I’m thinking of that serenity prayer, about accepting what you can’t change and changing what you can, as I look at the utility boxes that just sprang up outside my picture window. Regardless of whether I can change them, I’m not feeling serene. In fact, I’m furious and thinking sinful thoughts, like I hope the person who put them there gets a thousand ticks in his underpants.
Large trucks had been cavorting in the open space behind our house. I put on my aviator sunglasses to prepare for global domination, and hoofed out to investigate. You could have heard me scream in Milwaukee. The local water company, which owns the land behind us, had replaced one car-sized metal box, which was bad enough, with four of the things. Together they formed a metal- box commune three times as high and four times as wide as the original box.
I ran back to the house shouting to my husband. “The boxes are breeding! Do something!”
Let me breathe and back up. Dan and I bought this place five years ago, which had the beginnings of a house and this killer mountain view. Even without the house, Dan would have happily pitched a tent and lit a campfire each night, if he could own that Rocky Mountain vista.
The lot carried a fat price tag for the view, so we wanted to make sure nothing would block it. Builder’s representative No. 1 assured us nothing would. That one irritating utility box, the vista’s sole blemish? He said the utility company planned to bury it once homeowners moved in. We trusted him, and bought the lie and the lot.
Shortly after we moved in, we learned that if there were going to be a box burial, it would be for the builder’s rep, who had wisely moved on. Builder’s rep No. 2 apologized, and promised to promptly conceal the box with landscaping. Four years later, he and the water company jointly paid to put in junipers. The effect was uglier than the natural landscape, and didn’t hide the box. Six months later, the new boxes went in.
“What are they thinking?” I’m on the phone with builder rep No. 2. “The utility company knew how much we disliked the current box, so why put in four bigger ones?”
“The people at the utility company are very nice,” he said in a placating tone.
“Very nice people don’t install something the size of a sports arena behind your house that makes your property value plummet six figures.”
I noted the mission statement on this utility company’s website: “It is our responsibility to supply the community with water service . . . and further enhance the quality of life and value of properties through our open space maintenance.”
Uh-huh.
Now, Dan and I approach conflict differently. He sits in long meetings with gray- haired guys having sober discussions peppered with ten- dollar words like strategic, alliances and infrastructure. I make shameless, foot-stomping, threat-infested spectacles. Dan placed several respectful calls about the boxes; I lobbed a few shrill ones. Ultimately, a meeting was called among the builder’s representative, top brass of our community, the water company’s general manager and the overseeing engineer. I invited myself. Dan cringed.
I braced for fierce, heels- dug-in opposition. Instead, I met with a refreshing moment of community harmony. I was almost disappointed. In one 30-minute meeting, the water company agreed to move the boxes farther down the hill, and nest them out of sight beside an outcropping of rocks and a large tree. The people I’d pegged as inconsiderate, landscape-challenged, inflexible boors proved reasonable and responsive.
A five-year problem was resolved. My faith in municipalities was restored.
And I didn’t even have to behave like a lunatic.
Syndicated Colorado columnist Marni Jameson is the author of “The House Always Wins” (Da Capo). She will be appearing and signing her new book in Colorado Springs at 7 p.m. April 18 at Barnes & Noble, 1565 Briargate Blvd., 719-266-9945. You may contact her through .
View finder
If you’re considering buying picturesque property, or property next to undeveloped land, here’s how to protect your view and your investment.
Get firsthand information. Don’t take the seller’s word. If you’re moving into a city, check with city planners about plans for development. If it’s county property, ask the county commissioner.
Know your best bets. Property next to city- or county-designated open space, national or state park land or a golf course has the least risk of changing, says Tom Hay, a real estage agent for Metro Brokers at the Steelyards in Boulder. Buying next to agricultural farmland is appealing but riskier; farmers can sell and counties can rezone.
Check zoning. Know the difference between “designated open space” and “open space.” The first will be left natural; the second is merely undeveloped. Find out if the land is zoned for commercial or residential building, says Bren Lee, a broker associate with Re/Max of Littleton. If it’s residential, will it have single-family homes or dense condos?
Investigate local regulations. Every city has building-height restrictions. In cities where views are important, most also have rules to protect them. Boulder, for instance, has a sunshine rule: Property owners can’t put up anything that casts a shadow on their neighbor’s property. Home associations also have covenants. Find out what protections exist before buying.
Start out friendly. If an oblivious neighbor — private resident or public entity — clobbers your view, stay cool. Point out your concerns. Suggest alternatives. Offer to pay to prune trees. If the neighbors don’t care about your property values or quality of life, and are within their rights, all that’s left is the serenity prayer —or a deliberate tick infestation.
