Our village once had, not long ago, a beautiful small piece of natural forest left deliberately by the founding fathers for the sake of habitat for towns critters behind North Circles’ ice cream parlor, theater and Georgia’s.
No one can see this area except for myself. I’ve lived here for 22 years. Beginning some years ago, a thoughtless local developer began systematically buying and leveling this entire cooling respite and habitat for the multitude of small creatures that called it home, to make another parking lot filled with the mountain of refuse from the demolition of Jo’An’s and the park, such as concrete and whatever toxins came with it.
And you thought it was supposed to go to Lamb Canyon. Ha! All ground up by a gargantuan machine brought in especially for the three-day task.
There is now not one tree, bush, blade of grass, bird nor bee that lives there. Just employees, trucks, heavy, oily paving equipment or nothing at all. Surely, these leak all matter of toxins into the water table that restores our wells.
My backyard runoff flows through his. I thank the creator I am upstream. It’s a seasonal stream. For your information, water flows underground anyway, there to carry his toxins down.
I doubt any legality in this guys’ moves. Money paves his way. He’s destroyed this natural sanctuary without a thought. He has and will continue to buy and pave over our thirsty Mother Earth, rationalizing it all with white lines, cement tire stops and cross fencing of our once rustic village.
The speed with which his large crew’s chainsaws can clear away all life is astounding. Probably because, without any of the required equipment, like goggles, helmets, chaps, ear protection and gloves that a legitimate employer paying Workers’ Compensation insurance must insist upon, it’s obviously faster and cheaper.
Fishy? I once had privacy in my backyard. I can now see without obstruction 200 yards to Highway 243. It’s obscene. This disgraceful disregard for anything natural has me fuming. Now I am entirely surrounded by the destroyer of my world.
Who’s next? Want a cause to get behind? Let “Save Rustic Idyllwild” be your slogan. Once it was a cooler, rustic, dirt-parking-lots, horses-in-the-street kind of town. I am Mountain Mike. I know. And the people came for “this.” I have the right to expose a Wasichu or say nothing.
Mountain Mike Allen