A Small Airport's Last Stand: How Local Zoning Threatens a Legacy in the Skies

In the quiet, picturesque landscape of Hunterdon County, New Jersey, something rather dramatic is unfolding – a veritable David-and-Goliath struggle, you could say. At its heart is the Alexandria Airport, a place steeped in aviation history, family legacy, and, now, quite a bit of legal drama. See, for decades, since way back in 1944, this little airport has been a vibrant, if sometimes noisy, fixture in the community. But suddenly, or so it seems, its very existence is under threat, caught in a swirling vortex of municipal policy and property disputes.

Mark Nierenberg, who runs the airport, a man whose family has poured their lives into this place, is frankly bewildered, even angry. He claims the Alexandria Township, his very own local government, has cooked up a new zoning ordinance – passed just this past November, mind you – that is, well, explicitly designed to "suffocate" their operations. Suffocate. It’s a strong word, isn't it? But then again, the changes are pretty drastic, almost crippling.

Imagine, if you will, being told you can no longer offer commercial aircraft maintenance, a cornerstone of any functional airport. Or perhaps that skydiving, a thrill for many and a revenue stream for the airport, is suddenly off-limits. And flight training? Forget about it, commercially speaking. Even fuel sales, a basic necessity, are now restricted to tenants only. It’s like telling a restaurant they can't serve half their menu, or a garage they can't fix certain cars. Oh, and then there are the new, enormous setbacks for any structures and limits on runway lengths, just for good measure. These aren’t just minor tweaks; these are, in truth, an overhaul of everything the airport has ever known.

The township, for its part, says these sweeping changes are all about safety and the "quality of life" for its residents. And who can argue with safety, right? But Nierenberg sees it differently. He views it as a targeted attack, a move that will inevitably, inexorably, destroy his business model. An airport, especially a public-use one like Alexandria, needs these various revenue streams to stay afloat. Without them, it’s not just an airport; it’s, well, it’s barely a landing strip, honestly. It’s a costly hobby, and few can afford that.

And this isn't exactly a new squabble, you understand. There's been a long, at times rather bitter, history between the airport and certain residents, not to mention some township officials. Noise complaints, safety worries – these things tend to bubble up, particularly as towns grow and new folks move in, often forgetting the established fixtures that were there long before their houses were even built. Nierenberg reminds us, and rightly so, that the airport predates many of the current residential developments. It was here first, and it’s always been a public-use facility, a crucial part of the region's aviation infrastructure.

So, what's next? The airport has done what any beleaguered institution would: they've taken the fight to the courts. Their lawsuit, filed promptly after the ordinance went through, argues that these new rules are discriminatory, frankly unconstitutional, and a blatant abuse of zoning power. They want the ordinance declared invalid, plain and simple, and they want its enforcement stopped dead in its tracks. Because, let’s be honest, for Alexandria Airport, this isn't just about zoning; it’s about their very survival. It’s a story of a family, a business, and a piece of local history battling to stay in the sky, rather than be grounded forever.