Robert E. Lee complaining about lack of zoning in Huntersville

 

Write a fictitious letter from Robert E. Lee complaining about lack of zoning in Huntersville

My dear Cousin Martha,

I write to you from my tent in Huntersville, a quiet town nestled by Cummins Creek. While the air is fresh and the scenery bucolic, I confess to you a growing disquiet – a disquiet rooted, surprisingly, in the very lack of orderliness that once charmed me. You see, Martha, this town suffers from a curious malady: the absolute absence of zoning laws.

Imagine, if you will, a battlefield – not one of smoke and shot, but of architectural chaos. Quaint clapboard cottages stand shoulder-to-shoulder with hulking brick barns, while tidy gardens sprout up between the rumble of blacksmiths' forges. One morning, you wake to the insistent crowing of roosters perched precariously on the very gables of your neighbor's apothecary! It's enough to make a man yearn for the regimented rows of tents in winter camp.

This haphazard growth creates not just aesthetic dissonance, but practical woes. The blacksmith's sparks set alight Mrs. Higgins' tinder-dry laundry line, while the acrid smoke from the tannery chokes the roses Mrs. Peabody tends with such devotion. The cobblestone streets, meant for carriages, groan under the weight of lumber wagons destined for the new sawmill perched precariously by the bridge. Order, dear Martha, is the foundation of civilization, and this town crumbles without it.

I speak to you of this, not to belittle Huntersville's charms – its spirit remains indomitable, its people warm and resourceful. But I fear for its future, for how can a community thrive when its very streets are a battleground of conflicting whims? Zoning, with its gentle regulations and thoughtful boundaries, provides a framework for growth, a map for a future where blacksmiths and bakers can co-exist, not contend.

Perhaps, you might suggest, this is the price of freedom, the wildflower blooming freely against the confines of a garden wall. But freedom, Martha, thrives best with a gentle hand guiding its path. Without order, chaos reigns, and even the most vibrant wildflower will wither in the dust.

I write to you not just to vent my frustrations, but to seek your counsel. You, with your keen mind and experience in civic matters, might possess the knowledge to remedy this situation. Surely, a plan can be devised that preserves the town's unique spirit while providing the framework for its harmonious growth.

I await your response, dear Martha, with the eagerness of a soldier awaiting orders. Until then, I shall do my part to bring a semblance of order to this architectural battlefield, perhaps by planting a row of sturdy oaks along the blacksmith's forge – a natural barrier, a symbol of hope for a future where wildness and structure find common ground.

Your ever-orderly cousin,

Robert E. Lee