Just in time for the holidays, I found something not expected in my mailbox. It’s not a pile of cards bearing good tidings. Instead, it was my annual property tax bill.
I don’t care for the leak from my net worth bucket, but I’ll pay. The alternatives are pretty unsavory. Not paying is dumb since the county has the law, enforceable with armed officers, on their side. A few folks near me save a piddling amount annually by titling their cars in adjacent states. They must think that their tax cheating is invisible. It’s not.
It’s not as if I get nothing in return.
To date, my taxes have paid for 26 academic years of primary and secondary schooling for my children. One of the kids also had two separate emergency trips to Children’s Hospital with paramedics. When a roofer with a torch accidentally started a fire under the guise of “home-improvement” the fire department snuffed it out so fast that work resumed before the assistant chief got back in his fire truck.
My favorite tax-supported amenity is the visit I get from the leaf vacuum.
As the leaves fall from the trees, residents can rake them to the curb and wait for a large truck to idle along and suck them up with astonishing power.
Today marked the last pass that the trucks will make on my street for 2020. The leaf pile is gone, marking the end of the season. It won’t be long before the trucks lose the vacs and add the snow blades.
We all benefit from plowed and salted roads after every snowfall, even my neighbors with Illinois plates.
About the author: I am Stephen Kennedy, an experienced photographer with more than 2500 completed sessions in all 50 US states.