Pauline Copeley, who’s under fire for the clutter outside her home on Liberty Street, welcomed me this week with three words that said a lot.
“A quick tour?” she asked.
She’s a 68-year-old retired nurse and a local poster child for the cliche, “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.” She’s hiding nothing, embarrassed by nothing.
To Copeley, her property is a Garden of Eden, something to show off, an area that includes things that grow and are recyclable, an area that should be seen for its nature-rich landscape.
To neighbors, however, it’s an eyesore, and a blinding one at that. That’s why Copeley has until Aug. 12 to clean up her act or face a fine from the city. The crazy thing here is that the tour she gave me this week came after a group of about 20 volunteers had already cleared lots of stuff away, trying to help a neighbor whom they believed had gotten in over her head.
They also believe, Copeley suspects, that something’s wrong with her mind, something that is creating this bizarre behavior.
“Some people consider me to be a hoarder,” Pauline told me shortly after my private tour. “I like to save stuff, so I suppose I am. I like to recycle and reuse.”
Hoarder or not, it looks like there’s more to do before the deadline, which didn’t stop Copeley from rolling out the red carpet for me, anxious to show why those on her block should leave her alone.
She brought me to her backyard, to the little peach trees and tomato plants growing from the circular vases created by rim-less tires; to the compost, which, once uncovered, revealed an uncountable number of fruit flies, clustered together over a food supply that would last years; to the plastic chairs and piles of branches and watering cans and pails and worn-out rugs.
She brought me to the side of her house, facing Forest Street, to the uprooted plants and metal pipes, and then she walked me out front, where hanging lanterns and flowerpots and birdhouses, plus a swing set and old grill, were shaded under an enormous tree.
There, I met Copeley’s husband, 70-year-old Bill Copeley, who retired six years ago after serving as the New Hampshire Historical Society’s librarian for 40 years. Bill was spoon-feeding their 40-year-old son, ZachariaCopeley.
Zacharia suffers from Lennox-Gastaut Syndrome, a severe form of epilepsy that keeps him silent and immobile. He needs 24/7 care. That’s another part of this story. Pauline wants neighbors to be more understanding.
“Me and Bill care for him,” Pauline said. “I’m not going to spend my whole time in the garden cleaning up if we need to clothe and feed him. We spend time with him.”
The layers here, the plots connected, are plentiful. The story about a couple doing the best they can to care for their grown child. The one about the neighborhood pariah, the underdog who feels picked on this summer. The one about the city turning up the heat, giving the Copeleys a choice: clean up, or pay up.
Pauline calls the push to unclutter her yards “a mission, a crusade.” The mission surfaced five years ago, beginning with a complaint that prompted Lissa Salvatore, the city’s housing inspector, to take a look.
The issue faded once Salvatore stated in a letter that items “are being used for various purposes. Based on that representation, we have determined that it is appropriate to close the case at this time.”
That decision, ambivalent at best, meant a controversy was brewing and wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.
And sure enough, more complaints followed this spring, pushed by a neighbor who wanted nothing to do with my column. The effort pulled Salvatore back into the mix. She said by phone she will re-examine the home, giving the Copeleys until Aug. 12 to finish the job.
The criteria used to decide if Pauline and Bill have gone far enough to satisfy the city is unclear. Salvatore saw the property before family, friends, neighbors and church members had spruced up the place last month. She declined to comment on what she saw.
“The only thing I can tell you,” Salvatore said, “is that because it’s an ongoing case, we’re really involved in the operation, so I really can’t comment.”
The state statute says the fine is $275 for a first offense, $550 for a second. But it’s clear that no one, on or near that block, wants the couple to get fined, and that part of the story created an inner conflict for Pauline and Bill. Yes, they appreciated the help. Volunteers brought over pizza. They brought BLT sandwiches.
“I want to be grateful for what they did,” Pauline said. “Whoever comes on your property, you have to trust. They did a wonderful job clearing out a lot of stuff.”
Bill, soft spoken and calm, blended pragmatism with spousal support, telling me, “There are things around the house that I would get rid of, yes, but you need to respect each other’s territory.”
Pauline says that didn’t happen. She says things were missing and moved, against her wishes. A metal bench. A BioLite stove.
Elsewhere, she says her grapevines were cut and other colorful plants were ripped from their roots. Her Garden hose suddenly had a hole in it.
And then there’s that mental disorder thing. Pauline says she hears the whispers. But she believes that, like beauty, hoarding is in the eye of the beholder.
“Am I a criminal because I love my plants and I love the things that grow in my garden?” Pauline asked. “I like to consider myself good for the environment. I feel good about it, and people look at me in a different way.”