Talk Back: The wayward wind and seasons in the sun
We recently went through a corn maze. And what a harrowing experience that turned out to be — the big ol’ “Welcome” banner prominently displayed over the entrance notwithstanding. For there was another sign, too — “Abandon hope all ye who enter” — that we never saw.
Because someone from U of M stole it.
But we were taking all the twists and turns in stride until we heard this metallic-sounding, “Intruder alert; intruder alert. The humanoid must not escape” voice and saw Evil Otto coming through the stalks like they weren’t even there. So much for being a mall arcade relic. This was “Berzerk” come to life. Escape appeared impossible. Until we pulled a reverse Led Zeppelin and went out through the in door, leaving Otto double-dog daring us to come back.
And fight like a robot.
That’s how it is with today’s fields of dreams. Some are home to metallic voices. Others are packed with metallic objects generating wind and solar power. Row upon row of oversized pancake turners and tall thin cylinders with whirligig arms that are a cross between those undulating floppy-doodles at the used car lot and something straight out of War of the Worlds. And whether in Grovers Mill, New Jersey or Grover Hill, Ohio — or just about anywhere in Michigan — their presence is sending folks off the deep end faster than politicians can change their minds. Which to no one’s surprise, they’re pretty good at doing.
Every few milliseconds.
Thus The Great Legislative Donnybrook of 2023 as lawmakers the past few weeks scampered about like Keystone Kops — determined to set in stone once and for all who gets the final say as to where these funky Martian spaceships and flapjack flippers can set up shop. And naturally they went with the locals — the ones who get up every morning, train their binoculars on the conical turrets atop those behemoths in the neighbor’s pasture, and make sure no tentacled monsters are peering out and fixin’ to zap the kiddos as they scurry to the bus stop — right? Guess again.
Local control is so yesterday.
Michigan, you see, is positioned to have in place a 100 percent renewable energy portfolio by 2040. And that won’t happen if backward-thinking hick NIMBYs are allowed to get their way. Like those 437 Palmyra Township voters who this past spring approved an ordinance guaranteeing all anyone will see along Ogden Highway or Gorman Road is corn, corn, corn, corn — look a tree — instead of utility-scale projects.
Amidst Charlie Rich’s field of yellow daisies.
Don’t get us wrong. We’ve got no beef with wind and solar. In fact, sunshine on our shoulders makes us happy. And summer breeze makes us feel fine. Besides, we’ve been through Grover Hill many a time, and never once did those nearby towering pinwheels liquefy our innards. Nor were there any donkey-riding Don Quixote-types tilting at them with trusty lance in hand. And that’s the way it should be. Iffen the local folk want ‘em, so be it. And iffen they don’t, that’s fine too. There’s only one little problem. Local control is a patchwork quilt approach. And in the crazy world of state lawmakers, whether your fer it or agin’ it comes down to one thing.
Whose quilt is getting patched.
They’re like Sneetches going through the star-on and star-off machines. Against local control when they don’t like it, and all for it when they do. And leaving everyone they represent holding the bag. Because whether you’re “Walking on Sunshine” or “Against the Wind,” there’s only one thing you can count on.
You can’t teach a Sneetch.
— Talk Back with Doug Spade and Mike Clement is heard every Saturday morning from 9 a.m. to noon Eastern Time at localbuzzradio.com, Facebook Live and dougspade.com.
This article originally appeared on The Holland Sentinel: Talk Back: The wayward wind and seasons in the sun
