This all brings to mind the Right To Farm laws and ordinances that have been passed here and there as family farms turn into developments over the years.
I recall a LARGE sign I saw in Fairfield County, Ohio. It was put up by a farmer who owned all but the one corner-quarter of his section that was being developed into McMansions.
His sign was to this effect --
"All are welcome as neighbors, but please be aware that this development is abutted on two sides by my farm. My livestock produce odors you may not be accustomed to. They are kept at a distance of at least a half-mile from any lot here, but occasionally the breeze may carry the odors your way. I also apply fertilizers and pesticides to the crops in my fields which will abut your back yards. Bear in mind that it is in my own best interest -- economically and as a good neighbor -- to keep those chemicals on my crops, not on your lawns. But I cannot stop the occasional breeze. I also operate large machines to prepare my fields and harvest my crops. I, like any farmer, would prefer to do this in the daylight, but the weather may dictate that I have to operate through the night to make my living . . . "
We've had the same challenge here in Maine. We draw a lot of affluent tourists, and they find the jumble and rustic appearance of our old villages charming. These villages sprouted and grew up long before any notion of zoning, setbacks . . . Some of those tourists retire to here and, not knowing how to fill all the time they now find on their hands, get active in local politics, and all of a sudden, there are strict rules regarding anyone throwing up a shed, requiring site inspections, design approval . . . They moved here becuse they found it so much more charming than where they lived when they were only visiting, then set about making it just like where they came from. Go figger.
Back in the 80s there was a real estate boom that drove prices in the Boston area out of the reach of many. Suddenly, Portland, Maine became attractive as a bedroom community for Boston. Developers rushed in and converted many of the derelict warehouses and old ship chandleries on the waterfront into condo and rental apartments. Not surprisingly, a cycle emerged. Sale contracts and rental agreements peaked during those parts of the month when the local lobster fleet was anchored in the harbor during the daylight hours when the apartments were shown. Sales were closed. Rental leases were signed. The complaints started the first month folks moved in and increased as the buildings filled up. The occupants of the harbor side of the buildings never considered that a fisherman's schedule is dictated by the tides, and very little time passed before they discovered that the quaint and colorful boats bobbing on their moorings in the harbor don't just sit there. They actually work for a living, and might fire up at 2 in the morning, and that a muffler on a lobster boat, if present at all, is often purely decorative. We in the rest of the state (the rural and coastal communities north and east of Portland) tend to view our largest city as an extension of Boston, and would readily hand that part of the state back to Massachusetts, of which the entire state was originally a part, despite that little neck of land that allowed New Hampshire to reach the salt water. Many of us were greatly entertained reading the news reports of the arguments before the Portland city council, as the newcomers argued for an ordinance to restrict the hours of operation of the lobster fleet. Entertaining, again because of the foothold those who moved in "from away" had gained in local politics. It could have tipped either way. In the end, the lobster fishermen work when and how they always have, so the rest of us have not entirely given up hope for Portland.
Life by the sea. For those not earning their living on it, the work is noisiest in the harbors.
Life in the country. So many folks have lived with a physical break between their work and home. Work is at the office. Home is in a quiet cul-de-sac somewhere else. The notion that all or part of one's sustenance may come from the homestead is not a light that has shone upon their minds.
I'm blessed with good neighbors. If that weren't the case, I'd be aiming for whatever it takes to achieve that wierd dort of detente that Lisa and Oliver Wendell Douglass managed on Green Acres.
