bierkergaard

For the last ten weeks or so, I have been gazing upon a discarded living room set across the street in a front yard of a townhouse. With a combination of irritation and humor, I practiced forbearance. It did become somewhat amusing to see how long it could go before something gave. I named it Abraham's Acres, a place of rest for weary travelers between Lancaster and York. I posted weekly updates on Facebook which at least some of my friends found funny. I thought about knocking on the door to ask them if I could assist them with its disposal. I didn't want to act like a jerk but I am a firm believer that neighborhoods degrade because no one seems to care about trash, loud music, barking dogs, ignorant parking, etc. All these minor signs of incivility grow like weeds. And once there is enough weeds, it chokes the health of the neighborhood. The bad element moves in, crime goes up. Yada, yada, yada. Maybe I am selfish, but I just don't like my car windows broken for spar