Past issues

Hey neighbor,

For what it's worth, last week, I talked to anyone that was willing to pick up the phone with one question in mind: In the next 10 years, how do you expect Northwest Missouri to change — and how do you hope it will?

Funny thing — nearly everybody started in the exact same place.

"Well, I would imagine there would be more data centers."

"I think the expectation is data centers... there's the economic ramifications of higher utilities from the influx of data centers."

One commenter on Facebook was blunter: "No data centers!" She's worried about the noise, the light, and what they do to the animals and the land around them: "I think we need more green and open spaces, not more things like large scale agriculture, data centers, parking lots, etc."

Truly, the fear is understandable. For anyone who thinks otherwise, consider Y2K hysteria and the freak-out that surrounded the rise of the internet back in the day—I presume, at least, there was a freak-out, but I was 5 years old at the time, and my biggest fear was broccoli and clowns.

But seriously, data centers are a controversial topic for a reason. On the one hand, the economic and environmental ramifications do exist for local communities. A quick Google search has this to say: “A single large hyperscale data center uses 1 million to 5 million gallons of water per day under peak or hot conditions (equivalent to the daily usage of a town of 10,000 to 50,000 people), while medium-sized facilities consume 300,000 to 500,000 gallons per day.” Imagine Andrew County doubling in size tomorrow with no significant investment in water and electricity infrastructure to support that growth.

On the other hand, half the country suggests that fear of data centers is a made-up hysteria, fueled by foreign influences that want to “keep America from winning the AI Race.” Here’s my concern with that train of thought: let’s say it’s true, that China and Russia are spending millions on a media campaign to persuade Americans on public policy; doesn’t that signal a massive issue in the corruptibility of the average American? And further, what does that say about the next decade of American life?

To make matters worse, low energy costs and availability of land in the Midwest make Northwest Missouri a prime target for data centers. We love living here because things cost less; corporations may love it for the same reasons.

However, not all was doom and gloom on the topic. One neighbor wasn't certain either way on if the trend was a net negative or potentially a positive: "I'm not sure. I'm really not sure. I think they need to be regulated... I can understand why people would not want to live next to the data center. I also think they're positives to it... there's not enough known yet." Her hope was that, the way wind and solar money did before them, they'd help pay for schools, because "public schools are in a terrible money crunch right now."

Are data centers the same sort of revenue dance-with-the-devil for local schools as windmills and solar? That’s above my pay grade, sadly.

The schools were actually her biggest worry of all — not the data centers. "I think private schools have become a huge problem. I think [specific local corporations] have done everything they can to destroy the public schools in Northwest Missouri. And I think they've bought politicians for it." The caller mentioned a specific local corporation by name but 1) I’m not an investigative journalist and 2) I’m not trying to get sued by that corporation. If you’re big enough to influence local and state policy, you’re big enough to launch a frivolous lawsuit against a small-town blogger. Can’t sink my ship this early in the game.

Though, the question remains an ethical one for me: should families be able to use their money to shape local schools to support better education for (mainly) families in their socioeconomic bracket? I have the same question about healthcare, infrastructure, and just about every facet of modern life. Personally, I believe money should be able to buy your family a better future; but it shouldn’t be able to rob someone else’s family to do so. A better tomorrow doesn’t need to be a zero-sum game.

Another caller expects the agricultural farms to keep folding into fewer hands: "we're seeing more and more of a consolidation of agriculture... I think I see a continued population decline in the rural areas as farms consolidate."

If you grew up in Andrew County or rural parts of Buchanan County, you’ve seen it—families that are able to pass their farms down to the next generation have become slimmer and slimmer. I won’t pretend to know why that trend is happening, though I do see it as a serious red flag, both for the average citizen and for rural communities more generally.

Then I asked what the caller hoped for, and the whole tone changed.

Bike trails, of all things: "I really hope we start to see more of a development of our infrastructure for hiking and biking." There's a possible MoDOT project that would connect Andrew County to Buchanan County along the old railroad tracks, and maybe someday, on into Iowa's trail network. "A bike trail's just kind of like an adult playground... It promotes physical activity. So that's a great thing for our community."

Now, some naysayers might point out that perhaps bike trails and parks are not Northwest Missouri’s number one priority; perhaps there’s a degree of truth to that. But imagine this: you and your family are struggling to make ends meet and you’re constantly working to keep up your family’s quality of life. One of your children suggests “We should go play outside more!” You might think you’re right to say “Sorry child, we don’t have time for fun activities like that.” But you’d be wrong. Even in the midst of those struggling moments in life, you have to take time to enjoy life. Few families move to Northwest Missouri just to survive; they choose this region because they want to enjoy the community as much as possible while they continue building their lives. Bike trails may seem like a silly priority; but I say, they’re the icing on the cake.

Under one Facebook post I made: "It need more shops for More tourism." "More shops would be great. Continued sports dominance!!!!!" "Hopefully, more ethnic diversity. And more tolerance of differences." And one hope for more young families having their kids here, with grandparents moving close enough to spoil them.

The first caller landed on the simplest hope of all. As Kansas City grows, "people do like to move to smaller communities... I would hope that the population would increase."

I keep coming back to the dairy that closed up in Andrew County — the last one, far as I know. That kind of change doesn't announce itself. It just quietly becomes the way things are now. The data centers will announce themselves, all right. What struck me is that nobody's hope list had them on it. The hopes were trails and shops and strong schools and grandkids close by. Small things. Local things. Maybe that's the real answer to the question — the next ten years will bring whatever they bring, and the part we actually get a say in is whether the small things survive it.

Next week’s question follows from that sentiment:

If Northwest Missouri didn’t have [blank], my family wouldn’t want to live here?

New callers every week. If you know who I should talk to, have a question I should ask, or want to answer one yourself, let me know. Share this with anyone who might enjoy it — and if someone forwarded it to you, sign up at fwiwletter.com. You know the drill—call (816.667.6247), text, email, carrier pigeon, whatever it takes, let me know your answer.

Until next week, stay busy.

Hey neighbor,

For what it's worth, I spent this week calling folks around Northwest Missouri and asking them all the same question: "How has Northwest Missouri changed since you were young?"

Confession: it was a thin week on the phones. A pile of voicemails, one polite no-thank-you (no hard feelings — I mean that), and a handful of neighbors who really sat with the question. Here's what I'm learning, though: a few honest answers beat twenty polite ones. So, in full anonymity, here's what I heard.

The first thing that came up was Savannah’s Main Street, or as Jason Sarsany affectionately calls “the Andrew County financial district.” One neighbor told me the biggest change is the loss of small businesses — when she was young, downtown was thriving, and now “it's mostly empty.” "That's sad," she said. Now, there’s a debate to be had here: to be fair, I’m a 30-something year old and I don’t have a wealth of historical knowledge on the Square’s business landscape. So, there likely has been an ebb and flow of facades and logos around the Square over the last 50 years.

In fact, The Savannah Reporter logo was proudly one of those at 427 W. Main for a number of years. Driving around the Square today, I can say without question, the Square is more alive than I remember in the past decade (thanks largely in part to one of my friends Jacob Cliff and the work he’s been doing to restore some of the oldest buildings around the Courthouse).

And here’s the thing: the Savannah Square is like the metaphor of the blindfolded people touching an elephant. The person at its trunk might say “I know, it’s a lightpole!” The person grabbing its ears might say “No, I think it’s a kite.” The person at its tail might say “No no, it’s definitely a broom.”

The point is this—multiple perspectives can be true (and false) at the same time.

Then the schools — multiple conversations landed here, which tells you something. One neighbor talked about consolidation: fewer schools, bigger districts, and something you can't quite name slipping away in the trade. The other told me about the new school going up while the old high school — his high school, library and all — came down. "That was kind of a shock," he said.

I feel that one. There's a particular ache in watching them tear down the building where you figured out who you were going to be. New schools are nice. Better HVAC, fewer asbestos tiles. But nobody ever drove past a new school and felt seventeen again.

I was in seventh grade when the old Savannah Middle School was torn down and the new Middle School was built. In fact, kudos to my dad — he was one of the school board members who helped with the final push to get the new building off the ground. There’s something to be said about the notion of progress—graduating eighth grade from a new facility was incredible, we had all the fanciest technology, classrooms were sized perfectly, and there was an air of “future” in the hallways. But, the smell of new is very different than the smell of yesterday; that dusty, old leather nostalgia creates a flood of memories. There’s no true antonym for “nostalgic” because the future is unknown; but the past has a gorgeous glow of “remember how perfect those days were?” Now, of course, having facilities that provide the capacity and functionality for future generations is mission critical to having a better future. But, who wouldn’t sacrifice one day of their 30s to have one more day at age 16?

That same neighbor told me he misses The Reporter being locally run — said the paper "ain't nothing like what it used to be." My dad and I ran that paper for years, and hearing it from a past reader on the phone hits different from reading it as a comment on social media. But he's right. A local paper is the thread stitching the county together. When the thread grows thin, you feel the holes. I won’t spend too much time reminiscing about The Reporter’s yesteryear, at least, not in this letter.

And then — my favorite detail of the week — he told me the Thursday senior bowling league at Savage Lanes is short on bowlers. I told him if he ever wants to own a bowling alley, I know one that's for sale. Belt Entertainment, formerly Belt Bowl, formerly the only bowling alley left in St. Joe; could be yours, for the low, low price…! (Realtor habit. I can't help it.) Still, somebody out there needs a fourth for senior bowling on Thursday afternoons, and honestly, that's the whole column right there. Towns change, schools come down, papers get sold — and somebody still needs a fourth for bowling.

For what it's worth, that's the thing about change nobody warns you about. It's never one big dramatic moment. It's storefronts going dark one by one. It's your school becoming a parking lot. It's the paper not feeling like yours anymore. Small changes, stacked over years, until one day you look around and the place is different — and so are you, because you were there for all of it.

So here's next week's question, the one I'll be out asking all week:

How do you expect Northwest Missouri to change in the next 30 years — and how do you hope it will?

New callers every week. If you know who I should talk to, have a question I should ask, or want to answer one yourself, let me know. Share this with anyone who might enjoy it — and if someone forwarded it to you, sign up at fwiwletter.com.

Missed this morning's Facebook Live? Catch the replay here: https://www.facebook.com/share/v/1JMYjCkH9E/

Until next week, stay busy.

Hey neighbor,

For what it's worth, this week's question was a deliberate about-face. Last week I asked what was wrong with Andrew County, and folks told me — at length. From my time with The Savannah Reporter, I know all too well that people can talk for hours about where our community has gone awry. Personally, I see that as a positive: if you took your car to a mechanic and they said "Look at how great your car is! The engine, the upholstery, the…" — puffery gains little compared to honest criticism.

I went to the dentist recently and the doctor told me I had excellent teeth, even poking some fun at me for coming in. Flattered, don't get me wrong. Part of me wonders, though — if the dentist had said "Actually, these three things are wrong and here's what you can do about them" — whether I would have left in better spirits. Also, though, I've been told I can be too critical.

In the spirit of optimism, and at the behest of more than one reader, I decided to flip the question: "If you wanted to encourage a friend to move to Andrew County, what would you say to convince them?"

I won't lie, there's a comedy in a real estate agent calling people up and asking them to pitch the community for him. "Isn't that your job?" A couple folks laughed at the question, but then they answered, and the answers kept landing in the same place.

The first word out of three different mouths was crime — or the lack of it. "Probably the low crime rate," said one neighbor, and two others said it their own way. When three people who don't know each other give you the same answer unprompted, that's not a talking point. That may just be true.

But low crime doesn't mean no crime. Working at The Reporter, I was exposed to a new criminal activity each week. On the one hand, I think Andrew and Buchanan counties have a knack for creating the dumbest of criminals. The man who attempted to evade custody at the courthouse by jumping out of a second-story window — then getting stuck on the descent? I can't tell if that's stupidity or just a guardian angel giving someone a second chance.

By and large, though, the data suggests the readers were right: the violent crime rate in Andrew County is 11.5 per 1,000 residents, compared with the U.S. average of 22.7; the property crime rate in Andrew County is 19.7 per 1,000 residents, compared to the national average of 35.4.

I dare not look up the crime rate in St. Joseph. Maybe it's not as bad as it seems, but maybe it's worse. However, I digress.

Then came the land itself. "A good way to get away from the city. Good rural lifestyle." "Beautiful country." As I say of many rural areas: "It's God's country out here." One neighbor put it in dollars and cents: it's cheap to live here. That may be true in some aspects, but real estate in Andrew County is another story. The median home value in the county is $300,000.

Another neighbor, talking about his town, kept coming back to the people — "the people... the overall country living." And one neighbor, writing in on Facebook, didn't talk about land or money at all: "Homecoming parade!!! Energy, vitality and friendliness. Great library!!!" Three exclamation marks on the parade, three on the library. You can't fake that kind of enthusiasm. And I couldn't agree more. Some of my best memories growing up in Savannah are of the community events. Participating each year in the Savannah Homecoming Parade was one of my favorite experiences — and not just because of the Friday early out from school. Check out my Facebook and you'll see multiple years of a shaggy brown-haired boy, proudly playing trombone with the Savannah Marching Savages, candy flying in the background. Please don't judge me for puffing my cheeks (I'm sorry, Mrs. Prather, I don't think I ever learned my way out of the habit).

Somebody else told me it's "a wonderful place... a lot of open space. People are very friendly, and it is a wonderful place to live" — and to raise children. I'll admit that one got me. Nicole and I are raising our own brand-new baby boy here, and "wonderful place to raise children" is the whole ballgame, isn't it?

One neighbor spoke from his home in St. Joseph, and frankly, I think I need an entire letter (or book) to talk about the woes and delights of Joetown. The neighbor's main concerns were waning infrastructure and a general concern over misuse of public dollars. He even gave a chilling warning: in the next few decades, the sewer system of St. Joseph will create a catastrophe. His claim is that the outdated sewer system has been in disrepair for far too long, and waiting so long to fix the problem means, by the time we are ready to fix it, it'll have created a massive (disgusting) issue for the community.

Again, though, that's me leaning into my critical side. While St. Joseph has its problems, I personally believe every negative can be thought of as an opportunity. As my St. Joe neighbor dreamed it up, he pointed out that the community has hundreds of historic buildings, many of which are abandoned, and that we also have shocking numbers of unhoused community members. Some towns have taken those two situations and combined them into a unique opportunity: fix up some of the larger abandoned buildings, create shelters for the unhoused at the top and support services down below.

Of course, this is only one fantastical idea, but the issues in a town can also be the place where we find opportunities. I remember an old slogan for Joetown: "the city worthwhile." I get chills each time I think of that. Is it the best city in America? Probably not. Is it worth saving? Every city can find salvation, if enough of its residents believe in that future.

And so, I've gone from the critic to the philosopher, a man of many hats. Journalist, realtor, father, waiter — we, like our communities, are all multifaceted. Diamonds don't shine because they're perfect — their shine comes from tiny imperfections; they just have to catch the light.

Last week, people told me what's broken — the newspaper they miss, the roads, the schools, the things that keep them up at night. This week, the same county, the same people, and they told me what's worth staying for. Both things are true at the same time. That's the part I keep turning over. You can love a place and still want better for it. In fact, maybe that's the only way this works. Love is not the absence of hate; they're two sides of the same coin.

So here's next week's question, the one I'll be out asking all week:

How has your community changed since you were young?

If you know who I should talk to next, or you've got a question I should be asking down the road, let me know. And feel free to share this with anyone who might be interested.

Until next week, stay busy.

Hey neighbor,

For what it's worth, I spoke with a dozen Andrew County residents this week, asking each of them the same question: "What is the biggest issue facing Andrew County today?"

I wasn't sure what I was going to get — my wife Nicole and I are new real estate agents, so we're used to people hearing our occupation and immediately becoming uncomfortable. However, of the 20 numbers I dialed, many picked up, a few called back, and everyone I spoke with was very interested in sharing their thoughts, even knowing full well what I do for a living. I was the editor of The Savannah Reporter for half a decade, so people know me as "the blue-haired Rosenauer kid" (no blue hair nowadays), and I was optimistic that some calls would be positive. I wasn't ready for how many locals would want to talk, some of them rather personally. After the first week, I'm realizing that our community is desperate to be heard — I only hope I can truly listen.

You didn't come here to read my rambling, so without further ado (and in full anonymity), here's what our neighbors said:

The first thing I heard was something I expected, but still wasn't ready for. People miss The Savannah Reporter newspaper the way it “used to be.” Five different conversations came back to the same thing: people feel like they lost a piece of county life. "Without The Reporter doing what it’s supposed to, we don't have much coverage of Andrew County anymore." They talked about school events, homecoming pictures, court news, investigations — the little things that told people what was happening around them, as well as the bigger stories that might've helped move the dial. One woman told me, "I get more off Facebook than I do from The Savannah Reporter." Another picked one up out of habit and came away wondering, "I'm thinking, why did I buy it?" Another told me she won't pay for it at all: "I refuse to pay for it because there's nothing in it." Another said she wishes someone would buy the paper and bring that community connection back. As a former owner with my dad Ken, I can tell you firsthand that the work to make a print newspaper happen is astounding, often thankless, but wildly rewarding — though this formerly blue-haired kid has no interest in owning a print newspaper ever again.

Then the conversation moved to something that has been around as long as the government has existed: the money to fund the government. One neighbor said the biggest problem isn't wanting better roads, schools, or services — it's whether people are willing to pay for them. "I'm as Republican as they come. But I vote yes on pretty much any tax because I believe that's how we pay for the fancy things we get." His point was simple: "The money's got to come from somewhere." Growing up in Savannah, I always considered myself in the same political vein as my grandma: an old-school Democrat, the kind who supported laborers and farmers but was down-to-earth about what they expected from the government. It's easy to forget that local Republicans and Democrats don't have to be anything like the larger, national parties.

Another neighbor took a more practical view: county roads "can always be better, but they've been worse." Then came another answer: "lack of motivation." That neighbor pointed to things around the county that feel neglected — overgrown areas, aging buildings, and roads that need attention. "You don't have to go anywhere other than down the poorly maintained road we have out here on 427 to see that it looks terrible."

The schools came up too. One neighbor who has spent time working in schools said she worries about student behavior and whether there are enough consequences. Her concern came down to one sentence: "there have to be repercussions."

"They're going to be taking care of me someday."

As the father of a brand-new baby boy, I appreciate the role I have in raising children with both discipline and love; though admittedly, I should probably take a class on both.

But that same neighbor also wanted to recognize something positive — the people who helped make the Andrew County Aquatics Initiative happen. "worked their butts off." "Sheer dedication and heart." I couldn't agree more — you'd have to have lived under a dump truck of rocks if you didn't see the incredible fundraising efforts behind the ACAI. But not everyone embraced the ACAI with open arms — a story for a different day.

One neighbor had an immediate answer when I asked the question: data centers. She said the threat of AI data centers has been "heavy on my heart" — she believes they could have "detrimental effects" on water, land, and crops, and she says developers are already circling nearby counties, and looking at Andrew County too. Another neighbor said they're watching the fight in nearby counties and worry it's coming here. No matter your opinion on data centers, surely we can all agree — the literal land under our feet here in Andrew County is special: it's where we build our homes, our schools, our livelihoods. A corporation from outside our community will likely never have the same respect for where we live; I can only hope our government officials are careful who they open the gates for.

Public safety came up from two different directions. One neighbor remembered questions around the fire department and insurance rates and said they'd like to better understand what happened. I had thought he was referring to a change in the Savannah ISO fire rating from a few years back; as it turns out, that ISO rating for insurance has changed once again. I won't pretend I know a dang thing about insurance, so if you want to learn more, call your local provider. Another worried about future funding for current maintenance and new projects: "At what cost? Because at some point you're always robbing Peter to pay Paul." But he was hopeful about one new revenue source — wind and solar development, pointing to nearby communities where turbines have brought new money to local school and fire districts. It's a tricky balance, data centers versus clean-energy sources; I'm glad I'm a real estate agent, not one of the folks deciding the future of our community for decades to come. Lord, bless the local government officials, for they too are only human.

Not everyone saw a county in trouble. Some people simply said they like living here. "Small-town warmth... good place to be and good people," said one caller who flat-out refused to answer the question of "issues in the county."

And truthfully, I may have made a mistake in making the very first question of the adventure so focused on the negative. Of course — who doesn't want to vent about all the bad they see around them? I, too, fall victim to that storm of negativity. You don't begin a career in journalism because you want to shed light on all the perfect, beautiful parts of a community.

However, in that very spirit of hopeful optimism comes our question for next week:

If you wanted to encourage a friend to move to Andrew County, what would you say to convince them?

New callers every week, so if you know who I should talk to next, have a recommendation for next week's question, or want to answer this new question, let me know! Feel free to share this newsletter with anyone who might be interested.

Until next week, stay busy.