🗞️ THE DUMP — 11/14/2025
YOUR WEEKLY LOOK AT THE WEIRD, THE WILD AND WILLIAMSON COUNTY
Hey there, friends — we’re sliding into the homestretch toward the weekend, which means it’s time once again for your weekly look at the weird, the wild, and Williamson County.
This week, the County Commission staged a midnight septic slog, Franklin punted a housing project perhaps into the next presidential administration, and TDOT pretended not to see a $100 million sitting on its doorstep.
Cade Cothren re-emerged to remind everyone why X needs a breathalyzer, a randy buck toured it’s own Parade of Homes, and finally, Brentwood is dealing with burglars who think every cul-de-sac is Black Friday at Jared.
Let’s dump it out.
🧪 MIDNIGHT AT THE COUNTY COMPLEX — THE SEPTIC SLOW BURN
There are long meetings, and then there are the civic marathons that make you wonder what terrible choices led you into a government building on a Monday night. The Williamson County Commission delivered the second kind. Hospital fireworks? Naturally. A two-dollar Adequate Facilities Tax fight? That also happened.
But if you want to understand why the meeting immediately dropped into first gear, you start with the issue that set the pace for everything that followed.
Enter the septic task force.
It began with weary citizens stepping to the podium like veterans of a forgotten war. Jim Colella didn’t bother with diplomacy. “On a personal level, I have experienced terrible service from these public servants… The regulations are exceedingly complex.”
He wasn’t alone. Years of delayed permits, vanishing surveyors, and an ever-thickening rulebook have turned septic approval into a spiritual discipline. The Commission finally had to face the thing everyone already knows: the system is broken beyond polite description.
Commissioner Brian Clifford laid out the math. The state manages septic with 78 pages of rules; Williamson County has 436. The state turns permits in 45 days; Williamson County takes years. Tennesseans elsewhere pay around $10,000 for a system; here, families eat $80,000 to $100,000 bills like it’s a rite of passage.
He closed with a plea for sanity: “We need to provide the essential government function… no more, no less, and right now, we require a lot out of our citizens.”
Commissioner Greg Sanford backed it up with his own bruises from trying to build a home: “These regulations are too much. They need to be cut, and I fully support this task force.”
For a brief, fragile moment, it looked like the county might actually move cleanly toward a solution. Then came Commissioner Lisa Hayes, bless her confused heart.
Hayes insisted the task force needed more than one commissioner, arguing: “I’ve experienced the lovely nightmare of our septic department… I just think districts that are impacted should have representation.”
Legal counsel very politely explained — repeatedly — that adding multiple commissioners would trigger Sunshine Law requirements and freeze the entire operation in procedural amber. Commissioner Judy Herbert tried to spare everyone by pointing out that the task force needed experts, not a crowd of elected officials re-litigating their personal grievances.
But Hayes dug in, harder: “Why not be open and transparent with open meetings?… Why is the open meetings such a hurdle?”
The answer, of course, is efficiency — but explaining the Sunshine Law to someone determined not to understand it is like trying to teach a cat to fold laundry. It never takes.
And just when the room seemed close to a vote, Commissioner Chris Richards chimed in with his signature procedural detours, the kind that don’t clarify anything but do add minutes to the clock. The debate kept drifting sideways like a shopping cart with one bad wheel — always toward Richards.
Thirty minutes.
Three rounds of identical questions.
More legal clarifications than a first-year law seminar.
And absolutely no progress.
Hayes’ amendment died by a wide margin, and only then — finally — did the Commission unanimously approve the original resolution and appoint Herbert to the task force. An outcome they could have reached in five minutes if the room weren’t weighed down by its two most reliable anchors.
WW BOTTOM LINE
The septic issue wasn’t the whole meeting. It just felt like it. Because when Lisa Hayes treats the Sunshine Law like a suggestion and Chris Richards treats every agenda item like a hostage situation, nothing moves until the clock gives up.
The issues weren’t what pushed this meeting past midnight. The people slowing the solutions were sitting behind the microphones. And honestly, it’s a miracle anyone made it home.
🏗️ HARLIN, WE HAVE A PROBLEM
The Harlin PUD showed up at Tuesday’s BOMA meeting dressed for a debut and immediately asked for a seven-month rain check. A 242-unit, mixed-use, hotel-sprinkled “please don’t make us talk tonight” kind of project. BOMA took one look at the crowd and said, “March 24, 2026? Beautiful. Next.”
Shadow Green residents, meanwhile, came loaded with clarity — and yes, they looked absolutely done. Their neighborhood already wrestles more Amazon vans per hour than a fulfillment center at Christmas, and the idea of dump trucks weaving through nine curves to reach the Harlin site? Hard pass. One resident summed up Columbia Avenue as “an anxious accordion,” which is a sweet, Southern way of saying, “it’s rough out there, honey, don’t go near it.”
And then, right when the board thought they were out of the woods, a longtime Franklin resident stood up and asked the one question that shuts down the room every single time:
“So… where’s the rest of Mack Hatcher?”
You could feel the air change — like, oh yeah, that thing.
At that point, BOMA did the reasonable thing and punted every Harlin item — annexation, zoning, development plan, the whole stack — straight into March. No fights. No theatrics. Just a polite, “let’s deal with this after the holidays.” And everyone agreed.
WW BOTTOM LINE
Most Franklin residents aren’t against growth — they just prefer growth that comes with extra lanes, turn signals, and an access road that doesn’t run through someone’s living room. Until then, the only thing the city approved was a timeout — and honestly, that might be the smartest thing anyone did all night.
🛣️ MACK HATCHER: FRANKLIN BROUGHT THE ENTRÉE, TDOT BROUGHT PLASTIC SPOONS
Speaking of Mack Hatcher — our delegation finally stepped in this week and asked the question the rest of us may soon scream into our windshields: “We’ve got a hundred million dollars sitting here. Anyone planning to pick it up?”
Rep. Lee Reeves wrote Transportation Commissioner Will Reid the most gracious little kick-in-the-shins you’ve ever seen. The kind of letter that starts off sounding like a thank-you note and ends with, “We’re done pretending this is fine.”
Reeves laid it out plainly: Franklin has already bought the land. Bought the right-of-way. Bought everything except the asphalt plant. The city has two $50 million checks on the table — somebody put them in a folder, slid them across, and said, “Whenever y’all are ready.” And yet somehow, TDOT is standing there like a dinner guest who wandered into the house and doesn’t know where to put their coat.
Only the Southeast segment of Mack Hatcher even appears on TDOT’s “active” list, and the state’s contribution so far wouldn’t power a traffic signal for a month. The Northwest? Completely missing.
So Reeves, Rep. Jake McCalmon, and Sen. Jack Johnson teamed up to remind the state that Franklin isn’t whispering. The city is practically standing on a chair with a megaphone saying, “HELLO? WE ARE READY TO BUILD THIS ROAD.”
Good.
Because for years, Franklin has been trapped in the civic comedy of sitting in Mack Hatcher traffic complaining about the fact that it isn’t actually a loop — and the only thing stopping it from being one is the state acting like this is all a surprise.
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WW BOTTOM LINE
Reeves’ letter simply held up the mirror and asked the question TDOT keeps dodging: Why are we the only ones acting like this project exists? Franklin has done everything it can from its side of the table. Now the state needs to decide if it plans on sitting down.
🔥 CADE COTHREN: PARDON WEEK IS OVER. THE MESS ISN’T.
It’s been barely a week since former House Speaker Glen Casada and his longtime aide Cade Cothren walked out of federal court with presidential pardons in hand, and the glow of redemption didn’t last long. Cothren is already back online swinging at shadows and starting fights he absolutely does not need to pick.
He started with a sweeping thank-you letter to President Donald Trump, the kind of thing that sounded like it had been drafted by a man staring into a stained-glass window. But the tone shifted fast. When House Speaker Cameron Sexton criticized the pardons, Cothren pounced, declaring that the president “wholeheartedly disagrees” and promising, with all the subtlety of a political trailer voice-over, “More to come soon.”
If “more” means transparency, he might start with the part he never talks about. When the Faith Family Freedom Fund came under scrutiny, it was Cothren’s former girlfriend who told investigators exactly how it worked. She testified that he asked her to set up the PAC, sign the treasurer paperwork, and put her name on something he controlled behind the scenes. It’s not speculation. It’s sworn testimony. And the investigation surrounding it never went away.
Meanwhile, state Rep. Todd Warner is still paying that same girlfriend $1,000 a month for “social media,” which is interesting timing for a lot of reasons, most of them unflattering and none of them explained.
And here’s where the week got really entertaining: rumors started swirling that Cothren might be eyeing a run for state representative. In most cases, this is when you’d pat your buddy on the shoulder at the tailgate, take the beer out of his hand, and gently say, “Hey man, maybe let’s think this through.”
But in this case? No, Cade. By all means. Chase that dream. Print the signs. Fire up the domain name. Schedule the fundraiser at Party Fowl and hope the bankruptcy clears.
WW BOTTOM LINE
A pardon doesn’t turn a political arsonist into a public servant. It just gives him a fresh matchbook.
And if Cothren really thinks Tennessee is ready for “Candidate Cothren,” we’ll be right here with the popcorn, watching every glorious, chaotic mile of the campaign train rolling downhill with no brakes.
🦌 OH DEER: FRANKLIN’S UNAUTHORIZED HOME TOUR
If you thought the only thing crashing into Franklin homes this season would be your in-laws, think again. This week, a buck with more confidence than sense decided to audition for Chive TV by barreling straight through two front doors in a quiet Franklin neighborhood — locked doors, glass panes, the whole deal — turning entryways into unwilling “open concept” renovations.
House number one, the deer busted just far enough inside to realize he’d made a terrible life choice and left. In the second, he shattered the glass, broke the lock, trotted down the hall, then retreated. One homeowner was inside at the time — and let’s be honest, if that was you, you’re not “processing the moment.”
You’re changing pants.
After break-in number two, the hoofed Houdini ended up in someone’s backyard, where officers and a couple of neighbors pointed him toward freedom. He cleared the fence in one jump — a full, effortless, 1980s-OJ-for-Hertz sprint — and vanished like he had somewhere much more important to be.
Police say deer are extra frisky this time of year — mating season, low daylight, heightened activity, and apparently, a new interest in residential floor plans. But the Franklin PD did offer some helpful guidance, including reducing window glare, removing food sources, and — my personal favorite — “If a deer gets inside, stay calm.”
WW BOTTOM LINE
It’s rut season in Williamson County, folks. The bucks are horny and the glass is fragile. Keep those blinds drawn, those Ring cameras charged, and if you hear a crash at the door… maybe let the lovesick Romeo finish his tour before you get off the La-Z-Boy.
🚨 FINAL FLUSH: WHO’S KEEPING YOU SAFE
Police in Brentwood and Belle Meade are warning residents this week about an organized burglary ring known as the South American Theft Group. The crew moves through wooded buffers and backyards, forcing rear doors between five and nine in the evening. It’s professional, deliberate, and ongoing.
Detectives already arrested three members back in May after tracking a BMW with fake tags to Chattanooga. They found burglary tools, stolen jewelry, and counterfeit IDs inside. But investigators say the network didn’t end there. The warning now is about the rest of them — the ones still watching your porch lights flick on at dusk.
That’s the world Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) works in. ICE connects fingerprints, passports, and forged IDs that local police can’t trace. It’s the reason some of these criminals ever see a courtroom at all.
But Aftyn Behn, the Democrat now asking to represent you in Congress, wants that system dismantled. When ICE and the Tennessee Highway Patrol ran a joint operation in Nashville, Behn blasted them, writing:
“Dragnet operations like this do nothing to improve public safety. What they do is terrorize families, disrupt lives, and shatter trust between law enforcement and the communities they are supposed to serve.”
She added:
“If THP’s involvement is confirmed, it raises urgent and serious questions about THP’s role and authority in detaining Nashvillians for ICE.”
And again:
“This is yet another unconscionable act of cruelty and abuse of power by ICE collaborating with state law enforcement.”
Those are her words — recorded, posted, and still public while police here are begging residents to stay alert.
It’s hard to square. Federal officers are chasing a transnational burglary ring, and Behn’s outrage is aimed at the people trying to stop them. To her, enforcement is cruelty. To everyone else, it’s what keeps families from walking into a ransacked house, or worse.
Behn says immigrants “aren’t the reason for our problems.”
Fine. But when foreign nationals are kicking in back doors on Crockett Road, voters might decide the problem is politicians who confuse compassion with blind spots.
Behn wants to be trusted with public safety while treating the people who enforce it as villains. That isn’t courage; it’s vanity. She calls herself an advocate for families, yet some of the ones she’s defending are the very ones who broke the lock.
If she ever looked honestly at her own record, she might admit she got it wrong — that slogans don’t stop burglars, and hashtags don’t keep a neighborhood safe. But she won’t. She’s built her campaign on never admitting that the world she describes doesn’t exist.
The burglars know what they’re doing.
The police know what they’re doing.
The only person who doesn’t is the one asking for your vote.
The authorities said it best this week: “stay vigilant.”
Well, there you have it. Thanks for reading, thanks for sharing, and thanks for being part of this unhinged little community we call Williamson Wrong.
Go enjoy the weekend while we’ve still got a few leaves hanging on, and yes — that early snow was absolutely ridiculous. Step outside, breathe a little, maybe double-check the doors in case a confused buck wants a self-guided tour.
Have a great weekend, friends.
Stay wrong, Williamson
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