by Leslee Kulba
Wild West blogger
Listening to Asheville leadership spend what seemed like an hour trying to get a developer to commit to providing for a greenway, with at least a 20’ easement, defined origins and insertions, a schedule for construction, etc. before the developer even knew how neighboring lots would cooperate, what terrain impediments may emerge, exactly what ADA requirements will be, etc., I flashed back to a lovelier place and time when I used to frolic the Southwest Coastal Path in Cornwall. There was a particular spot where patrons would have to climb rocks straight up, and somebody was kind enough to anchor some plastic fisherman’s rope with a knot to help. There was also a fork in the path that led those on the wrong path down a very narrow cliff. I took that fork twice. Another time, I lost the path and belly-flopped into a patch of brambles to get to the other side of an estuary. Oh, and there was the time bulls had me sitting frightened on a narrow triangle between their fence and a vertical drop to the sea. Due to tin mining, there were lots of sink holes. In one place, a warning sign was placed, American-style, in front of a sunken castle. And yes, there was that refreshing freak wave that caught me up against a cliff. Those were the days.