So, you hear people talk about their neat plans, their step-by-step guides. For me, well, getting anything real done, it usually feels more like seven marches. Not a straight line, no sir. More like a whole campaign, every single time.
I’m talking about that one project, the community garden idea we had for the old lot on Elm Street. Seemed simple enough, right? Just get a few folks together, get permission, plant some stuff. Ha! That turned into my own personal "7 marches."
The First March: Bright Ideas and What I Thought Was THE Form
Started off all fired up. Found a form on the council website, "Community Project Application." Looked official. Spent a week getting the proposal just right, diagrams and all. Sent it in. Easy peasy, or so I thought.
The Second March: The Office Shuffle Boogaloo
A month later, a letter. "This is not the correct department." No kidding. They sent me to Parks and Rec. Parks and Rec said, "Maybe try Urban Planning?" Urban Planning scratched their heads and pointed me towards a sub-committee I'd never heard of. Each visit was a half-day lost.
The Third March: The "We Need More Backing" Crusade
Finally, landed in what seemed like the right office. Mrs. Henderson, looked like she'd seen it all. She said, "Nice idea, son, but you need signatures. At least fifty households." So, out I went, knocking on doors for weeks. Got seventy-five, just to be safe. That was a march in itself.
The Fourth March: The Budget Black Hole Battle
Signatures in hand, feeling good. "Excellent!" Mrs. Henderson said. "Now, about funding..." Turns out, community project funds were allocated once a year. And we'd just missed the window by a few weeks. Next chance? Eight months away. Or, find our own funding. More marching, this time to local businesses, bake sales, you name it.
The Fifth March: The Labyrinth of Rules and Red Tape
We scraped together some cash. Victory? Nope. Then came the real fun. Soil testing – who knew our "empty lot" needed three different soil purity tests? Water access permits – apparently, you can't just hook up a hose. Insurance. Zoning compliance for a toolshed that was basically a glorified box. Each one was a new form, a new fee, a new delay. Felt like I was marching in circles, in a maze made of paper.
The Sixth March: The "Okay, We'll Take What We Can Get" Negotiation
Months later, we got a "provisional go-ahead." But the spot they offered? Not the sunny patch we wanted. It was smaller, shadier, right by the noisy bus stop. "Take it or leave it," was the vibe. We marched back to the negotiating table, fought for a fence at least. Got a flimsy one. Better than nothing, I guess.
The Seventh March: Actually Breaking Ground (and More Forms)
Finally, the day came. Shovels in hand. But wait! Volunteer liability waivers. A schedule for who uses the shared wheelbarrow. Rules about compost. Even as the first seeds went in, I was still filling out paperwork. The final march was just as muddy with bureaucracy as the first.
So yeah, seven marches. And it’s not just community gardens. It’s like this with so many things.
How do I know? Well, before I retired and got into all this neighborhood stuff, I worked for a big logistics company for thirty years. My department was supposed to "streamline operations." Every new initiative, every system upgrade, every single brilliant idea from corporate that was meant to take "three simple steps" always, and I mean always, turned into its own saga. We'd have endless meetings, pilot programs that went nowhere, budget cuts mid-project, and different departments actively working against each other without even realizing it. I once spent nine months trying to get approval for a new type of pallet jack. Nine. Months. For a pallet jack.
So when someone tells me it's a "quick process," I just nod and mentally prepare for at least seven marches. It's just how the world seems to work, at least from where I'm standing.
