The Lycoming County commissioners met this week to address a matter that has stirred considerable emotion across the county. The Bush House Estate near the former Lycoming Mall in Muncy sits at the center of a debate that reveals how we struggle with change, even when change becomes necessary.
People showed up to express their dismay about plans to sell and demolish parts of the historic property. The estate, sitting on 10 acres, represents a piece of local history that many want preserved. Developer FAMvest has purchased the property with plans to build a Wawa convenience store, gas station, and hotel where the cottage and barn now stand. To many, this feels like trading heritage for commerce, swapping something irreplaceable for something ordinary.
But the commissioners explained what those expressing dismay seemed unwilling to acknowledge. The family that owned the Bush House could not maintain it anymore. The property needs over a million dollars in repairs, costs that extend far beyond what a family can reasonably bear. Without intervention, the estate would not be preserved. It would simply rot away into blight, becoming another decaying monument to what once was rather than what could be.
This is the part that gets lost in the outcry. Not one person who showed up to express dismay about the demolition offered to pay for the repairs. Not one proposed a viable plan for maintaining the property going forward. Not one suggested a profitable business that could operate from the estate and generate the revenue needed to keep it standing. The family made the only decision available to them, and the commissioners acknowledged they could not interfere with that choice.
The irony sits heavily here. The same community members upset about losing the Bush House are benefitting tremendously from the sale. The former Lycoming Mall property has become a sprawl of crumbling asphalt and empty buildings, a dead mall dragging down property values and tax revenue across the area. The development will bring economic activity back to a site that has been hemorrhaging value for years. Tax revenue will increase. Jobs will be created. The endless expanse of the unused parking lot will finally serve a purpose again.
This does not make the loss of history easier to bear. Both things can be true at once. We can mourn what is being lost while acknowledging that preservation was never truly an option. The Bush House was not going to survive on sentiment alone. Without the million dollars in repairs and a sustainable business model, the estate was already on a path toward ruin. The only question was whether it would disappear slowly through neglect or quickly through controlled demolition.
My father-in-law once told me that the older we get, the more we should worry about leaving a better world for our children. That wisdom applies here in ways that complicate the simple narrative of developers destroying history. What kind of world are we leaving if we let historic properties crumble because we lack the will or resources to maintain them? What kind of world are we leaving if we allow dead malls to spread blight across communities because we refuse to repurpose the land?
The commissioners understand this tension. They operate in Pennsylvania’s largest county by land area, a place where 1,244 square miles contain countless buildings and properties with stories to tell. Not all of them can be saved. Not all of them should be. The work of governance requires making hard choices about which battles to fight and which losses to accept.
The Bush House Estate will come down, and a Wawa will rise in its place. People will fill their tanks and grab coffee on their way to work. The hotel will house travelers passing through. The county will collect tax revenue that can fund schools, roads, and services. The former mall property will serve the living rather than memorialize the dead.
This does not erase the history. The stories of the Bush House will remain, carried forward by those who remember. But those stories cannot pay for roof repairs or foundation work. They cannot generate the revenue needed to keep the lights on and the property maintained. At some point, we have to be honest about what we can save and what we cannot.
The commissioners meet every Thursday at 10 a.m., making decisions that balance sentiment with reality. This week’s meeting reminded us that preservation requires more than passion. It requires resources, planning, and a viable path forward. Without those elements, even the most beloved properties become liabilities rather than assets.
Lycoming County is moving forward, one difficult decision at a time.
