Ethics, values, and the clerk - #88

You can call me Lady of the Clerkdom.

I married a politician. Or really I married a bike racer who this past week became a local politician. On Wednesday Ben was voted in as Town Clerk in our little valley of 180. He’d had to be convinced by our soon-to-be mayor to take the role. In Ben’s mind, he wasn’t old enough to be working in town politics. He needed to live here longer. He needed time to understand what makes this valley tick. I told him what he really needed were better excuses. “You can be president at 35,” I said, “you can certainly be town clerk at 41.” 

But Ben isn’t one to overstep. He has an incredibly dialed moral compass. In the game of list five adjectives about someone, I always say Ben is principled. To give an example: one time we were in a foreign airport under massive construction that was suffering from the inability to move people quickly through stations. We were waiting for our bags before we needed to get in yet another customs line. The line was… accruing. I said to Ben, “I’m gonna wait in line while you wait for the bags.” By my estimations, it meant that by the time Ben got the bags, we’d be near the front of the line. 

Ben thought this was unethical. You cannot get in the line until you have your bags. Now, let me say, the line wasn’t barricaded in any way. There were no organizing dividers. It was simply a long ass straight line in a shitty long room. He wouldn’t have had to awkwardly pass anyone, or excuse himself with heavy bags, in fact the way the line was situated, by the time I was near the front of it, I actually would have been physically next to where he was standing waiting for our bags. Also, many other couples were taking this approach. 

But no. This was wrong. Most of the time when Ben decrees his moral code, I just roll my unethical little eyes and pout, but this time I was like, “you’re wrong and we have reservations in two hours.” I walked to the back of the line, and was smugly right next to Ben when the bags arrived so all he had to do was turn around and there he was — in line with me. With our bags. And the line behind me was hundreds of additional people. Ben insists on checking a bag, and I insist on not being an idiot about it.

Anyway, Ben is principled and was concerned he had not earned his place in line at the local government in this high-alpine valley of incredibly opinionated people who never want things to change but also get mad that certain things don’t change. The reality is: you only have to live in this town for 22 days before you can vote in the general assembly, and you can join the town government as soon as you’ve lived here a year. What that actually means is that as soon as you’ve lived here for a year, you should join the town government, because they desperately need you to. They want you to get in the line. 

In recent years our town has been suffering from a widespread case of laissez faire. Many town meetings barely reach a quorum, which is a mere seven people. Out of 180! In the early days of the pandemic, the town enabled Zoom meetings to keep government going, and some residents have made the case that continuing to allow Zoom meetings has resulted in reduced attendance and especially reduced attention. This past Tuesday when Ben was up for uncontested election, I didn’t even go! I Zoomed in because I was tired and wanted to drink wine with a kitten on my belly with my camera off so I could simply press the spacebar and go “yea” when Ben’s name came up. 

Is now when I mention the Town Hall isn’t even a ten minute walk from my house?

Moving here, I was excited about the idea of a local town government. To no one’s surprise I was an avid student council kid, elected readily every year to treasurer because I was (what else) good at math. My graduating class was 220 people. I can’t remember how many of them were on student council, but I can promise you it was a higher percentage than attend my current local meetings.

Even recently, as the town is actively being sued (lol), and a complicated path to potential affordable housing is being discussed, friends missed the meetings citing excuses such as: “oh, was that tonight?” and “but it’s fine, right?”

The town only meets once a month, always at 7pm on a Tuesday. And there are very good reasons to go. Here’s an example that I hope I don’t get yelled at for including: 

Our town is sandwiched between four national wilderness areas and two national forests. We have a lot of trails, but most of these trails are accessed via town property which means that the Forest Service doesn’t maintain them. They are, in fact, maintained by whoever happens to be walking on them thinking, “wow I’d like this trail a lot better if these dead trees weren’t in the way,” and then acts on that thought. Earlier this week there was a fallen aspen across a path where I often walk Cooper, and I just dragged it out of the way. The problem is that some trees are big. Like, really big. And when they fall across a path, I cannot drag them out of the way no matter how much CrossFit brainwashing I endure. 

For reasons somewhat shrouded in secrecy, we cannot openly talk about trail maintenance in meetings. I don’t know how, but it’s been warned that as soon as trails become a town government issue, they also become a real government issue. And I’ll tell ya what a bunch of oxygen-deprived backcountry yahoos don’t want in their town: anyone with the power to put in a parking lot. 

So when the bridges across the creek go out or too much scrap metal from an old mine gets exposed or rockslides cover the trails, how does the town organize? After the meeting. The only way things get organized is when we’re all in a space together, and when those things can’t be discussed in the meeting as voters, they are discussed after the meeting as neighbors. But that doesn’t happen if you’re not physically there. 

This town doesn’t have a listserv or a Discord or even a bulletin board, there’s no Facebook group or NextDoor or Craigslist. The only way you find out someone’s giving something away is because it shows up at the Free Bin and the only way you know someone’s dog didn’t come home is because they’re outside yelling their name. This town needs its town council, and it needs people to attend it, lest you end up with a place like our neighboring town where half the houses sit empty all year because someone with a private jet likes to smell trees five weeks out of the year.

Part of the reason I haven’t attended recent meetings is because it’s been over three years of me being Covid-free and despite everyone collectively being like “ah whatever” I’d still like to not be trapped in a small room with people who think they’re generally invincible, but also, Tuesday is my heaviest work day, and it’s followed by online mentoring, and then I just want to stare into space somewhere that is not a room that absolutely should not have a carpet and has had the same one since the beginning of time. This building is from the 1800s and it smells like it. 

But you can’t be irritated about something without action. I may have murkier ethics than Ben, but you can still see the bottom of them. And part of the reason we chose this town is because of how it runs itself. I mean, look at this:

We the People of [Redacted], Colorado, to insure our right to municipal self-determination, maintain our autonomy from the federal, state, and regional authorities, and protect our natural resources and the harmony of our environment, do declare it our purpose and within the full and proper exercise of our Power, Love, and Wisdom, to reformulate our government as a Home Rule municipality under the provisions of Article XX of the Constitution of the State of Colorado as amended

Our power, love, and wisdom? Could it be any cuter? That’s how you end up living somewhere that mandates your house look like it could be cast in an old western or a woodland fairy tale:

1. Foundation. Natural stone, cement cast stone, brick, non-reflective metal, rusted metal, stucco, synthetic stucco, adobe, and plaster. 

2. Siding. Natural stone, natural wood (stained or clear), and rusted metal. Materials such as stucco, synthetic stucco, brick or plaster are limited to twenty percent (20%) of exterior surfaces. We support the use of new, sustainable/green materials as long as they mimic the natural materials listed here.

3. Skirting. Skirting may be used above the foundation for protection from snow piling against the side of a house. Skirting may extend a maximum of five (5) above the finished construction grade and shall use non-reflective metal, rusted metal, or other siding material defined above.

4. Roof. Non-reflective metal, clay tile, pre-finished modular (pro-panel) reduced reflective metal panels, slate, cement tiles, non-reflective solar tiles, and sod or turf. No galvanized or zinc metals or the like.

5. Garage Door. Natural wood (stained, clear or painted), insulated press-board wood veneer (stained, clear or painted), or rusted metal.

6. Decks. Natural wood (stained or clear) or recycled material with a natural wood appearance (stained or clear). 

The town’s Land Use Code and Master Plan are both filled with gems:

• All exterior lighting needs to be shielded so you’re not blasting your neighbors.

• Your house can’t be bigger than 2100 sq ft if it’s on the average lot size here. 

• Regardless of lot size, you can’t make your house bigger than 3,150 sq ft.

• Walking trails can’t be bigger than stroller size.

• Drones, ATVs, snowmobiles and other off-highway vehicles are not allowed within town limits.

• Neither are short-term rentals! There’s no AirBnb here! 

The reason the town is so delightful is because people participated. In the 1950s, when the census came to town, the one person who lived here was out of town. We were down to a government official population of zero, and look where we are now: full of idiots like me who are like god I wish I could live somewhere difficult. But living somewhere “difficult” is only magical because people band together to make it that way. 

The town’s population.

When we first moved in, it felt like we needed a handbook to live here. Our primary resource (the man selling it) told us things like “don’t drink the water - get it from the spring up the road. You’ll be sick for awhile but then you’ll live forever.” As delightful as I found that advice, it didn’t really answer any of my most pertinent questions. 

Image from Etsy.

That’s partially why I’m helping to write the Town 101. When we moved here, Ben and I had a lot of questions:

• Where does the water come from? How reliable is our water supply? How is it treated? Do we have a water usage cap? If not, shouldn’t we? Are there any town incentives to create gray water systems?

• What’s the deal with parking? Is this person allowed to park their trailer in front of our house indefinitely? If someone parks somewhere overnight that says “no overnight parking” do people tattle? 

• Are you allowed to drive on the alley ways? Are those snowmobiles legal? If that drone goes over my hot tub again, can I shoot it down? What if I’m just an incredibly good throw?

• How does the greenhouse work? Who maintains it? Are you allowed to just take whatever you want? Should someone do something about the rosemary taking over the entire building?

• What about the composting? Is that for us to use? Do we have town composting because we’re not supposed to have our own composting? What goes in the composting? 

• Who is maintaining these trails? If “no one” maintains the trails, can I bushwhack a new one? No? So who made this one? “No one” made this one? Alright buddy.

• I know it says my garage door can only be made of wood and metal, but what about metal and glass? It’s like a dungeon in our garage. Who am I supposed to submit this request to?

• Can we put in more speed bumps? When yet another man in a Jeep runs over the flower barrels meant to beautify the road, can I run over him? Are you sure?

Ben and I spent hours on the town website when we were trying to move here. We examined every document on it, studied all the avalanche maps, and read every shred of history we could find in old railroad and mining books. We are obsessively curious people! At a bachelorette party once where everyone was given a weekend nickname, other girls got names like Wine Hound and Tits Brigade — my nickname was Trail Docent. Do you know how aggressively you have to be naming rocks and flowers to get that nickname at a Bachelorette party?

We fell in love with this town before ever living here because of documents. The way the mandates and use codes were written were almost closer to a value system than anything else, and however Ben and I still misalign on ethics, we married over values. We wanted to live in a magical place but magic takes maintenance. It takes protection. And most importantly it takes passing it down. Every wizard needs an apprentice and now, somewhat hilariously to me, that’s Ben. 

All that’s left to do now is write the sitcom about it.