For the time being, your city can ban marijuana shops, just as it can ban other things that annoy its citizens and give its regulators palpitations. It can even ban things state law specifically accommodates and licenses, as long as it’s not a head-to-head conflict or the Legislature didn’t say shut up and take it. City-by-city NIMBYism gets a pass.
They blocked the tracks in Everett Tuesday. Protestors, highly trained, erected an 18-foot teepee over the rails while compatriots cheered from a nearby overpass, the Everett Herald reported. A woman in a yellow parka and green hardhat, identified on Facebook as Abby Brockway, a “high flying climate activist” from Seattle, sat at the tippy top of the teepee, holding a pair of illegible signs and trailing a banner that said “Cut Oil Trains Not Conductors.” She raised a mandatory clenched fist. Others sat in folding chairs on a crossing or ...
It is an investment. Conservation of precious land in its natural state, construction of trails and parks for recreation or access, preservation of wildlife habitat or farmland — they fit the definition. They all involve the commitment of funds with expectation of a return. Call it a profit if you like.
A federal judge in Seattle has ruled that the process of electing the city council of Yakima violates the Voting Rights Act by its design — making it nearly impossible for a Latino candidate to win an election and a seat. The non-Latino majority “suffocates” the Latino minority, Judge Thomas O. Rice ruled. There are differences, but Wenatchee’s circumstance has striking parallels. It is time to take heed, before change is forced, and lay the groundwork for a truly representative electoral system.
As schools get going, it’s interesting to note when high schools start make a difference in student learning. Circadian rhythms are the reason, pushing teenagers to sleep later and stay up later at night.
This kind of news is really too boring to be scary. Here come the government accountants with a lot of charts and projections showing what might happen in 2024 if we are dumb enough to stay a dumb as we are today. Oh boy. Hit the lights.
When the Great Northern Railway opened its big tunnel through Stevens Pass in 1929, it electrified the whole line from Wenatchee to Skykomish. The Appleyard in south Wenatchee became the maintenance center for the electrics, and Joe Gaynor became head of it.
If milfoil grew on dry ground the way it grows under water we likely would blast it with any herbicide even close to safe. Imagine, wide swaths of open land rendered unusable and impassable to people or their vehicles by a tall-growing plant, a noxious weed so prolific it reproduces wherever bits and pieces hit the ground. That is happening in our rivers and lakes.
On Wednesday this page published a plea from Wenatchee’s Anne S. White to name the interchange at the junction of Highways 97 and 2, commonly known as the Big Y, for the late Department of Transportation Regional Administrator Don Senn. It was inspiring. What better way to honor such an exemplary public servant than to place his name on a well-functioning piece of civil engineering art like the Peshastin interchange?
“When something like this happens, the local authorities, including the police, have a responsibility to be open and transparent about how they are investigating that death and how they are protecting the people in their communities,” said President Obama in his reaction to the tragic mess in Ferguson, Mo. Open and transparent — Obama gave a calm and measured response, but he was absolutely right. If only the police in Ferguson had chosen honesty and openness instead of secrecy and selectivity, things might have been different.
I’ll be honest. I was trying to find a good excuse to mention, with all possible subtlety, that the fourth annual North Central Washington Wine Awards is coming this very Saturday to Town Toyota Center, and if you have even a passing interest in wine or food this event is not to be missed.
I could see my father’s face, ordering me to spend my summer at the high school, in typing class. I was a mere 14 years old, so this was the functional equivalent of a prison sentence. An entire summer would be wasted as the quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog and all good men came to the aid of their country. “Learn to type, son, and you’ll always have a job,” he snorted. He thought this was really important, and he was right — I learned to type ...
It was dusk on this beautiful Fourth of July. I set off from Leavenworth for home before 10 p.m., expecting a peaceful drive down the Wenatchee Valley. Somewhere near Peshastin I heard an explosion, and then another. There were bright flashes, ahead, behind, port and starboard. Across the river rockets streaked skyward, as if someone had given the command to open fire. There was plenty of red glare, bombs bursting in air. The long American tradition of celebrating freedom by blowing things up was at full roar.