10/05/2026
Some will give this post a TLDR, but I implore those of you who are invested in your community, and who genuinely care about what happens within it, to read to the end and share.
After catering a shower yesterday, I spent much of the rest of the day answering phone calls and talking with members of our community because, somehow, over the past eight years, I’ve become the unofficial town information center.
I never applied for the position. There was no interview, no orientation, and the benefits package is absolute s**t. But somewhere along the way, people began trusting me enough to call when they had questions, when something didn’t seem right, when they wanted another perspective, or when they simply wanted someone to listen.
That trust is not something I take lightly.
The definition of insanity is repeating the same patterns of behavior and expecting a different result.
Two years ago, I wrote about what I saw happening in our community, decisions being made without input from the people those decisions affected, small businesses struggling while the people charged with supporting them seemed unwilling to listen, and good people eventually walking away from positions because they were tired of fighting a system that refused to change.
At the time, I wrote:
“When voices remain unheard, one of two things happens; they speak louder, or they fall silent.”
Two years later, I'm still speaking.
This week, I found myself asking many of the same questions I was asking then, after learning that the Financial Director for the Village had resigned after only fifteen months, and that our Farmers Market Manager had been terminated by the DDA following one of the strongest market seasons Dundee has seen in years.
Rather than speculate about either situation, I went directly to the people involved.
I spoke with both individuals at length, and while I'm not going to share everything they told me, because some of it was deeply personal, some was shared with me in confidence, and some simply isn't mine to tell, I walked away from those conversations considerably more concerned about a pattern I've watched developing in this community for the better part of five years.
My conversation with our former Farmers Market Manager, lasted more than an hour. She was candid and vulnerable about circumstances in her personal life that recently became very public. I'm not going to elaborate because I don't believe someone's most difficult moments should become community entertainment simply because someone else decides to put them on social media.
There is a difference between accountability and humiliation. There is also a difference between someone's personal struggles and their professional performance.
The DDA held an emergency meeting and voted to remove the market manager from her position.
They had other options.
They could have allowed the extended season to continue as planned.
They could have allowed her to finish the season, and given her the opportunity to address what was happening in her personal life and revisited the position next year.
Instead, they chose termination.
Given my own history with the DDA, including my experience after being offered the Market Manager position several years ago, it raised some very familiar questions.
Then I spoke with our former Financial Director.
What she described was an environment where interpersonal conflict, accusations and outside pressures increasingly interfered with her ability to effectively do the job she had been hired to do.
Sound familiar?
It should. Because we've been here before.
We've watched people come into this community with experience, ideas and enthusiasm about economic development and community improvement, only to eventually leave frustrated, resign, be pushed out, or decide the personal toll simply wasn't worth it.
Different year. Different people. Same questions.
At what point do we stop treating the loss of capable people as isolated incidents and start asking whether there is something fundamentally wrong with the environment we're asking them to work within?
You can replace people, rearrange committees, change titles and fill vacancies.
But if the culture remains the same, eventually the outcome will too.
That's not progress. That's a revolving door.
Meanwhile, members of a local church are reportedly planning to erect a prayer tent during Dundee's Witches Night event in an effort to “save” the people attending.
People have every right to practice their religion, pray, disagree with an event and decline to participate. But religious freedom does not mean freedom from other people existing differently than you do.
The women performing at Witches Night are mothers, grandmothers, teachers, nurses, professionals, artists, friends and neighbors. They dress in costumes, dance in the street, entertain people and raise money for organizations supporting women, including survivors of domestic violence.
They're not recruiting anyone into witchcraft,
and nobody is sacrificing a goat behind the Old Mill.
They're dancing.
And yet somehow, their existence has become something from which people apparently need to be “saved.”
On the surface, these situations have absolutely nothing to do with one another. But underneath them, I see the same troubling mentality:
The belief that one group of people knows what is best for everyone else.
That mentality is problematic whether it comes from a pulpit, a committee table, a government office or a group of people talking over coffee.
People serving a community should remember that they serve the entire community, not merely the people who share their beliefs, politics, friendships or personal agendas.
Being elected doesn't mean your opinion matters more, and being appointed to a board doesn't mean the community suddenly works for you.
Public service isn't supposed to be about power. It's supposed to be about service.
I'm outspoken. I make some people uncomfortable. There are undoubtedly people who see my name attached to something and immediately roll their eyes.
And that's okay.
I dont need to be everyone's cup of tea.
But at least I don't spit in the pot to further my own agenda.
I'm not running for office. I'm not sitting on a publicly funded board. I'm not asking anyone to trust me with the responsibility of representing them. But when you accept that responsibility, the standard changes.
You represent Christians and atheists. Republicans and Democrats. Conservatives and liberals. Lifelong Dundee residents and newcomers. Business owners, families, senior citizens, and yes, even a bunch of women dressed like witches dancing in the middle of town.
Because they're all part of the community.
Community doesn't mean people like me.
It means all of us. So perhaps instead of becoming defensive whenever someone questions a decision, we should start asking a much more uncomfortable question:
Why do so many people feel like they aren't being heard?
This isn't about one church.
It isn't about one DDA member.
It isn't about one Village employee or one Farmers Market Manager.
And it certainly isn't about one pi**ed off business owner on Riley Street.
It's about a pattern.
A pattern that has continued long enough that we should stop dismissing each resignation, termination, conflict or departure as though it exists entirely independent of everything that came before it.
Healthy organizations examine patterns.
They ask why capable employees leave, why volunteers burn out., why business owners stop participating, why residents stop showing up.
Two years ago, I compared what was happening here to an oil spill. A small leak can become a disaster remarkably quickly, while cleaning up the damage can take years.
You can keep arguing about whether Dawn or Palmolive is cheaper, but meanwhile, the oil is still spreading.
The frustrating part is that Dundee has extraordinary people willing to volunteer, organize events, open businesses, serve on committees, raise money, feed people, create art and give countless hours trying to make this little town better. We shouldn't continually make participating in that community feel like a battle.
Perhaps the answer isn't figuring out how to silence the voice.
Perhaps it's finally listening to what it's saying.
Because if "this" is supposed to be the "Heart of Dundee," perhaps it's time we acknowledge that the heart is broken.
