Let me tell you about our dot.

It’s hard to describe the sickening feeling you get in the pit of your stomach when you look at that map. It’s so awful to stare at your home on a screen with their big black line cutting right across your property and right next to your house. They’ve assigned you a number, or maybe even a combination of letters and numbers – that’s what we got. All you are is just another piece of land that’s in the way.

It’s an aerial map. As I’m looking at it I can clearly see my house, my barn, the shed, our small gravel road leading up to the other barn, and more. Was I in my house when they took that picture? Am I out in the field somewhere too small to see? It’s creepy and feels violating. It’s trespassing. You want to say, “Hey! Who told you you could come take a picture of my house?” but there’s no one to listen. 

Again and again you see their canned statement about being “committed to working with landowners” and “the benefits to the state” but you know it’s not true. One neighbor called over and over and never got through. Another finally got through only to be told that “no, we can’t move it a few feet over so it’s not across your pond” or “yes, we see you plan on building a barn in the path – but that wouldn’t be possible. It would be in our way.”

We wanted to know what the benefits were of the substations they lied about bringing to each county they plan to cut the line through. They quietly told us those were simply “typos.” Not lies — “typos.”

They carelessly drew a fat black line across a map while dreaming of their own profits. That line would mean my neighbors have to move. That line would mean my land isn’t really mine anymore. That line would mean that everything my family has worked for and invested in could just go to someone else simply because they want it and we’re “in the way.”

This is not right.

This is my dot.

This could be your dot