Real Estate as it happens in American Film & TeeVee.

This week I have the History Channel’s Hatfields and McCoys on the ol’ dvr and am most the way through it, eating up every second. Chet (Bill Paxton, who has certainly earned being referred to by his real name, but who I will always remember from his endearing role in Weird Science) is Mr. McCoy and Kevin Costner, Mr. Hatfield. Tom Berenger is his best as a toothless hillbilly Hatfield uncle. Powers Boothe, a more refined character. Great players, great themes. Among others like the ultimate American Romeo and Juliet premise, I am finding that this family feud has some other pretty profound roots in none other than REAL ESTATE.

True, as I go through the episodes, it is evident that these two clans were truly, utterly, just absolutely bloodthirsty for each other, so it may simply be coincidental, (these guys killed each other over pigs, girls, insults, the weather, you name it!) but one of the initial quarrels was over a McCoy lawyer claiming that though Hatfields owned 5000-something Appalachian acres, they did NOT own the timber rights, and he was, as it turns out, fraudulently claiming those timber rights as belonging to his kin, the McCoys.

This reminded me of an interesting trend these days in my local real estate. I am finding more and more clients in search of and interested in, not timber rights, exactly, but certainly mineral rights, and more exclusive use of their land. similar to post-civil war and depression era economies, ours has rather forced a more creative, utilitarian drive in real estate purchases and sales. Perhaps also spurred on by docu-reality-ish shows like gold rush, swamp people, the one about ultimate extreme fishing, I actually have clients looking for land they can live on, and also make a living with. To mine or quarry, (Chihuahua Valley is famous for tourmaline and micah mines; a former listing of mine, the Shenandoah ranch in Santa Ysabel, was the birthplace of one of the largest lodes of gold in California history) to organic farm, or plant in vineyards for boutique wineries (like Shadow Mountain, Serenissima, and Hawk Watch in Warner Springs) ... and especially, now that the growing and distributing of marijuana is semi-grey area-kinda-sorta-if-you-fly-below-radar-and-don’t-push-the-envelope legal, I know for a fact that when I place an ad seeking a tenant for a stunning 1600 square foot, 3 bedroom, 2 bath home with attached 2 car garage on 15 acres with a private well at the end of a mile of dirt, which, also, backs up to Bureau of Land Management open space, I can be certain that almost everyone from the “self employed” Rastafarians to the independently wealthy musicians to the former military, permanent disability types who come banging the door down do not actually intend to sit around and be stunned at how cute the house is. God love 'em, they are businessmen with medical weed cards, and the land can give them precisely every ounce of what they need. Sadly for me however, their new neighbor, not one of them yet looks quite like Johnsie Hatfield in the mini-series, maybe one of the most beautiful boys I've ever seen, who is also a resourceful fringe-type, squatting in a remote area of the forest and bootlegging his wares, but these indoor farmer-folk are nonetheless doing what they have to, to get by, mostly respectably, and the real estate is the key element in getting them there.

And it is assumed, sometimes falsely, that with the land comes everything above and below the ground, but as the Hatfields were swindled from their rights to harvest lumber from their property, I have seen title insurance policies showing watershed all the way up in an obscure canyon in Chihuahua Valley as belonging to the United States Federal Government and Camp Pendleton all the way out in Oceanside. I have seen title reports cite grant deeds excluding mineral rights on an otherwise unremarkable plot of land in Julian. I have had properties of my own tied up in litigation with an indian reservation clear across the mountain in another county over water rights, where it was thought that if that entity had prevailed, my well on my property that I paid to have drilled would be metered and I would be charged for its use. So whether you are planning on making rustic furniture from the abundance of ribbonwood and redshank on your property or you have the sneaking suspicion there’s oil in them thar hills, caveat number one of this week’s message is to make sure you have a good solid title insurance policy showing that your water, your dirt, your minerals, your sky, all belongs to you and no one else has any claim to it. In today’s shaky economy, any surprise snag that could dip into your profits if you are living off your land could be fatal. Next thing you know you’re knocking up your worst enemy’s daughter and marrying her cousin instead, adding insult to injury, and then BAM! You’re in the middle of the most legendary conflict in our nation’s history. And who wants that?