Take me back to the 1970s and early ’80s.
I was just a kid in grade school. Both of my parents worked, so there were plenty of afternoons when I’d go home with friends who lived on Marland Heights until Mom and Dad got off work.
Back then, Marland Heights wasn’t just another neighborhood. It was the neighborhood.
Kids ran all over the hill until the streetlights came on. The neighborhood pool was packed every summer day with families from all over the valley. Basketball courts stayed busy for hours with pickup games that nobody wanted to leave. The country club golf course was pristine, and tucked away was one of my favorite places, the Marl Inn.
The Marl Inn had the best of both worlds: fantastic food and a bar where the stools were filled every afternoon with neighbors laughing, catching up, solving the world’s problems over a cold drink, and actually knowing one another.
Marland Heights felt like a community.
It felt like home.
Fast forward to 2026. The pool has been since torn down and the basketball courts are empty, filled with only memories.
I’ve lived on Marland Heights for nearly thirteen years now. Within the first two months of moving here, our house was broken into… not once, but twice!
The first time, someone busted out a rear window, climbed over the kitchen countertop, and came inside.
The second time, they tried prying open our storm door, causing enough damage that we had to replace the entire door and frame.
That wasn’t exactly the welcome-to-the-neighborhood package I was expecting.
Since then, I’ve watched this hill slowly change.
Beautiful homes have become abandoned. Others have become revolving-door rentals where it seems anyone with a pulse gets handed the keys. The meticulously landscaped yards that once reflected pride have given way to waist-high weeds. Sidewalks are buckling. Roads continue to sink. Homes sit empty while the weather slowly tears them apart.
Across the street from me sits a house that has been abandoned for over a year.
It sat through an entire winter and spring with multiple upstairs windows standing wide open, inviting rain, snow, wind, animals, and whatever else Mother Nature wanted to throw inside.
Those windows are still open.
The massive front picture window has a crack running from top to bottom, just waiting for the day it finally gives up.
Missing shingles. A deteriorating exterior.
An eyesore for everyone who still takes pride in living here.
Then came July 30, 2026.
Several neighbors watched a woman walk around the property, peering through windows before eventually making entry through the front door.
She appeared to be homeless and likely looking for shelter.
Thankfully, neighbors weren’t willing to ignore it. They checked things out, called the police, and officers responded before the situation became something worse.
Hopefully, it stays that way. Because the last thing this neighborhood needs is another abandoned house becoming a squatter’s paradise.
People often say, “If you don’t like it, just move.”
If only it were that simple.
The housing market isn’t exactly friendly these days. Selling isn’t the difficult part. Finding another home that’s affordable and meets our needs is.
But I’ll be honest… With everything happening on this hill, we can’t move off Marland Heights fast enough.
That sentence hurts to write.
Because this was once a neighborhood families dreamed about living in. People came here looking for a community.
Today, it feels like the community is slowly disappearing.
The people who cared are getting fewer. The houses that once made this neighborhood beautiful continue to decline. Complaints seem to disappear into a black hole. Some landlords gladly collect rent, mostly HUD-funded rent, while allowing properties to deteriorate year after year with little consequence.
And that’s the most frustrating part.
The attitude has become, “It’s not in my neighborhood, so it doesn’t affect me.”
Well… It is in my neighborhood.
It does affect me. It affects my family. It affects my property’s value. It affects every neighbor who still mows their grass, plants flowers, fixes their homes, and refuses to stop caring.
Marland Heights deserves better. The people who still call it home deserve better.
Maybe the neighborhood can never be exactly what it was in the 1980’s
But that doesn’t mean we should simply accept watching it fall apart.
Communities don’t die overnight. They disappear one neglected house… One ignored complaint… One abandoned property…
And one person deciding, “It’s not my problem.”
Eventually…It becomes everyone’s problem!
Hard Lessons & Honest Thoughts 