Last week, Ghazvini Development posted an aerial photo announcing their newest residential project: the Summerhill development on the northeast side of Tallahassee. The tone was upbeat — “Exciting news!” — and the land was pictured in a sunlit overhead shot, ready for transformation.
Then came the comments.
“Why do developers clear-cut all the trees?”
“So many trees…”
“Oh, another subdivision, yay…”
The outrage was fast, emotional, and utterly predictable.
This is now a standard feature of local development in Tallahassee: post → outrage → assumptions → pressure → process gridlock. And increasingly, this is where red tape is born — not in some back office at Growth Management, but in the comment section of social media.
Let’s take a closer look at that image.
To many, it triggered sadness or frustration — a large swath of green space on the cusp of change. But to others familiar with land use and forestry in North Florida, it looked familiar: rows of evenly spaced trees, planted in straight lines, bounded by clean property lines.
That’s the visual fingerprint of a managed pine farm, not a wild, old-growth forest. No one’s suggesting it wasn’t wooded. But the difference between a functioning timber tract and a natural ecosystem matters — and it’s a distinction lost in a digital environment where “tree = sacred” and “developer = destroyer” is the default.
It also misses the larger point: this land is zoned for development. This project is legal. And this city is growing.
According to the Tallahassee Board of Realtors, median home prices have surged nearly 40% in the last five years. Yet construction — especially of starter homes and workforce housing — has failed to keep up. The result? More demand, less supply, higher prices.
When public outrage triggers more hearings, more delays, and more regulation, it doesn’t protect the environment. It chokes affordability. It drives up the cost of every permit, every foundation, every final inspection. It turns the middle class into renters and the next generation into transplants.
And here’s the kicker: Tallahassee’s tree canopy is still over 55%, one of the highest in the country. That’s according to the city’s own Urban Forest Master Plan. In fact, many modern developments include mitigation requirements that replace more trees than are removed — just not in the exact place where someone used to jog.
We’re not saying development is always perfect. Or that criticism is always wrong. But we are saying this: when every new project is treated like a public emergency, the only guaranteed outcome is more red tape.
That’s bad for builders. But it’s also bad for neighborhoods. Because the more unpredictable the process becomes — the more it’s swayed by online emotion instead of transparent rules — the fewer people want to build here at all. And when they do, they pass the costs on to the very people who can least afford it.
This isn’t about defending developers. It’s about defending process — so that rules mean something and growth doesn’t become a game of political dodgeball, which often puts commissioners and staff in a very difficult position.
We can protect trees and build homes. We can plan responsibly without letting the loudest thread on Facebook become city policy.
Because if we keep letting the Facebook mob write the rules — the same people who cleared forests for the homes they live in — we’ll be left with nothing but pine trees and the broken dreams of the families who want to live in Tallahassee, but can’t.