I set out to write a rebuttal to Travis Corcoran’s three-part essay on land use and zoning. But as I read his arguments, I found plenty I do agree with—so let’s call this article a critique rather than a full-throated denunciation. I won’t pretend to be deeply versed in 17th-century English common law, nor am I the most fastidious land-use liberalization wonk. But land-use policy is not merely academic; it affects real people in real places. I have every bit as much skin in this game as Travis does—perhaps more, since I’m thirty-one years old and hope to buy a home in New Hampshire soon, and I come from a family that’s lived here for generations.
Travis seems like a nice guy. We’ve crossed paths at NHLA meetings and see eye to eye on government transparency, open-sourcing data analysis, and the importance of individual liberty. But reading his recent series on how to reform land-use regulation, I came away skeptical that he’s captured the spirit of what most New Hampshirans want—or what’s even feasible on the ground.
Below, I’ll give a quick overview of what Travis argues, lay out some of my own experiences that shape my perspective, and then dig into his bold proposal for an “easement-based” land-use regime. In the end, I hope to convey why his ideas, while admirable in their intellectual ambition, may not be a practical solution for our ongoing struggles with New Hampshire’s housing crisis.
Part 1: Setting the stage—and where Travis goes astray
Travis rightly characterizes one side of the debate: a conventional “progressive” belief that extensive zoning protects neighborhoods and channels growth responsibly. Meanwhile, many libertarians push for near-complete deregulation, often arguing that nuisance law or tort suits would suffice to address conflicts. In fact, a newly energized pro-housing bloc mixes elements of both libertarian and progressive approaches: these are the reformers who want to allow more density, reduce red tape, and lower barriers to building.
Travis’s narrative goes astray, however, in how he portrays these reformers. He suggests they’re out to do a “good thing in the worst way possible,” that they’re opening the door for “defectors” and “newcomers” to profit at the expense of people who have engaged in “pro-social behavior”—that is, people who bought large parcels and now prefer not to see them change. In his telling, existing landowners—especially those who moved in recently themselves—are portrayed as guardians of stability, while prospective builders or younger buyers are irresponsible opportunists.
But what if the opposite is true in many towns? For instance, I’ve lived in NH longer than Travis has. My family goes back several generations in New Hampshire; he is the relative newcomer by that measure. If someone from out of state buys a big plot of land, then leverages zoning laws to lock in large-lot exclusivity, how does that square with long-term locals who—thanks to rising property prices—can’t afford to stay in the towns where they grew up?
I’ll offer a personal example. I was raised in Hollis, one of the wealthiest towns in the state, full of historic farmland and large properties (three-acre lot minimums, in many cases). The old mills, taverns, and walkable neighborhoods disappeared decades ago. The restrictions might have worked for the families who could afford big parcels, but it closed the door on a host of housing opportunities for younger generations, service workers, and middle-class buyers trying to stay local. It’s hard to see how that kind of “pro-social” policy squares with a genuine desire to sustain vibrant communities.
The New Hampshire tolerance for quirky neighbors, even autistic ones
One of Travis’s key arguments is that our current system tries to prevent “nuisances,” but in practice, it’s not so straightforward. My own upbringing in Hollis and around Lake Sunapee was full of minor nuisances. We had a neighbor who loved hoarding junk—he practically lived at the town dump. Another neighbor loved firing blackpowder muskets in his backyard. Then there were times that a rental tenant up the street drove monster trucks at all hours, doing burnouts. At Sunapee, we had an alcoholic neighbor that would ram his boat full of Ukrainian escorts into the dock. (He managed to sink his boat multiple times next to the dock.) Then there were teenagers on the other side of the neighborhood that would set off fireworks in the middle of the night.
All of these scenarios were annoying, and sometimes the town got involved. But was that a reason to impose more blanket mandates? Traditionally, New Hampshire towns often gave people wide latitude on their own land, stepping in only if things got truly out of hand. In my view, nuisance can be handled case by case—often through direct negotiation between neighbors or, if truly unavoidable, via the courts. Resorting to heavy-handed zoning that predetermines everything neighbors can do with their property feels contrary to New Hampshire’s traditional spirit of “live free or die.” If anything, our existing system already can handle a wide variety of nuisance.
Travis closes his Part 1 by stressing that naive libertarians often misunderstand what property rights truly are. Fair enough. But from my perspective, if your threshold for what counts as an intolerable nuisance is low, maybe a big farm in Weare (like Travis has) is exactly where you should be. There’s a case to be made that, for the rest of us, gentle density is healthy: it preserves the tradition of close-knit towns, fosters a sense of community, and curbs sprawl. Just look at the old cottages in my family’s neighborhood on Lake Sunapee—most are less than ten feet apart. You couldn’t build them today under strict modern zoning—but no one would deny the charm and livability our community enjoys.
Part 2: Travis’s easement proposal—and my reservations
In Parts 2 and 3, Travis lays out his grand plan: convert every existing zoning restriction into a network of tradable easements. Under current zoning, certain activities—like subdividing lots or building multifamily homes—are simply forbidden in certain districts. In his scheme, those “forbidden” aspects become discrete property rights owned by the neighbors. If you want to subdivide, you’d have to buy out each neighbor’s “veto” easement. Over time, this creates a market in which property owners who want to allow development can “trade” or sell their easements to developers or homeowners who stand to profit from building. Everyone (theoretically) comes out better off, because each sale is voluntary.
Where do we draw the lines?
The first question is: who gets a claim on your property’s development? Just your direct abutters? The whole neighborhood? The entire town? If someone half a mile away believes your subdividing might affect “their” quiet, do they have a partial veto too? In a highly interdependent market—especially in a populous town—this might mean you have to negotiate with dozens or hundreds of people just to build an extra home on your parcel. As Travis acknowledges, you could add “squeeze-out” clauses, or single-price auctions, or specialized assurance contracts—but you can see how complicated it gets fast.
Does density really decrease property values?
Travis assumes that if you develop your property, your neighbors’ land becomes less valuable—hence they deserve compensation. However, it’s often the opposite: in many cases, the more homes in a walkable district, the higher each property’s per-square-foot value climbs. Cities like Nashua or Manchester often see higher appraisals than rural places not because they are pristine farmland but because the density fosters local commerce, shorter commutes, and stronger markets. Many farmland owners profit from proximity to denser towns. If that’s so, shouldn’t the neighbors pay me to increase density so that we all benefit from the amenities?
Of course, you can’t subdivide infinitely without limit. But empirically, it’s not as simple as “more homes = your neighbor’s property is devalued.” This robs Travis’s scheme of a neat, “everyone gets compensated for their loss” logic. In many places, the “loss” might be overshadowed by net gains. If so, how do we even set a price?
The billion-dollar nuisance problem
What if a neighbor demands a billion dollars for the noise he’ll endure while I build a house? Travis would respond with appeals to “rational” markets, but if just one holdout sets an outlandish price, the entire project can be blocked unless we get into forced buyouts. Then we’re nearly back to eminent domain by another name. Under a low threshold for what counts as a nuisance, we risk paralyzing development. And if we set that threshold high, then we’re basically using the same old court-based nuisance approach. So how much simpler is this, really?
The problem of “owning” a view
In New Hampshire, a lake view can be worth hundreds of thousands of dollars extra on your home’s value. But it’s a long-held principle here that you don’t own your view, unless there is some covenant or town height restriction. If your neighbor builds a taller home and blocks your sunrise, well, you can grumble, but you can’t claim that they owe you restitution. An “easement-based” system could upend that norm and let neighbors treat a scenic view as an owned commodity, with a veto priced at five million dollars. Suddenly, every scenic vantage is a potential check to development in the same way that bald eagle sightings can derail environmental reviews. This might enthrall real-estate speculators, but it hardly helps homebuyers or towns searching for practical solutions.
In short, I’m sympathetic to a limited version of Travis’s plan—for example, certain large or unusual projects might benefit from an easement-like approach. But imposing it universally for things as simple as building a garage or an in-law apartment sounds unworkable. We’d be better served by a simpler rule set that clarifies which inconveniences are serious enough to count as something beyond nuisance, then letting neighbors handle the rest through time-honored negotiation or the occasional court case.
Part 3: Towards a more balanced approach
So, should New Hampshire shift to a purely market-based scheme for land-use rights? Perhaps partially. As Travis says, property rights are more complex than “I own it; no one can say otherwise.” Where I part ways is the scope of how many small-scale annoyances we attempt to wrap into that system.
Gentle density, fewer mandates
Many of us pushing for zoning liberalization in New Hampshire do so because we want the option—not the requirement—to allow gentler, historically common forms of density. We’re not going to bulldoze farms in Weare and build favelas, nor are we going to force a five-story apartment building onto someone’s street in a single stroke. Typically, it’s more about letting a family subdivide or convert a big old house into two or three units. If that’s “offensive” to a neighbor, maybe a conversation—and existing nuisance rules—are enough. To me, forcibly requiring homebuilders to purchase a laundry list of tiny “veto” rights from across town is just more red tape by another name.
We don’t want New Hampshire to become New Jersey
Travis advocates for tight land-use restrictions because he believes they’ll prevent dense development and spare his town from ugly suburban sprawl. Ironically, New Jersey tried a similar top-down preservation approach starting in the 1960s through its “Green Acres” program, aggressively purchasing farmers’ development rights to lock in open space. At the time, many landowners took the payouts, but later realized they might have profited more by allowing new housing. The result is a patchwork of farmland abutting strip malls and sprawling, cookie-cutter suburbs—offering little of the “gentle density” many communities actually want. New Hampshire can learn from this cautionary tale, ensuring that any effort to protect rural character doesn’t simply freeze land in place or push development farther away.
Market mechanisms where they work best
There are contexts where applying a property-rights scheme—like tradable licenses—can work beautifully. For instance, wildlife management or private roads can benefit from clearer property allocation. Some areas already adopt a form of market-based approach to controlling fishing or hunting (permit systems). Out West, there are the concepts of mining rights and water rights, which can be bought or sold. But it doesn’t mean all of society needs to be carved into micro-easements. Taken to the logical extreme, this system could mean issuing easements for new neighbors to operate lawn mowers or air conditioners. For daily life in small towns—where folks simply want an accessory dwelling or a modest subdivision—there’s no reason to replace well-worn practices: neighborly negotiation and tolerance for minor inconveniences, all with minimal but coherent land-use rules.
Conclusion
Travis Corcoran’s proposal is worth reading for its philosophical rigor and inventive approach to land-use reform. He correctly identifies that property rights are more nuanced than “my land, my rules.” I appreciate that he wants a Pareto-efficient outcome where nobody is left worse off. But turning every zoning rule into a tradable easement threatens to bog down small-scale projects in complicated buyouts, while also risking inflated or extortionate holdouts. It might freeze us into a de facto “status quo” more effectively than current zoning does.
If you’re like me—someone who cherishes (ha!) both New Hampshire’s independence and the prospect of building homes for the next generation—you want clarity, fairness, and a light touch of regulation that fosters (rather than forbids) gentle density. Traditional neighborhoods are evidence that living close together can be a joy, not a nuisance. We should keep nuisance in check, yes—but let it remain in the domain of direct neighborly negotiations or, if truly severe, the courts. Blanket mandates, whether in progressive-era zoning codes or in complex sets of micro-easements, rarely foster the vibrant, flexible communities I grew up in and hope to see flourish.
My stance: keep it simple. Expand permitted density; let people use their land in peaceful ways. Where real conflicts arise, rely on existing frameworks, modest rules, or case-by-case adjudication. And if someone really wants total control of their surroundings, they can buy a big farm out in the boonies (that word originates in New Hampshire) and enjoy an old New Hampshire tradition—living quietly on his own property, live free and let live. That, in its own way, is a deeply New Hampshire way to handle “nuisance.”
