, and the city manager, Tom Pessemier, said they hadn’t made sure this information was imparted to current leadership at either Monmouth City Hall or the Central School District.
“I definitely think in the future we can do a much better job of reaching out to them,” said Mr. Pessemier, adding that he was certain the Monmouth planning department “knows it’s out there.”
If so, that may in part be due to one of the most visible residents of the downtown historic district, Jennifer Flores, a historic preservation commissioner. The annexation hearing was posted on a community Facebook page she oversees, called Independence & Monmouth News, Events and Conversation – a site of lively cross-town exchange.
But it is Green Acres that may be the most can-do neighborhood in Independence: It maintains its own streets – Luke, Daniel, Matthew and James – and buys water from the city for the entire property. Water and sewer bills are divided by the homeowners' association. Land under the manufactured homes was sold years ago, allowing individuals to purchase their own lots instead of renting the spaces.
If a pipe bursts, it's the residents who scramble to fix the sprouting leak or spewing geyser. "We do take care of our own problems," said Stan Orton, a homeowners’ board member. Everyone pitches in, sometimes with brooms and leaf blowers. "We don't qualify for the city street sweeper," he explained.
“Please be a good neighbor.” This simple request was made publicly at the last Independence City Council meeting. It came during a hearing for bringing 70 new acres into the city, by annexation. And, as Independence expands there with a proposed 100 more homes, the concept of neighborhood seems to be on many minds.
The comment actually came from a Monmouth resident, Marilee Westfall, who expressed concern about the potential impact on traffic along her street, Madrona, from the project. Madrona now ends at a cow pasture – a field where new houses will go.
But it’s not development itself that’s become a common topic. It’s the possible loss of what one Independence resident called “an old-fashioned, small-town feel.” After all, it’s the people here – not the elected officials, not the downtown shopping, not the Salem proximity – that are the top reason for livability on surveys about life in Independence.
“We can go for a walk and spend more time visiting neighbors along the way than actually walking,” said Margaret Cleveland, a 21-year resident and a member of the board of the Independence Airpark Homeowners Association. Trust among neighbors – even those who live several streets away – is a big benefit, she added. That’s a view shared by Jeremiah Ellison, a Minneapolis city councilor and the keynote speaker at a meeting in Eugene of city planners from across the state in late October.
How important are neighborhoods? “On a scale of one to 10, they definitely are a 10,” he said.
He represents a ward with seven distinct neighborhoods in a city that lists 10 times as many. The two essential factors: solid infrastructure and a highly utilized park within walking distance – a hand-in-glove relationship that means residents can mix in a friendly way, he said.
The annexation will substantially increase the size of Independence. That fact apparently prompted the two newest members to the city council – Shannon Corr and Jennifer Ranstrom-Smith – to inquire about city outreach to Monmouth city government and local school administration. The city planner on the project, Fred Evander, and the city manager, Tom Pessemier, said they hadn’t made sure this information was imparted to current leadership at either Monmouth City Hall or the Central School District.
“I definitely think in the future we can do a much better job of reaching out to them,” said Mr. Pessemier, adding that he was certain the Monmouth planning department “knows it’s out there.”
If so, that may in part be due to one of the most visible residents of the downtown historic district, Jennifer Flores, a historic preservation commissioner. The annexation hearing was posted on a community Facebook page she oversees, called Independence & Monmouth News, Events and Conversation – a site of lively cross-town exchange.
But it is Green Acres that may be the most can-do neighborhood in Independence: It maintains its own streets – Luke, Daniel, Matthew and James – and buys water from the city for the entire property. Water and sewer bills are divided by the homeowners' association. Land under the manufactured homes was sold years ago, allowing individuals to purchase their own lots instead of renting the spaces.
If a pipe bursts, it's the residents who scramble to fix the sprouting leak or spewing geyser. "We do take care of our own problems," said Stan Orton, a homeowners’ board member. Everyone pitches in, sometimes with brooms and leaf blowers. "We don't qualify for the city street sweeper," he explained.
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The name Green Acres, as seen on this neighborhood sign, was hotly debated several years ago. "There were jokes about the TV show," noted resident Sandra Orton. However, a lot fewer people now know the sitcom in which a New Yorker decides to chuck his Manhattan life to be a farmer in Hooterville. "Some people still know the theme song," Ms. Orton observed. But it sounds like a good fit for the neighborhood. It begins: "Green Acres is the place to be!"
The name Green Acres, as seen on this neighborhood sign, was hotly debated several years ago. "There were jokes about the TV show," noted resident Sandra Orton. However, a lot fewer people now know the sitcom in which a New Yorker decides to chuck his Manhattan life to be a farmer in Hooterville. "Some people still know the theme song," Ms. Orton observed. But it sounds like a good fit for the neighborhood. It begins: "Green Acres is the place to be!"
PINE TREES GET THEIR DUE
A recent "Indy Hop" column took an amused look at the Independence tree census now underway, which seemed to be finding pine trees unworthy of much historic note. This eloquent response from city resident J. David Thomas lists why these cone-bearing commoners in town deserve recognition. It has been shortened by editor and publisher Anne Scheck.
Why are Ponderosa Pines historic? The trees were part of the major trails for Native Americans – and they learned how to use the timber. They didn’t have a sawmill. There were no blacksmiths. They chipped away with stone hatchets on downed old-growth trees and then got boards by driving bone wedges with big rocks into tree trunks. From those they built long houses. Those big boards would be used in their winter camp along the valley foothills. The pine trees were important in other ways, too. Often, a large tree would fall across the creek, becoming a bridge of sorts. They used the pitch, too. And ate the seeds – nuts from the cones.
They reproduce -- if there is enough precipitation. Ponderosa Pines shed needles with a type of herbicide, and so very little grows under them. No nettles. No poison oak. No grass or thistles.
The needles that are shed keep out vegetative competition, becoming a solid ochre mat of dead needles. A nice place to sleep and eat.
The Ponderosa Pine was not native here, except along the Willamette River. However, flood waters carried the cones and seeds all the way to the coast. Eventually, Ponderosa Pines were valuable in the fine paper trade.
Douglas Fir grew here, too. However, the Native Americans had to burn it to keep it in check. The fir trees blocked out the sun to ground level plants. Burning was a sanitary disposal activity. It renewed plants that were beneficial, and it also reduced the pathogens and the parasites. So now we have a lot of Doug Fir and it’s a protected species.
The Ponderosa Pine is here because Native Americans husbanded it. Ponderosa Pine is here because humans needed it, liked it, and it served a purpose. Ponderosa Pines are relics. They become fire-resistant when they reach 50 or more years of age. The trees just have to get that old to help prevent fire spreading, which isn’t easy. That’s good reason to protect the few that are left.
Why are Ponderosa Pines historic? The trees were part of the major trails for Native Americans – and they learned how to use the timber. They didn’t have a sawmill. There were no blacksmiths. They chipped away with stone hatchets on downed old-growth trees and then got boards by driving bone wedges with big rocks into tree trunks. From those they built long houses. Those big boards would be used in their winter camp along the valley foothills. The pine trees were important in other ways, too. Often, a large tree would fall across the creek, becoming a bridge of sorts. They used the pitch, too. And ate the seeds – nuts from the cones.
They reproduce -- if there is enough precipitation. Ponderosa Pines shed needles with a type of herbicide, and so very little grows under them. No nettles. No poison oak. No grass or thistles.
The needles that are shed keep out vegetative competition, becoming a solid ochre mat of dead needles. A nice place to sleep and eat.
The Ponderosa Pine was not native here, except along the Willamette River. However, flood waters carried the cones and seeds all the way to the coast. Eventually, Ponderosa Pines were valuable in the fine paper trade.
Douglas Fir grew here, too. However, the Native Americans had to burn it to keep it in check. The fir trees blocked out the sun to ground level plants. Burning was a sanitary disposal activity. It renewed plants that were beneficial, and it also reduced the pathogens and the parasites. So now we have a lot of Doug Fir and it’s a protected species.
The Ponderosa Pine is here because Native Americans husbanded it. Ponderosa Pine is here because humans needed it, liked it, and it served a purpose. Ponderosa Pines are relics. They become fire-resistant when they reach 50 or more years of age. The trees just have to get that old to help prevent fire spreading, which isn’t easy. That’s good reason to protect the few that are left.
Water Bill Follow-up
Resident Harry Bladow looks over the information given to him during a recent meeting with Independence City Manager Tom Pessemier, who gave him some answers he was seeking on where the money for monthly water fees go. About 17%, or $17.80, of a typical water bill -- which runs about $105 on average -- is for repayment of debt. About $6.50 of that goes to pay debt on the Independence Civic Center, according to the most recent consultant report.
The debt payment doesn't include $10 to MINET, which is for a separate annual loan to subsidize the fiberoptic company. The rest of the bill largely goes for labor and operational costs, in addition to franchise fees. (See "Utility Funds Expenditures" in "key documents" on the Independence City website.)
The debt payment doesn't include $10 to MINET, which is for a separate annual loan to subsidize the fiberoptic company. The rest of the bill largely goes for labor and operational costs, in addition to franchise fees. (See "Utility Funds Expenditures" in "key documents" on the Independence City website.)
The CIVICS LESSON: Accessory Buildings Now Get to Go Higher
An Independence resident, Dustin Ball, felt stymied by the city code when trying to design an accessory structure by his house to a height he considered reasonable. He was limited by his own home's single-story roof line.
Mr. Ball took his problem to the city, and after meeting with city planning, going to hearings by the planning commission to make his case, a code change sailed into the city council and passed last month. The amendment would allow accessory structures up to 15 feet tall for a single-story building, rather than basing the allowed height of an accessory structure on the height of the primary building. The new ordinance, which proceeded without any controversy, applies to every homeowner across the city.
Mr. Ball took his problem to the city, and after meeting with city planning, going to hearings by the planning commission to make his case, a code change sailed into the city council and passed last month. The amendment would allow accessory structures up to 15 feet tall for a single-story building, rather than basing the allowed height of an accessory structure on the height of the primary building. The new ordinance, which proceeded without any controversy, applies to every homeowner across the city.
The INDY HOP: Animals React to Rain, Dog Owner Advice
For residents here, November is the official start of the season -- the rainy season. As skies open this year, there is a flurry of new findings about how hard the flying wet stuff is on animals. It turns out bats don't like rain because the downpours complicate their ability to soar in two ways: interfering with the internal echolocation they use to know where they're going and causing them to use twice as much muscle power to stay aloft. Certain birds have the same energy-depleting problem while flying in downward drizzle, and some ornithologists have theorized this may be linked to the avian funk that sets in, causing cessation of chirping in these periods. However, it is dogs that have caught the recent attention of animal science, probably because many humans have to deal with canine avoidance of rain. This makes walking some dogs a real challenge. Many online veterinary sites recommend special treats and rewards this time of year, so that even the most reluctant pooch won't mind going out and getting drenched. Sadly, it doesn't always work. Some doges seem to need more -- and now Seattle-based Amazon is offering the "umbrella-leash" for owners and their rain-hating companions. Just like it sounds, it is a leash with an umbrella attached. No word yet on the skills level needed for use.
ANNIVERSARY EDITORIAL by Anne Scheck
It’s been three years since I founded the world’s smallest newspaper, almost by accident, in my small town in Oregon. And, as I roll toward that third anniversary, I keep thinking about the yellow roses. The first time I remember giving
them to someone was to Sandra Close. I don’t know if she
ever got them.
She had won a MacArthur grant, also known as “a genius award,” for running Pacific News Service in San Francisco –
on what was described as a “shoestring” budget and, even more impressively, she had done so with monumental creativity. I couldn’t imagine a woman helming such an operation. So one blustery day – are there any other kind in the bay area? – I hiked over to the offices of the news service and dropped off a bouquet for her. It was my
first time depositing yellow roses, an act of fandom. I was in this wonderful city on a writing assignment from another publication, just beginning my career.
But I was stumbling, the way someone does who is awkward and plain and unimpressive on so many levels – and yet in possession of enough iron will to have expectations bigger than reality seems ready to allow. So, the women who cleared a path by example, lightening my load on the road, got a lot of gratitude – and sometimes flowers. Oh, those women who showed me the way, females who seemed the furthest thing from the girls I’d grown up with in Kansas.
I was not a pretty prairie lass. I had a mop of curly hair that I habitually and unsuccessfully tried to straighten in the humidity of a state that, at the time, had entrance signs saying “Home of Beautiful Women.” It listed two Miss America winners. And, when I got a haircut for my unruly tresses, I passed by a window in the salon that displayed the poster: “Appearance is your greatest asset.”
There didn’t seem to be any room for recognition of character; Niceness went unrewarded most of the time because, in girls, it was a sacred norm. But there are huge benefits to having no great beauty. One of them is that no one ever tells you that being a bookworm is a waste of time. And, in my case, it led to seven years of college, three degrees and into the new niche of medical journalism.
So now, here I am, an old lady if you believe those actuarial tables and the Social Security chart. I’ve got a tiny newspaper and two e-newsletters, telling a town about itself in a way I hope does all those great women, and more than a few men, the justice they deserve for the mentoring moments of my life. I had all but forgotten my early wish of starting my own news wire, and of my early flower-bearing stop in San Francisco. But after I moved to our little Oregon town, my husband of 40 years told
me retirement was turning me cranky and my neighbors told me the town was having the same effect on them.
There was grumbling and griping but nobody seemed to know with precision what was going on at city hall. Pen and pad in hand, there I was all over again, this time trying to decipher acronyms like “SDC” and the whole alphabet soup that constitutes the language of city government. (SDCs are system development charges and they’re the fees that developers pay – or not! – for infrastructure costs, depending on the plans approved by the city).
My days of wanting to send yellow roses weren’t over. It was a young woman – young in comparison to me, that is – who confirmed our town was deeply in debt. She was a member of the city auditing team. I’d followed her out into the corridor after a meeting in which I’d been afraid to label one of the city’s investments “likely unrecoverable debt,” even though I found a document calling it a doubtful account. She seemed visibly shaken as she handed me her business card, nodding when I proposed using the term. The city debt, which now tops $40 million for an estimated 10,000 people, had not been characterized that way in public.
Then Oregon finally got what it had needed for so long: a public records advocate, Ginger McCall -- a magna cum laude college grad with an ivy league law degree. I became an immediate admirer. Dedicated to a fault, I watched from afar as she carved out this new position after having the unthinkable happen, the loss of her baby girl. Then I saw her up close, shortly after she resigned from her position after only about
18 months on the job. In her resignation letter, she said she was pressured by the governor’s staff to represent gubernatorial interests on public-record issues. Steel-backboned and integrity-driven, she decided to exit. But she leaves a legacy – and me as a devotee, still inspired by yellow-rose-deserving gals.
I attended a meeting this fall where Ms. McCall, with poise and professionalism, was present as an advisory body to the state legislature approved a resolution that her position be made fully independent under state law.
Later, I found her home address. It seemed to me to be too intrusive to drive over with a bunch of flowers, so I found some gold roses on an applique at a fabric store and attached them to the front of a glittery card. “You made such a difference,” I wrote. “And when you're as old as I am, you will look back and see this as a shining period, even if you don’t see it that way now. Thank you.”
But I’m not through yet. There’s a city auditor who left her job a while ago, and soon I will be making a trip to her doorstep with a few long-stemmed, sun-colored roses. She deserves a thank-you, too. Life is long, with many flowers.
them to someone was to Sandra Close. I don’t know if she
ever got them.
She had won a MacArthur grant, also known as “a genius award,” for running Pacific News Service in San Francisco –
on what was described as a “shoestring” budget and, even more impressively, she had done so with monumental creativity. I couldn’t imagine a woman helming such an operation. So one blustery day – are there any other kind in the bay area? – I hiked over to the offices of the news service and dropped off a bouquet for her. It was my
first time depositing yellow roses, an act of fandom. I was in this wonderful city on a writing assignment from another publication, just beginning my career.
But I was stumbling, the way someone does who is awkward and plain and unimpressive on so many levels – and yet in possession of enough iron will to have expectations bigger than reality seems ready to allow. So, the women who cleared a path by example, lightening my load on the road, got a lot of gratitude – and sometimes flowers. Oh, those women who showed me the way, females who seemed the furthest thing from the girls I’d grown up with in Kansas.
I was not a pretty prairie lass. I had a mop of curly hair that I habitually and unsuccessfully tried to straighten in the humidity of a state that, at the time, had entrance signs saying “Home of Beautiful Women.” It listed two Miss America winners. And, when I got a haircut for my unruly tresses, I passed by a window in the salon that displayed the poster: “Appearance is your greatest asset.”
There didn’t seem to be any room for recognition of character; Niceness went unrewarded most of the time because, in girls, it was a sacred norm. But there are huge benefits to having no great beauty. One of them is that no one ever tells you that being a bookworm is a waste of time. And, in my case, it led to seven years of college, three degrees and into the new niche of medical journalism.
So now, here I am, an old lady if you believe those actuarial tables and the Social Security chart. I’ve got a tiny newspaper and two e-newsletters, telling a town about itself in a way I hope does all those great women, and more than a few men, the justice they deserve for the mentoring moments of my life. I had all but forgotten my early wish of starting my own news wire, and of my early flower-bearing stop in San Francisco. But after I moved to our little Oregon town, my husband of 40 years told
me retirement was turning me cranky and my neighbors told me the town was having the same effect on them.
There was grumbling and griping but nobody seemed to know with precision what was going on at city hall. Pen and pad in hand, there I was all over again, this time trying to decipher acronyms like “SDC” and the whole alphabet soup that constitutes the language of city government. (SDCs are system development charges and they’re the fees that developers pay – or not! – for infrastructure costs, depending on the plans approved by the city).
My days of wanting to send yellow roses weren’t over. It was a young woman – young in comparison to me, that is – who confirmed our town was deeply in debt. She was a member of the city auditing team. I’d followed her out into the corridor after a meeting in which I’d been afraid to label one of the city’s investments “likely unrecoverable debt,” even though I found a document calling it a doubtful account. She seemed visibly shaken as she handed me her business card, nodding when I proposed using the term. The city debt, which now tops $40 million for an estimated 10,000 people, had not been characterized that way in public.
Then Oregon finally got what it had needed for so long: a public records advocate, Ginger McCall -- a magna cum laude college grad with an ivy league law degree. I became an immediate admirer. Dedicated to a fault, I watched from afar as she carved out this new position after having the unthinkable happen, the loss of her baby girl. Then I saw her up close, shortly after she resigned from her position after only about
18 months on the job. In her resignation letter, she said she was pressured by the governor’s staff to represent gubernatorial interests on public-record issues. Steel-backboned and integrity-driven, she decided to exit. But she leaves a legacy – and me as a devotee, still inspired by yellow-rose-deserving gals.
I attended a meeting this fall where Ms. McCall, with poise and professionalism, was present as an advisory body to the state legislature approved a resolution that her position be made fully independent under state law.
Later, I found her home address. It seemed to me to be too intrusive to drive over with a bunch of flowers, so I found some gold roses on an applique at a fabric store and attached them to the front of a glittery card. “You made such a difference,” I wrote. “And when you're as old as I am, you will look back and see this as a shining period, even if you don’t see it that way now. Thank you.”
But I’m not through yet. There’s a city auditor who left her job a while ago, and soon I will be making a trip to her doorstep with a few long-stemmed, sun-colored roses. She deserves a thank-you, too. Life is long, with many flowers.
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