A WALK IN A SMALL TOWN--

I was hoofing it around the village of Butler the other morning. The Jeep was in Weekley’s garage getting some last minute repairs before I delivered it to its new owner.

I had read my library book for awhile—until my butt began to protest the park bench hardness—then, I was simply amusing myself by poking around the back alleys of the town.

Up there on Henry St., I was pondering my next turn when I encountered a lady about my age who came hustling up the hill on 5th Ave. with a well used binder under her arm. I could tell that by all the yellow Post-Its sticking out.

My cheery “Good Morning” led to a discussion and it turned out we knew each other, from somewhere in our distant pasts.

The binder she was carrying was a well-thumbed copy of the town’s zoning ordinances and she was on her way to share her notes with a cohort regarding the town’s current dispute.

The controversy involved another lady running a very well populated cat shelter in an area of residential zoning. “She’s doing the right thing with all those cats,” she told me with a wrinkled nose, “She’s simply doing it in the wrong place.”

Turns out I also knew the lady where she was headed so I wandered along and listened to her informed analysis of the town’s peculiarities, both structural and human.

Her grade card for the town’s council wasn’t like one you would want your youngster to bring home from elementary school. I nodded with complete understanding. And, anything the mayor manages to accomplish is usually an accident or notably to his political advantage she opined. I continued to nod my understanding.

The town’s convolutions are regular fodder in the valley’s weekly newspaper.

Up on Reeder Dr., she showed me the huge scar where a new housing development was just beginning. We don’t have enough water pressure to serve those homes yet they allowed it to be done anyhow she explained with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm.

The drainage infrastructure is awful too she pointed out as we walked by a house often flooded by overloaded sanitary sewers.

And, these council people either don’t have anyone with the ability to write applications for federal grants to help us with our problems, or, anyone with sufficient ambition to even try.

As we concluded our walk down Union St., I found myself pondering the town’s future with her hand firmly on the political tiller.

I didn’t have a chance to advance that theory to her but I found it mischievous to contemplate.