Seneca Army Depot for Sale: What of the White Deer?

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Editor's Notes: When we see the words "developable acres" we cringe. A housing development on this site would destroy a prime stretch of Seneca Lake real estate and raises questions about re-use, wildlife protection and general environmental issues. Remember: Nuclear materials were stored here. The following is taken from a direct email to The Admin, from news@meltwaterpress.com via dynect.net

 

 

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

FOR SALE: Former Seneca Army Depot

Approximately 7,000 developable acres in the heart of Upstate New York's Finger Lakes is for sale

WATERLOO, N.Y., Dec. 10, 2015 - The Seneca County Industrial Development Agency (IDA) today approved the formal Invitation for Bids for prospective buyers of the approximately 7,000-acre former Seneca Army Depot, a former World War II ordnance depot located between Seneca Lake and Cayuga Lake in the heart of the Finger Lakes region of Upstate New York.

The Depot – which is believed to be one of the largest developable sites in the Northeastern United States - includes approximately 3,000 acres located in the town of Varick and approximately 4,000 acres are in Romulus, both within Seneca County.

The property includes numerous buildings, roads, and a section of railroad track. Among the buildings are 459 igloos that once served as storage facilities for armaments during World War II and throughout the Cold War era. Potential future uses of the Depot property include but are in no way limited to agribusiness, manufacturing, warehouse and distribution, data storage, conservation, and many others.

More details about the site, including additional infrastructure and utility information, can be found online at www.senecaarmydepotreuse.com.

“We recognize that the former Seneca Army Depot has the potential to be a true asset to the community,“ said IDA Executive Director Bob Aronson. “By selling it, the County will benefit from an increased tax base and the resulting economic activity.”

An informational meeting and driving tour of the Depot for prospective buyers only will take place at 10 a.m. on Tuesday, Dec. 15, at the Romulus Fire Hall, 2010 Cayuga St., in the town of Romulus, Seneca County. Buyers who are interested in attending the meeting must RSVP in advance by phone or email at (315) 539-1725 or k.kline@senecacountyida.org.

As part of the Dec. 15 meeting, IDA officials will provide more details to buyers regarding the formal Invitation for Bids.

“The IDA wants to see this land repurposed in a way that will bring value to the County,” Aronson said. “We will consider every proposal with the hope that the selected buyer or buyers will revitalize this unique piece of property.”

The tentative deadline for submission of bids is Monday, Feb. 29, 2016. Additional information about the bid process can be found online at www.senecacountyida.org. Depot property details can be found online at www.senecaarmydepotreuse.com.

To request a copy of the Invitation for Bids, please contact Kelly Kline at (315) 539-1725 or k.kline@senecacountyida.org.

For additional information contact

Megan Connor Murphy

Martino Flynn

585-641-4530 direct

mmurphy@martinoflynn.com

 

 

Tiny Town Teaser No. 17, Vol. 7

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Across

1. With 5 across, holiday quaff
4. Ending with pay or cray
5. See 1 Across
Down

1. Ages
2. Day-__
3. Joke
>>><<<
Degree of Difficulty: Doing this with the holiday spins
>>><<<
Detail from the Tree of Life Mosaic on First Street in Tiny Town, now availabe as a card. Contact The Admin: franklincrawford@gmail.com

Last Updated on Thursday, 31 December 2015 14:54
 

Donald Trump is a Terrorist Recruitment Stoolie: Arrest him for treason

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TINY TOWN TIMES SPECIAL ANNOUNCEMENT: TRUMPTY DUMPTY ABOUT TO HAVE A GREAT FALL

 

Dim lights Embed Embed this video on your site

Last Updated on Wednesday, 09 December 2015 11:45
 

Tuesday is Poetry Day at Tiny Town Times and This Week We Got Two Greats

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Editor's Note: We have renewed Tuesday as our day to highlight poetry of our local bard, be among us or ex-pats in foreign lands like Texas. Today we feature local author and poet Jonathan Frankel, and, our man Eric Little, esq., fighting the good fight in the hostile Texas territories. We thank these princely wordsmiths for sharing their works with us. Enjoy!

 

Late November Light

The late November light is strong

It transfuses the empty arms of trees

And radiates the wooded land along

The shelves of shale crumbling free

Falling in a rush of silver drops

To the gorge below where everything stops.

Darkened by the shade, a frozen spring

In a caul of ice, enfolds the rock. Ice manacles

The fallen limbs with a shining ring.

Then the smoky violet panicles

Of grass shift in the sparrowed weeds

As Ophelia whispers of willows and reeds.

Jonathan Frankel

 

 

Seven Year Frost

If you ask me

all Americans

are part gypsy,

for somewhere in our family trees

some packer, mover, dodger

stuffed some sacks and bailed across the sea.

So with our brood.

And itching through three households

up I grew.

Call it the drink,

or call it jobs, the Irish gypsy

blood ran through our limbs,

as town to city,

friend to neighbor,

church to ashram,

splintering toward the sun

we each stretched on

reaching for our designated blooms.

In the seventh year of my journey

a march snow cloaked our backyard cherry tree

then melted to unprecedented spring.

That May its branches shone

with blackest foil, its blossoms

held a sunset, every one.

And then the cherries came,

gorged, dappled, firm,

and none contained a worm.

As I recall, for that one Spring,

we simply lived, as though for once

we didn’t run from anything.

The cherries weighed the branches down

as ripening they drank the sun

while inside we supped for once as one.

Then, as luck would have it, some

nocturnal pressure system heaved a frost

from Nova Scotia down the coast.

The morning after, I emerged

and through my hoary breath researched

each shrinking bruise beneath the diamond wool.

Not one of our sour hearts escaped

that scourge of age unseasonal.

Dark-charmed, the wind had blown us down again.

For my father, disappointment is taboo,

so all that day he plucked them from the snow,

squeezed the pits and jarred the flesh in rum.

And when, next Christmas-time, now numb

to the elegy of heaven green-red-gold,

we sucked that harvest down with alcohol.

Eric Little

 


Last Updated on Tuesday, 08 December 2015 10:03
 


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