On the second Tuesday in March, all politics really is local

Congress is a mess. All eyes in Washington are on the next election. A favorite phrase is "what the American people want." I talk back to the TV: "You have no idea what I want. Your world is miles apart from mine, in every way."

The state is a mess. Legislators struggle to balance the budget. The governor whacks away at the poor and runs for president. Counties and cities are struggling, too.

But tonight, it's time for my favorite level of government to step front and center for a few hours. It's the second Tuesday in March, when Minnesota townships hold their annual meetings and, for most, township elections. And Russ and Matt and Ed, our township supervisors, know exactly what I want, because I go to the annual meeting and tell them. Township government is downright refreshing.

Of course, we can go to any monthly town board meeting, but the annual meeting is the one mandated by law. And besides, they always have coffee and cookies.

I didn't know a thing about townships when we moved north nearly 20 years ago. Once in a while, on a country road, we'd drive by a town hall, a simple white building with the name of the township over the door. Close to election time, there's a notice on the door, showing what the ballot will look like. Nice. Quaint, even.

But townships are vitally important to those of us who live in one. The Minnesota Association of Townships, which represents 1,785 of Minnesota's 1,786 organized townships, works with nearly 9,000 elected township officers. The association represents townships at the Legislature and helps in the struggle with "unfunded mandates," which are orders that come from on high with no dollars attached.

Even if you don't vote in a town hall, as we do, you may well own property in a Minnesota township. And it's a good idea to keep an eye on what the township does, particularly in planning and zoning. In our township, a zoning ordinance was defeated that left the door open for anybody to set up a dog kennel or hog farm or gravel pit next door. In our case, we were able to buy more land to protect us from such encroachments. But the safest thing is to have the town board take things in hand, through ordinances.

I'm looking forward to tonight's meeting. While we have 1,062 registered voters in Grant Valley Township, only about 30 people will show up. We'll elect Tom the moderator of the meeting. Angie, the clerk, will read the minutes of the last annual meeting. Every word.(I'm tempted to make a motion that we dispense with the reading of the minutes, but that's not The Way Things Are Done here.) Then each supervisor reports on his area of responsibility.

Roads and bridges are the main work of the township, and our supervisors (and some of the citizens) know every inch of the township roads. They can tell you which ones need to be widened and which curves evened out. We learn that it'll take years of saving from the township's meager property tax appropriation to tackle a big project. But we'll get there. And it's important that we make sure we have enough in the proposed levy for transportation so that our township can receive its Town Road Allocations from the state.

Sometimes the supervisors' reports provoke lengthy discussions, about dogs or fire protection or road grading. We break for coffee before tackling the budget, which is written out on a white board at the front of the room.

We're proud of our up-to-date town hall, built some years ago. The old one was barely big enough for the supervisors to meet and the elections to be held. It was heated by a wood stove, with no running water, and the dear old building, while sentimental to some, became downright impractical.

Every item in the budget is carefully explained. But I have my eye on the category "Other," because it is here that I will make my move.

"Other" involves contributions to nonprofit organizations that seek support of social, health or recreational purposes to the benefit of the town's residents. Our township requires that a representative of the nonprofit be present to plead its case, so many are dismissed out of hand. In a good year, we have $1,500 to split up.

John gets up first and asks for $1,000 for the First Responders. Now, we all want them to be there when we need them -- before the ambulance can get out from town -- so John always gets the money.

My husband gets up and reads the letter from the senior center, outlining its services. I get up and make my pitch for the public library in town. Our fellow citizens are mildly amused by this familial rivalry. But there is always a secret ballot, and often one or two citizens vote against my cause. I wonder about that. I do not bear grudges, but might, if I knew who voted that way.

Eventually, we approve the budget. It's usually on toward 11 p.m. when Tom gavels the meeting to its close. We go out into the cold night, snow still on the ground, the stars and moon shining above, and we know that democracy in the township is safe for another year.

Now, if only we could make it work so well for the country.

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Marilyn Heltzer is a writer and blogger in rural Beltrami County.