It’s official: We’re outlaws

While I was at Pearl Market yesterday, two county officials showed up at my house and spoke with Mayda. One was Scott Whittaker, a sanitarian from the county health department. The other was Joe Bailey, a zoning enforcement officer from the Economic Development & Planning Department. For those who are wondering, no, they didn’t come after us because of the article in Columbus Monthly. They claimed they were responding to a neighbor’s complaint about a manure smell.

Our first suspicion was that the complaint was actually the response to the letter I showed you in the last post, “Dealing With Urban Predators.” Really, though, it could have been anybody. It actually does smell, at least when it rains. The broiler operation has outgrown this parcel, and now that my sawdust supply has become unreliable, it’s even harder to maintain properly. I have two paddocks for each broiler house, but I found this year that putting one flock right after another into the same areas just wasn’t letting the ground rest enough. There’s a little puddle that forms near the road just below one of the paddocks, so when it rains, runoff pools there and smells bad. The sanitarian said we have to correct that. No problem. Broiler house #1 has been vacant for a couple weeks now. Broiler house #2 will be vacated when I process on December 3rd. I’ve got lots of carbonaceous material I can spread on the paddocks to lock up that nitrogen once the birds are off of it. I won’t be putting broilers on this property again. When I order new ones, I’m going to brood them over at the new property on Woodland Avenue. Today, I’m going to start cleaning everything up here and moving stuff over to the new place. The health department is easy to please. They make (usually) reasonable demands, or at the very least, demands that have some sort of rationale behind them, and we take care of their concerns.

Code enforcement’s a different beast altogether. They don’t say “maintain things properly so there’s no danger to the public health.” They say “agriculture is prohibited, no ifs, ands, or buts…because we said so, that’s why.” They are the government equivalent of a homeowners association–people with serious Acorn Tree Syndrome who think that the cookie cutter, bedroom community suburb is the highest expression of civilization, and that everything else should be subordinate to that model.

Longtime readers will remember that Mayda and I chose to buy a house in this township specifically because of the lack of any such restrictive zoning. When we bought this house (on Paul Drive), there was a mini-van turned on its side or upside-down in the yard across the street. The kids who live there were using it as a jungle gym. (Yes, these are the same folks who refused to pay for the chickens their dog killed.) Calls to Mifflin Township offices to inquire about zoning have been answered by the claim that Mifflin has no zoning. They go by the county regulations.

Oh, well that works, right? There are farms in the county. If they’ll let our neighbors across the street have a flipped-over van in their yard, nobody will mind some chickens, right? If one of our neighbors can run an automotive shop out of his yard with all the noise, clutter, and fumes that entails, nobody’s going to object to us growing food, right? If the guy two doors over can shoot a whole magazine at a teenager for cutting through his yard and it’s like pulling teeth getting the cops to do anything more than just drive by, nobody’s going to get bent out of shape over something as innocent, wholesome, and pastoral as some chickens scratching around in my yard, right? Right?

We sure thought so. Five years ago, when we started getting visits from a different sanitarian from the county health department, and he emphasized in very strong terms that chickens are legal in the township and that there was nothing wrong with us having them, we thought that was that. When the ASPCA came out because of the bogus report about a “sick rooster” (no roosters, and all the chickens were healthy), they were satisfied with what they saw. Back when I was a cop, two of my co-workers were also special deputies with the Franklin County SO, and neither of them hinted at there being anything wrong with what I was doing. When the Ohio Dept. of Agriculture guy came out to do our egg inspection, he didn’t say anything about us not being allowed to raise chickens here. When the inspectors from the health department who did the inspections for our mobile food vendor’s license came out, they didn’t say anything. The hundreds of times a Mifflin Township police officer or a Franklin County sheriff’s deputy has driven by and seen our chickens in plain view, none of them said a word to us or reported us to Zoning.

You get it? I’ve been raising chickens in plain view for five years. You can see them from the street. Neighbors and passersby would ask me questions, including how they could get started. People from elsewhere in the neighborhood sought me out to ask the same, or to buy chickens and eggs from me. Two years ago, I ramped up production and started selling at farmers markets, right out in the open. So far, we’ve done four different open-air markets and two indoor markets. At many of them, I’ve displayed a map at our stand with our location marked on it. We’ve been mentioned or linked to on numerous websites and other advertisements. More customers than I’ve bothered to count have come out to visit the farm. I testified at a USDA listening session in Pennsylvania and told the USDA the name of my farm and where it is–it’s in the official transcript posted online. There are about 300 people on our mailing list. I’ve hung the market banner and a little “Frijolito Farm” plaque on our front porch so people would have an easier time finding the place. We’ve had a website since before we were doing the markets. Thousands of people know about this place. Earlier this year, we were mentioned in 614 Magazine. This month, we were in Columbus Monthly. I’ve been invited by the Ohio Ecological Food and Farm Association to speak on the topic of backyard chickens at their annual conference–which is pretty high profile, given that Joel Salatin is also presenting there. I’ve sat in on meetings at OSU and the ODA where the two were collaborating with other state officials about mobile chicken processing, and they knew who I was and where this farm is. Mayda is on the board of the Farmers Market Managers Network and has been in contact with several state and county officials through that. I even filed a Schedule F with the IRS last year, listing my principal occupation as “farmer.” This is not a clandestine activity.

The township, county, state, and federal governments, along with thousands of ordinary people, any of whom could have reported us had they wanted to, all know this little quarter-acre farm is here, and–at least where the chickens are concerned–we’ve received nothing but praise and reassurances that as long as there’s no problem with noise or odor, we are allowed to have chickens here…until now.

This is the first we’ve ever heard from the zoning guy. This is the first any official, township or county, has been able to provide us with specific regulations regarding farming in the township, even though we’ve asked. This is the first we’ve read “Agriculture is prohibited on lots of one acre or less.” And their definition of agriculture includes just about everything except a garden attached to a residence. Yes, even a community garden. Yes, even that beehive that you were told was legal. Yes, even a barrel of tilapia or catfish–that’s aquaculture. Yes, even cutting firewood on a one-acre woodlot. Yes, even just having a single mushroom log on a one-acre lot in an unincorporated township in Franklin County puts you in violation of the zoning resolution…unless the township passes a resolution saying otherwise. Yes. It says that.

Earlier this year, before we sunk $25,000 into real estate with plans to expand, Mayda had called the township–y’know, just to make extra, extra sure they weren’t gonna smack us down after we were already invested. The lady she talked to said that the township has no zoning regulations of its own, but they do have resolutions that are passed at their board meeting. Mayda did some research to see if she could come up with anything on chickens.

She found one case. In 2007, I think it was–might have been longer ago–a man named…Moses–I don’t recall his first name–was told by the county that he couldn’t raise chickens. He lived in a different part of the township, not connected to ours. It’s a mostly undeveloped area out near the airport–off Steltzer Road, I think. Mr. Moses’ children had begun raising a few chicks as a school project a decade earlier. Over the years, they kept raising just a few hens. He had over an acre, and had raised the birds for ten years without interference, but this zoning enforcement officer argued in court that Mr. Moses’ land “didn’t count” as one acre, since it was platted as three different parcels. Never mind they were all contiguous, and that the county resolution and the Ohio Revised Code say NOTHING about contiguous acreage being disqualified by being platted as multiple parcels. This zoning guy was just being a hardass and coming up with some creative interpretation of the law (having never met the man, I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt and assume he didn’t just misunderstand it) so he could bust on someone for having chickens.

His name was Joe Bailey.

We never found out how that case was finally resolved. When I attempted to visit Mr. Moses, nobody answered the door. I didn’t see any chickens there.

Now, even if Mr. Bailey was the sweetest, most reasonable, most pro-farmer person to ever grace the halls of Economic Development & Planning, it doesn’t change the fact that the resolution clearly states that we’re not allowed to have chickens on a quarter-acre. It’s the future we’re worried about.

The property at Woodland has approximately 4.75 acres. The county auditor’s site says 4. One of the historical documents about the property said, “five acres, more or less.” This puts us in the clear on that “prohibited on lots of one acre or less” bit, but throws us into a whole different ballgame. If we had more than five acres, we’d be untouchable. Well, that’s overstating it, maybe. We’d still have to abide by noise and health regs, etc., but there’d be no question we could farm. We could be smack dab in the middle of downtown (if it was unincorporated); if we had more than five acres, the resolution says we could not be prohibited from farming.

(An amusing–and encouraging–aside–the resolution also says you can have a farm market in any zone as long as you produce at least 50% of the goods yourself. You just can’t produce it in certain places.)

But what about if you have more than one acre and not more than five? Well, it gets complicated. Essentially, you’re allowed to farm until 35% of the plats in your subdivision get developed. After that, any ongoing farming is considered a “non-conforming use.” I don’t know what the ramifications of that are, but it sounds like a euphemism for “violation.” More relevant to us, it also says that no new farming can be started.

This is what I meant above when I was talking about everything being subordinate to the bedroom community. They’ll carve up a family farm that’s been passed down for generations just to turn it into houses people can’t afford, McMansions surrounded by dog pasture, but you never see them knocking down empty houses to put in farms. Maybe if the people who live there are poor enough, they’ll boot ’em all out to build a resort or something, but you just don’t see yuppie neighborhoods being deliberately de-gentrified. For all the talk among urban planners about the wisdom of mixed-use neighborhoods, it still doesn’t seem to be catching on with developers or municipal government.

If we had a small farm producing meat, fruit, eggs, and vegetables, with a little farm store on the premises, it would only improve that neighborhood. The house is presently vacant and dilapidated. The one next to us is condemned and serves as a hangout for shady characters. Poachers and ATV riders routinely trespass on both properties. But because it’s not wilderness all the way around, they’re saying we can’t farm there.

Have you seen the size of this place? Go to Google maps or whatever satellite mapping program you prefer and search “2624 Woodland Ave., 43211.” It’s freakin’ huge, and mostly woods. Now zoom out. It’s got woods to the north and south. Zoom out more, and you’ll see that it’s part of a larger forest that encompasses Mock Park and Innis Park, and several others along Alum Creek stretching from Ohio Dominican University to the south on up to Heritage Park in Westerville. A neighbor who hunts on our land (and chases off poachers) tells me there are two-hundred deer that cover a five-mile range there.

Part of the appeal in moving to the Woodland property was that we’d have less impact on neighbors. Other than the hens, which would sleep at night in a shed attached to the house, all the chickens and any other animals would be out of sight from any of the neighbors on Woodland or the one at the back of the property on the east side. Especially in the summer time, it would be completely concealed. It would disturb no one. But this resolution appears to say we can’t do it. That ain’t right, folks. I think it’s deeply disturbing to know that while our state government is poised to let factory farmers start making their own rules on this Livestock Care Standards Board, our county government has a resolution to keep a place like Frijolito Farm from raising clean, healthy food out in the middle of the woods.

All is not lost. We’re not throwing in the towel just yet. We’re hoping that sympathetic people in the township government and the Economic Development & Planning Department will help us to get the matter dropped if we move everything to Woodland. If they can’t call off Mr. Bailey, we can ask the township trustees to pass a resolution that would protect operations like ours.

(When Mayda called the township office yesterday and explained our situation, the secretary said, “That’s a big property! If I was there, I’d have horses! I’d be in court every day if I had to. I can’t see why they’d have a problem with you having some chickens.”)

If we can’t get them to pass that broad a resolution, I’m hoping we can get them to give us a variance. Or if they won’t, maybe the county will. (Do they do that?) If nobody in government will work with us, there’s always the possibility of buying additional adjacent land to put us over five acres. The Knox property–the abandoned one to the south–is three acres and is in foreclosure for unpaid taxes, I believe. (Mayda already checked earlier–the county bundles properties and sells them to developers. We don’t even have an option to bid on it.)

We can no more afford to buy more land than we can afford to hire an attorney, though. We just bought 4.75 acres with borrowed money. We’re pretty much living on credit. With as poor as sales have been at the market these past couple weeks, I’m squeezing in time wherever I can to rake leaves for money. I’m about a thousand dollars behind in child support. I had planned to buy 150 layer chicks so they’d be laying in the spring, but I don’t dare until we get something settled with Zoning. There is just no way possible to buy more land right now short of someone giving us the money. If I could move forward with my plans and earn some money farming the new place, maybe we could afford a half-acre (if a neighbor would sell it), but we have to have the land just to be allowed.

If we don’t get something worked out, we’re just stuck with a $25,000 white elephant (plus taxes) until I can concoct some sort of industry there that doesn’t qualify as farming or violate any other zoning resolutions. On the bright side, it’s mortgage-free. If we could sell the place we’re in now (once Woodland is habitable–it’s not now with the leaks and mold), we could be rid of the mortgage on this place, and we could at least grow and forage some of our own food.