Land for Love and Money Read online

  Copyright © 2012 Reid Lance Rosenthal

  www.landforloveandmoney.com

  www.reidlancerosenthal.com

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book, or associated workbook, or related audio, video or other production or portion of the work may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  Publisher’s Note:

  This is a work of narrative non-fiction. Except where specifically named, places, businesses allusion to persons and incidents are from the author’s recall and perception—actual names withheld at request, or to protect the privacy of individuals, entities, groups or locational jurisdictions. Any resemblance to any other places, people or events is purely coincidental. Any trademarks mentioned herein are not authorized by the trademark owners and do not in any way mean the work is sponsored by or associated with the trademark owners. Any trademarks used are specifically in a descriptive capacity.

  Book cover and interior design: Dan Forrest-Bank, FB Edit–Design

  Editing: Page Lambert and Tami St. Germain

  Cover photo credits—

  top: Main rainbow photograph © Reid Lance Rosenthal

  middle left: Vermont Farm Panoramic © Robertplotz | Dreamstime.com

  middle right: Mountain landscape with horse © Dmitry Pichugin | Dreamstime.com

  bottom photo strip (left to right)—Yellow New England House © Dwight Smith | Dreamstime.com; rural landscape © Joshua Rainey | Dreamstime.com; Mountain lake © Reid Lance Rosenthal; family walking down ranch road © Page Lambert

  ISBN: 978-0-9821576-5-7

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2012908774

  eBooks created by www.ebookconversion.com

  To all those who have taught me of land, love and money over the years.

  To the brave men and women of our military—who sacrifice on many levels to defend our freedoms, including one of the most basic—the right to own, enjoy and profit from the land.

  SPECIAL THANKS TO:

  Jordan Katie Allhands—Art, web and organization

  Jani Flinn—Rockin’ SR Publishing

  Laura Kennedy—Coordination, media and administration

  Deborah “Web Deb” Kunzie—Web design and programming

  Devani Alderson—Social media

  Tami St. Germain—Copy editing

  Dan Forrest-Bank, FB Edit–Design—Graphic design and cover

  Tom Dever—Narrow Gate Book Publishing

  The great folks at Midpoint Trade Books

  To my parents who, among many gifts, exposed me from birth to wide open spaces, entrepreneurial attitude and the land—its power, energy and comfort to the soul.

  To my literary editor, Page Lambert, who cajoles, commends and scolds at just the right times, and who continues to teach me just how much I do not know about the wonderful craft of prose.

  To my daughter, Jordan, without whose technical skills this book would not be a reality.

  And, to America, the opportunity she offers to succeed, fail and try again—

  her values, history, people and the mystical energy and magical empowerment that flow from her lands.

  SECTION I

  Finding Land—Purchasing or Walking Away

  Chapter One—

  Does the Land Speak to You?

  Chapter Two—

  Grab the Brass Ring: Time to Purchase

  Chapter Three—

  Looking Under the Rocks

  Chapter Four—

  Buying Smart: The “PPPPP Rule”

  Chapter Five—

  Partners Are People: There Are Good, Bad and Very Bad

  SECTION II

  Things Not Thought of—The Fiscal and the Politics

  Chapter Six—

  State/Local Politics, Finance and Taxes

  Chapter Seven—

  “Did You Remember the Shovel?”

  Chapter Eight —

  Give Back to Get Back: Plan for the Land

  SECTION III

  Government, Regulation, Finance, the Purchase, the Sale—Rowing Through the Perfect Storm

  Chapter Nine—

  You Want a Loan? (Banker Slaps His Thigh and Laughs)

  Dodd-Frank Act—Diabolical Regulation

  Chapter Ten—

  The Brave New World and the Big “Gotcha”

  The Appraisal—It Can Blow Your Deal or Cost You Cash

  Chapter Eleven—

  Pigs Are Fat and Happy—Hogs Get Slaughtered

  Chapter Twelve—

  We Are from the Government, and We Are Here to Help You. NOT!

  Chapter Thirteen—

  Finance in the Age of Fiscal Free Fall—The Silver Lining

  Chapter Fourteen—

  When Love and Money Collide

  The Purchase: Buying Smart—The Devil Is in the Details

  Chapter Fifteen—

  Tax with a Twist

  SECTION IV

  This Isn’t the City—What the Neighbors Say When You Leave the Room

  Chapter Sixteen—

  Small Towns: Americana for the Soul

  Chapter Seventeen—

  With the Speed of Light

  Chapter Eighteen—

  Adam’s Rib

  Chapter Nineteen—

  Fire Engines, Hospital Beds and Goal Posts

  Chapter Twenty—

  The Uproar

  Chapter Twenty-One—

  Cows Gone Wild

  SECTION V

  Conservation—Getting Paid to Do the Right Thing

  Chapter Twenty-Two—

  What Is a Conservation Easement?

  Chapter Twenty-Three—

  The Soul and Dollars of Preservation: The Easement Epiphany

  Chapter Twenty-Four—

  Reserved Rights: Key to Future Flexibility and Value

  Chapter Twenty-Five—

  Easements in the Current “Class Warfare” Political Environment

  Conclusion

  This Ain’t Your Mama’s Sack of Silver:

  Land—A Class of Its Own

  Green for Green Workbook Description for Volume One

  Land for Love and Money: Volumes Two and Three— A Taste

  Resources

  Glossary

  All land has energy. It will reach out and touch you, speak toyou if you open yourself to its power. Land developed with homes has yet another dimension of personality. The concept of energy flowing from the land holds true, no matter the size, region or locale. Some readers will nod and smile at this concept, while others will wrinkle their brows.

  What is this energy? The current that flows from a piece of the earth to the soul and senses is metaphysical—part mental, part physical, part spiritual. For some, the sensations come more quickly or strongly, but I am convinced that all people have the innate capability to feel the mystical tug of land.

  The key here is to open yourself and remove the shrouds of city and society that block your intuitive radar. You will recognize, with a thrilling certainty, a peculiar and then familiar vibration that emanates from your center and grows stronger, a magnet for the countless waves of sight, smell and sound that combine to form perception.

  The attentive land acquirer needs to step out of the societal fabric of modern life that surrounds us, and touch, sense and observe the macro environment, the community, the adjoining parcels and, of course, the property itself. As corny as it sounds, close your eyes, breathe deeply, exhale slowly and feel it. Allow every s
ense to drink in the audio, visual and olfactory flow that emanates from each and every piece of property. Listen to the pleasant excited tickle in your gut, or the lack of it.

  First, write down what you want in your relationship with the land, what you need, what factors are absolute. This will create efficiency, and will likely result in the most satisfactory purchase. Too few people take the time to sit down and reduce to paper their “must haves” versus their “can’t stands” when it comes to acquisition of residential land, ranch, farm, recreation or rural acreage or even a home. Far fewer understand the connection with the energy of the land, which may occur with the very first property or not until the twentieth. Rest assured, these rules and the energy of land hold true universally. Firm goals, desired property attributes and financial parameters are key to the successful search for property, a fulfillment of the quest for heart and hearth.

  On a hot, dry day in late August 1987, I pulled my three-quarter-ton Ford pickup to rest at the curb in an old-time Montana town. The clicking drone of cicadas hung in the shimmer of high-country heat. I studied the aging real estate office where I was to meet the listing broker to take a look-see at an up-valley, 998-acre riverfront spread for clients of mine. I had always loved this southwestern part of Montana, with its waters still pristine and undiscovered. The jagged peaks of range upon range tugged on the endless blue sky. The hills cradled a wide, fertile and sleepy valley. I liked the energy of this little town: the way the main street curved, unlike the straight shot of most small towns; the eclectic assortment of buildings; and the slow pace of people as they sauntered along sidewalks, taking time to greet and gossip. I was “that cowboy from Colorado”—an outsider. At that time, no outsider had ever purchased a ranch in that valley.

  I walked purposefully to the front door of the real estate office and swung it open. Before me were some desks with piles of paper here and there. An older cowboy-rancher type with a slight potbelly reclined, arms crossed behind his head, in one corner. A cheerful middle-aged woman occupied the front desk. She greeted me warmly, but warily. The older gentleman merely sat in the back of the office studying me. This was the listing broker. He was likely comparing my jeans, denim shirt and beat-up cowboy hat with the price of the ranch we had made an appointment to see. He was no doubt wondering if this would be a waste of his time.

  He finally stood up, moved slowly toward me and extended his hand. The handshake was firm and sincere.

  “Jerry,” he offered simply.

  “Reid,” I returned.

  I felt a connection to him and vice versa, though his was grudging. He seemed surprised that our energies were compatible. He pulled out a few maps and hand-traced the boundaries of the ranch across the contours of the quads. He told me a few selected tidbits, not wanting to let loose too much information before he got my full measure. He suggested that we hop in his truck. I grinned at the thoughts going on behind his set and steady brown eyes. I acquiesced.

  We sped down the highway, south from town. We passed an array of large and small ranches, most of which were still flood-irrigated. Only a few venerable pioneers had begun to deliver their water through wheel lines. We came to another tiny town, turned off and followed a winding road toward a point where two mountain ranges met and formed a notch. I liked the approach. End of the road. The mountains close, with inviting contours, even on the valley floor. Dense riparian areas with healthy stands of red and golden willow and hardy alder followed the serpentine course of the river. The streambed was set back from the road. I caught an occasional glimpse of enticing riffles. We again turned off, this time on a dirt road.

  He gestured at a fence post. “Here is the northeast corner. It corners up there, and up there and out on that ridge, generally speaking.” He pointed and leaned out the window of the truck.

  The land was a perfect variety of topography, irrigated, with good upper grasslands, stunning snowcapped backdrop, end-of-the-road privacy and, of course, the river. As the pickup raised dust down the dirt road leading to the main entry, I noticed that there was lots of room for improvement on the place. It could use irrigation delivery, ponds, livestock-related management changes and fence replacement. There was ample opportunity to add value with good land planning and some hard work. There was also a veritable treasure trove of recreational pleasures to be enjoyed. I had done my homework on this area. With sixth-sense knowledge, I knew that the destiny of this valley—with or without my clients—was other than the closed, drowsy community it was on that day. The thought filled me with remorse, and I vowed to do all I could to preserve it, regardless of the surety of exponentially increasing recreational pressures.

  I glanced over at Jerry sitting next to me. I really liked him and his steady, quiet discourse. In his world, things didn’t change. He hadn’t seen the explosion in ranch and recreational properties in Colorado, the beginning of the tidal waves of city folks and coastal dwellers who were destined to engulf the Rockies.

  He drove slowly through the front gate. The older-model pickup creaked as it bumped across the cattle guard. Lush green meadows and a dense stand of cottonwoods highlighted the river, the main artery of the ranch. The soft folds of the foothills of the Rubies and the Gravelies tumbled down to the bottom lands. They talked to me, called to me.

  I turned to Jerry and said, “I have seen enough for now.”

  The pickup ground to a halt as he turned his head quizzically. A smile formed on his face. I felt his thoughts: I knew this young buck couldn’t buy this place. Thank God, I haven’t wasted more than an hour.

  I grinned at him. “Let’s go back to your office and write up a contract.”

  Dismay flashed across his face. “But don’t you want to see the rest of the ranch? It takes half a day!”

  I shook my head. The overpowering energy I felt from the place had propelled my decision. I replied, “After the contract is written and submitted, I’ll come in and take my time on an inspection. We’ll make it a contingency.”

  Jerry looked incredulous. “What am I going to tell the owner? That you want to buy it, but don’t want to see it?”

  “Nope, tell him I want to look over every square foot for my clients, and want to meet him, but no sense spending lots of everyone’s time until we all know we can make a deal.”

  The Ruby River Canyon Ranch in Alder, Montana, was purchased by my clients. The ranch was improved over the course of ten years with the addition of mechanized irrigation delivery, one hundred sixty acres of new crop production, riparian protection fences, cross-fencing for holistic grazing, a pond, streambed and stream bank improvements, spring developments, headquarters cleanup and a host of other significant improvements. The ownership group enjoyed the property for a decade and a half, and was delighted with the tax benefits of the grants of conservation easements preserving portions of the resource. Additional properties adjacent to the ranch were purchased. A few portions of the ranch having little agricultural value and not really connected to the whole generated 1031 like-kind exchange funds, which deferred taxes and allowed the acquisition of a larger ranch on another river just miles away. (A 1031 deferred exchange allows a seller to defer tax liabilities on gains of sales of property if strict criteria for investment of the sale proceeds into another “like-kind” property are met within a specific time period.) The larger ranch also was improved and eventually protected by conservation easements. The sales of those two properties spawned further investment for the group. Today, with their money back times ten, they are owners/operators of over five thousand acres of incredibly beautiful ranch lands in Wyoming.

  Flash forward eight years, this time in Colorado. As I had done countless times before, I pulled my Ford truck up to a real estate office in the small but typical, reborn Colorado town of Eagle, now bustling with an eclectic mixture of displaced persons from both coasts, city dwellers in retreat from Denver and a smidgeon of the old-time crowd that had dominated twenty years before. There was a feel to this town, too. Definitely west
ern, but with much more yuppie energy. All the buildings had been transformed into the New West, each façade an attempt to recreate the modernized feel of the wild times gone by. A coffee shop bustled with patrons. The vehicles were mostly brand-new or late-model expensive SUVs, rather than pickups, and the real estate office was a swank stone-faced building perfectly organized into cubicles. Smiling, attractive receptionists graced a long curved front desk and waiting area. Not good, not bad, just was.

  I grinned as I remembered the dusty, musty, one-room realty offices in sleepy towns with the old-timer ranch brokers in Wyoming, Montana and the still more remote corners of Colorado.

  I waited ten minutes, sipping coffee and watching the activity in the reception area. A young woman strode toward me in pressed jeans and a leather belt with a large turquoise buckle, in the latest attempt at western fashion. She greeted me with a wide smile and looked me up and down.

  “It’s a pleasure,” she said with a flutter of blue eyes. “The ranch we are going to look at today is really one of our exceptional listings. It has everything. And great potential for subdivision, also.”

  I knew the comment was a probe. I said nothing other than, “Howdy.”

  Her eyes scanned my torn jeans, two-day-old road-travel stubble and sweat-stained cowboy hat.

  “I have heard of you,” she ventured. “You’re involved with quite a few ranches, aren’t you?”

  “A few, here and there.”

  “Let’s grab a latte, and then we’ll go out to the ranch,” she suggested and briskly headed out the front door, my cue to follow.

  We walked out to her brand-new, loaded-to-the-hilt Ford Expedition. She saw my pickup covered with the dust of a thousand miles of dirt roads and asked, “Is that yours?”

  I nodded at her grimace. On the drive out to the ranch, sipping my triple mocha, I did my own probing. Though my questions were specific to the ranch we were about to see, I ascertained her knowledge of water rights, agricultural practices and wildlife and fisheries populations, and found out she worked primarily on residential listings. She was a competent realtor, but she certainly was not a ranch or land broker.