After almost three years with the town of Waynesville, Amie Owens is out as administrative services director.

A new state law calling for more competition and transparency in how Municipal Service Districts are managed sent shudders down the collective spines of some on the Waynesville Town Board when they learned that the contracts to manage such districts would now have to go up for bid.

The same 2015 law that robs local governments of control over how and for how long they can contract with the organizations that manage their Municipal Service Districts also dictates that local governments now formally address requests from property owners who wish to be removed from an MSD.

In May, the auditorium in the Folkmoot Friendship Center was dedicated to a man instrumental in establishing Waynesville and its environs as one of the most important centers of folk culture in the nation.

Waynesville utility crews will no longer donate labor to run power, water and sewer connections for community projects on a handshake agreement.

The lack of high-speed internet in Western North Carolina has been more than just an annoyance to Netflix binge-watchers — it’s also seen as one of the region’s largest economic development challenges.

The Mad Anthony’s food truck debate culminated last week in what will go down in the annals of Waynesville lore as “The Battle of Branner Avenue” — the story of a local businessman who did almost everything wrong but was in the right, and the town that did almost everything right but was in the wrong.

By a 4-1 vote on June 28, the Town of Waynesville finally got around to complying with an Oct. 1, 2015, state requirement that could potentially threaten the very existence of one of its best-known institutions. 

As the largest town west of Asheville and the county seat of Haywood County, Waynesville is the economic engine of the region, driving development and investment from Canton to Cherokee. Accordingly, its burden is high — some of the most important interactions residents will have with any local government occur on its website, almost 90 times each day. 

Stephen Metzger was like a kid in a candy shop as he clambered over a massive mound of behemoth tree trunks piled high in the wood salvage yard behind Moose Crossing, a woodworking studio on the outskirts of Waynesville.

 “Ashe, red oak, box elder, white oak, walnut, hard maple, sugar maple, sycamore,” Stephen said. “We’ve got a huge investment right here — huge.”