Update - Who says the 'burbs are boring???

An article in the local paper last week suggested that the grow-op drama in our neighbourhood was almost over:

Woman gets conditional sentence in grow-op case

KITCHENER — A Kitchener woman received a lighter than normal sentence Wednesday for producing marijuana because she was controlled by her husband who was felt to be the driving force behind the illegal business.

Susanna Davis, 35, pleaded guilty in May to producing marijuana and possessing the drug for the purpose of trafficking.

She was given a four-month conditional sentence Wednesday in Kitchener’s Ontario Court.

She and her husband, Andrew Davis, had 221 plants at their ------ Street home in Kitchener, which police discovered when they raided the home in June 2010.

There was also harvested marijuana, cash and related paraphernalia.

Andrew Davis also owned a home on Westvale Drive in Waterloo where police found a second grow operation after receiving an anonymous tip.

He was given the equivalent of an 18-month jail sentence in May.

Federal prosecutor Bob Johnston agreed to a much more lenient sentence for his wife.

“Her sentence is at the lowest end on any case I’ve dealt with,’’ considering the scope of the operation, Johnston said.

“It was apparent who the driving force behind the scheme was.’’

Justice Michael Epstein noted Susanna Davis left home at an early age to live with Andrew Davis, a controlling man addicted to drugs.

She tried to dissuade him from growing marijuana, but became a reluctant participant when he refused.

While under house arrest for four months, she will have a curfew from 6 p.m. to 6 a.m.

“I deeply regret what I’ve done and ... hurting all the people around me,’’ she said.

dwood@therecord.com

 

One of the unfortunate things about how long the system takes is what happens to the property. Raided a year ago, the house has been sitting with no heat, no hydro, no air conditioning, and all windows closed for over a year. With the freezing temperatures this past winter and the heat and humidity this summer, there seems little hope that anything other than the bare bones will be salvageable in that house. Now that sentencing has happened, perhaps the house will get the attention it needs. But the City of Kitchener owns an estimated 80 ex-grow houses, so it might be a long wait.

Neighbourhood gossip would have us believe that there's another grow-op, behind and a few houses up from us. I don't know if it's true - it seems almost impossible that someone would be stupid enough to start another grow-up a stone's throw from another - but if it is, I'd bet that the same neighbours that called the police the first time will do the same thing again. I won't be sorry to be gone when that goes down - once in a lifetime was enough.

Goodbye Kitchener, Bonjour Paris (Ontario)

Once upon a time, when I was poor and single, I lived in Cambridge a little old house with a huge yard. My backyard was a gardener's dream - an English woodland garden oasis in the city. My little old house was a good little old house, but it was a crumbly little old house. On really windy days, bits of it would blow away - a shingle here and there, a chunk of fascia, a hunk of soffit - you get the idea. It was a sturdy house, but in need of some love and attention.

At that time, I was also pretty depressed. Not because I was single - single life has its benefits, and over my decade of single living I settled into spinsterhood quite nicely - but because it's something I live with, and it has its peaks and valleys. I deal with depression by cocooning and hiding from life. Small tasks appear large. Moderate tasks insurmountable. Big tasks - well, big tasks made me stick my head in the sand. So the house got more run down. The garden got more overgrown. I would look at the list of things to do, go out and purchase the necessary tools, then come home and have a nap.

After almost a decade in that house, I met my future wife, and we started house shopping. When I was growing up, I always envisioned myself living in a big brick Victorian, but the reality of my crumbly wee cottage knocked that out of me. So we went with the other extreme - a brand-new, fully loaded model home in a new subdivision. At first, it seemed like paradise. Nail pop? Call the builder. Crack in the porch? Call the builder. Faucet in my luxury soaker tub too short? Call the builder. I didn't have to worry about anything blowing away in the wind, or leaks in the basement, or the unexpected expenses an old house can bring.
 
Earlier this year, I was sitting in my postage-stamp backyard, planting my tiny veggie & herb garden, enjoying the singing of the robins and the red-winged blackbirds, when Stereo Wars began once again. In one corner, we had Cuban salsa, and in the other, Indian techno-pop. Now I don't mind either of those things, but together they make hideous disharmony. Grinding my teeth, I went back into the house and logged onto MLS.

Since that fateful afternoon, our wonderful realtor found us the perfect house in Paris, and we have sold our current home. When I was leaving my wee cottage, even though it drove me crazy, I felt (and very occasionally, still feel) nostalgia and the occasional twinge of sadness . I've felt no such things - yet, anyways - about our current home. From the guys behind and two houses up who were drinking beer and making fun of my laundry on the line, to the fact that there probably is yet another grow-op in the neighbourhood, nothing has made me sad. Our house is beautiful, but never really felt that much like MY home.

So in a couple of months, we're off to Paris to try small town living on for size. The house is still a newish one - 12 years old - but it has a beautiful lot and a much cozier feel that felt like home as soon as I walked into it. It was built by a smaller, local builder who lives within walking distance from our new house, not a huge faceless bulk builder. I can't wait to get my hands on the garden, to put up pictures and unpack books, to pick paint colours, and to enjoy the peace and quiet with my wife and our cats.

And if the stereo wars travel to Paris, well, there's always Greenland.

Who says the 'burbs are boring??

Two years ago, my partner and I bought a house in a new subdivision. We're on the edge of the subdivision, with a nice view of lots green space, and a fabulous, quiet neighbourhood with wonderful people.

Mostly.

Nothing brings neighbours together like a crisis. Last year, everyone in the neighbourhood gathered outside to watch a major house fire behind us. We had already befriended some of the neighbours, but we met many more that night as we watched the flames and the firefighters at work. Tonight brought a different kind of excitement, and some new friendships.

Back in November, we got some new neighbours. Despite having lived near them for six months, I wouldn't know them if I fell over them - they snuck in and out of the house via the garage and never did anything outside (they hired a landscape company to mow, and someone else to handle the ice and snow). We never knew their names, they rarely put out garbage, and outside of a brief conversation in the winter about parking, we never exchanged even a hello. Once winter passed, we started to notice strong skunky smells emanating from the house, and we realised we were living next to a grow op.

Personally, I believe that marijuana should be legalized. But with the effect that grow ops have on property values and the element that a highly organized operation can attract, not even a strong supporter would want a large-scale grow op in the neighbourhood. The neighbours all talked; we knew it was just a matter of time before the bust happened. And tonight it did. I was on the phone with my mom, and while we were chatting I heard a lot of yelling and crashing around. I assumed it was some overenthusiastic footie fans celebrating or commiserating with a little too much alcohol. It wasn't until I got a text from a neighbour that I knew what was going on.

By the time I got outside, the neighbours had already been arrested and taken away. The yelling was more along the lines of "Police! Search warrant! Open up" and "Get some clothes on". The owner's parents came to pick up the old dog - honestly, I was more worried about the old dog than anything else - and once they were gone, the cops got to work. It was interesting to watch all the equipment being pulled out of the house - giant carbon air filters, countless lights, fans, and humidifiers, and armloads of weed - and the police were great about answering our questions.

I have to admit that I'm grateful that this is over. Now we wait to see if our neighbours come back; many of these houses end up in foreclosure and the owners never return. I suspect that if they do come back that they'll be just as scarce as before, but with their income gone, they probably won't be there for long.


I'm the first to complain about rubberneckers on the highway, holding up traffic when there's an accident. I guess I'm no better. But it's impossible to tear yourself away from an event like this in one's neighbourhood, whether it's a fire, a drug bust, or something else. And I can't help but wonder what the next crisis will be. One thing I do know - we'll all be out there rubbernecking again.