Five years ago a woman bought a lovely piece of property on the most pleasant country road in Texas. On half the land she tore out the trees and wildflowers. Then she leveled the ground, graveled a dozen parking bays, and installed septic and electrical hook-ups. Inexplicably, she draped black plastic over the length of the pre-existing fence that ran along the front; and the plastic quickly became tattered from flapping in the wind. She charges three hundred and fifty a week per RV, and all the bays are constantly occupied, which means she’s pulling in roughly sixteen thousand eight hundred a month. I reckon she recovered her investment within the first two months.
She sold the other half of the property, and the new owner cleared the land—trees and shrubs bulldozed; huge chunks of limestone pried from their earthen cribs, left to rest upon the ground; and after that no more work was done. There it lay for two years, decimated and unattended—until recently when an abandoned trailer showed up. Considering the scattered boulders and the pits caused by the earlier excavation, it must’ve taken some tricky driving to get it so far back in the lot. What does its presence portend? Is this acreage going to become a junkyard for abandoned trailers and RVs?
A sign hanging on the gate tells me that it’s once more for sale. Maybe the trailer’s meant to encourage a potential buyer in the same way one stage a house—like, “Hey, if you buy this piece of ruined land here’s something you can do with it!”
The realtor’s email address is on the sign, so I send him a note.
To Michael Herd. Are you or the owner aware that a trailer has been abandoned on the lot that’s for sale on County Road 401? It’s bad enough that those of us who reside in the area must endure living near that hideous RV park—are our property values now going to be further diminished due to proximity to a mobile home dumping ground? Thanks for your attention in this matter. Jen Waldo
His response: I haven’t been there for a few weeks. I’ll drive out and have a look. Thanks for alerting me. Michael Herd
People often say they’ll act, but then they don’t. A week later I drive over to see if the trailer’s still there. It is. I get out of the car and take a picture. It’s a hundred and seven outside and there’s been no rain for five months. The grasshoppers have fled. I return home and send the realtor the picture along with this reminder:
Michael, I’m still troubled about that trailer on CR 401. What are the plans for its removal? It’s parked at a precarious angle. Common wisdom has it that if a vacant structure offers a roof and door, someone will come along and move into it, even if it is dangerously situated and overrun by vermin. Jen Waldo
Jen, I’m looking into it, though I’m uncertain as to why you thought you should contact me about this. The fact is, it’s not your concern. Michael Herd
Not my concern? If I don’t take an interest, who will? He didn’t even know it was out there until I told him. Also, it’s disingenuous of him to put his contact information on a sign and then be dismayed when someone uses it to contact him.
Michael, of course it’s my concern! We’re all in this world together. If something effects one, it effects all. While a misplaced trailer may seem innocuous and insignificant in the present, there’s the possibility that it may cause unprecedented harm in the future. Please ask the owner of the property to have it hauled off. Jen Waldo
Jen, the owner didn’t put it there and refuses to bear the expense of removing it. Meanwhile, I’ve notified the local authorities. They’ll track down the owner of the trailer and he will take it away or face the consequences. I urge you to step back and trust the process. I believe this draws our communications to a close. Michael Herd
The realtor appears to believe that someone who, a few weeks ago, couldn’t afford to keep or maintain his trailer, will now have the money it’ll cost to remove it. Also, making some penniless guy “face the consequences” won’t get that trailer out of there. Trust the process. Hah. That trailer’s going to be there forever. One more missive:
Oh Feckless Michael, it saddens me to realize that nothing, ever, will be done to get that ugly trailer out of there. This indolent acceptance of a wart on our horizon signifies the lowering of standards that turns a nice neighborhood into a slum. I’d think that you, as a realtor, would care about that. Jen Waldo
I press send and, with a crushed spirit, let the issue go.
There it is.
