This is the final entry in a three-part series that began as a simple post on property tax frustrations in a private Facebook group. What started with one number became a broader conversation—one that continues beyond this post. We’ve reproduced it here for broader sharing and visibility. Slight edits were made for readability. The core message remains intact.
To catch up, read Part I: The Letter → and Part II: The Vortex House.
In mythology, the Hydra was nearly impossible to defeat. Each time a head was cut off, two more grew back. It could spit venom at its victims and overwhelm its prey.
In places like Beatrice, Wymore, Clatonia, Barneston—and across Gage County—property owners are facing a layered challenge. This conversation began with a shared frustration: the growing sense that we’re being taxed out of our homes.
The recent property assessments felt less like fair market adjustments and more like a means to meet fiscal needs.
And let’s talk about “fair market value.” Fair to whom? Whose “market”? If the value can’t be accessed or realized by the person who holds it, then who benefits? Because here is a fair question: If you can’t borrow 75% against your land’s “value,” how can it be declared worth that much?
But before we could even begin to plan a response, another head appeared — a questionable data point. And even still, as we started grappling with that discovery and the questions it raised, we had to face a harder truth: most of the answers we need lie outside our county lines.
But not all of them.
In this final post on the matter we’re going to review the first two and then we’re going to look the third one in the eye and start working on a strategy.
The three heads of our particular hydra are:
- The increase itself,
- An overt act to change the record, and
- What can be done about both?
What a Short, Strange Trip It’s Been
Over the past six days, we started something together.
It began with a simple post that gave voice to a shared feeling: that rising property valuations are starting to stretch us past our limits.
Hundreds of you responded. Many shared your own numbers. Others asked questions—lots of them. Good ones. Specific. Detailed. And often focused on a single point: “How much did mine go up?”
Do You Know Your Number?
If you haven’t checked yet, take a minute to look. You’ll find what you need on the letter you received:
- Your 2025 Dwelling Valuation: _________ (this is A)
- Your 2024 Dwelling Valuation: _________ (this is B)
Now, calculate your percentage increase.
- Subtract B from A → _________
- Divide that number by B → _________
- Multiply by 100 (or just move the decimal two places to the right) → _________
Example:
If your 2024 value was $180,000 and your 2025 value is $200,000:
((200,000 – 180,000) / 180,000) × 100 = 11.1%
Formula:
((A – B) / B) × 100 = % Increase → _________
Historically, property values in Nebraska have risen at a steady pace—about 3% to 5% per year, averaging roughly 4.25% over the past decade. That’s the kind of movement most homeowners plan around. It’s what budgeting, retirement, and long-term ownership rely on.
But over the past four years, many homeowners here have seen their valuations jump by 50% or more. At that pace, property values would double every seven years.
And those increases don’t land evenly.
This year, in a sample of 30 Homestead Exemption properties, every single one was assigned a flat 10% increase—regardless of location, condition, or the owner’s situation. That’s more than my own home saw.
And these aren’t just any properties. They include seniors, disabled veterans, widowed spouses, and others the law was written to protect. For them, this isn’t just a budgeting issue. It’s an estate planning issue—one that builds year over year, quietly eroding the very shelter those exemptions were designed to preserve.
That pattern raised deeper questions—not just about fairness, but about how the system actually works. More technical questions began coming in:
How are these valuations calculated? Can anything be done before the protest window closes? What’s the impact on estate transfers, exemptions, or long-term planning?
I’ve been looking into some of those. If I find a way to explain them clearly—without crossing into anything that could be mistaken for legal or financial guidance—I’ll share what I can. The goal is to inform, not advise. More on that soon.
But somewhere between the math and the models, a different kind of question kept surfacing—one that’s less technical and more human:
Why is the County still sending these shock letters—year after year—without so much as an explanation, a breakdown, or even a hint at why it’s happening again?
Around that same time, a video began circulating. It set out to explain how homes and land are assessed, how levies work, and what you can do if you disagree with your valuation.
At first glance, it looked official. It was clear, well-edited, and used charts and graphics that gave it an air of authority. But it raised a basic question: who’s talking?
The narrator never introduces themselves. There’s no name, title, or role. Gage County isn’t even mentioned until nearly a minute in. There’s no county seal, no statement of official capacity, and no disclaimer. The charts shown in the video aren’t cited or linked anywhere. Viewers have no way to trace the data or verify the source.
That might sound like a small thing. But it matters—especially when the content is complex. If you’re trying to follow along, you want to know who’s walking you through it, and why they’re qualified to explain.
The video was posted to a personal YouTube account, then shared on a Facebook page that looks public-facing but isn’t formally affiliated with the county. There’s no visible connection to local government beyond the name of the page. If you don’t already know who the speaker is, there’s no way to tell whether they’re a public official, a private citizen, or something else entirely.
So here’s the plain question: Is this video the County’s official position?
The video never says. And the answer might matter—not just for transparency, but because part of its explanation seems to quietly reverse how this system is supposed to work.
In the video’s version, the order looks like this:
Budget → Property Values → Levies.
But under Nebraska law, that’s not how it’s written.
The state constitution—Article VIII, Section 1—says taxes must be based on value: “uniformly and proportionately.”
That means the proper order is:
Property Values → Budget → Levies.
And that difference could matter. A lot.
It determines whether we’re being taxed based on what our homes, and land, are actually worth—or whether those values are being raised to meet a budget that’s already been decided.
That’s not just a technical distinction. It affects every property owner, and renter, directly.
Counties today have more tools and flexibility to meet budget needs than they did in the past. But nowhere does the law say they can reverse the order. And no new statute clearly overrides this foundational rule.
If the order didn’t matter, the constitution wouldn’t have specified it. And if lawmakers meant to change that structure, they would’ve said so—clearly and explicitly.
But they haven’t.
So unless the law itself changes, value still comes first. The sequence isn’t arbitrary. It’s designed that way to protect taxpayers—and ensure budgeting is grounded in reality, not reversed into justification.
If that principle was misstated in the video, it should be corrected. If it was simply unclear, it should be clarified.
Because when officials say, “Our budget increase just tracks CPI,” we should pause.
It sounds reasonable—until you take a closer look at what CPI actually measures.
The Consumer Price Index (CPI) tracks the cost of everyday items: groceries, gas, rent, insurance. It does not track what homes are worth. In fact, for homeowners, CPI uses something called Owner’s Equivalent Rent—an estimate of what it would cost to rent your own home, not sell it.
So when a county’s property valuations rise at the same rate as CPI, it’s not because CPI caused it. The systems aren’t even designed to move together.
- CPI reflects consumer costs.
- Property assessments reflect market value.
They are not the same. They’re different on purpose.
Which is why the videos chart is so strange. It shows the Levy rate dropped by 1.3%, while property values jumped over 11.66%, during a year when CPI was under 3%—a four-year low.
If the system were working as designed, that kind of valuation jump should’ve created a surplus—or driven the levy rate down much further.
Instead, the rate was only trimmed just enough to make everything line up with CPI.
That’s not how the math is supposed to work.
On a 10-year table, if valuations match CPI this closely, year after year, that’s not discipline—it’s one heck of a coincidence.
This system is built to allow surpluses or shortfalls from year to year. That’s how fiscal restraint shows up—or doesn’t. So when the numbers track a little too cleanly, we have to ask:
- How were these values actually determined?
- Why do they match the budget so perfectly?
- And does the law allow that kind of alignment—or protect us from it?
These aren’t direct challenges to authority, or accusations or wrong-doing. They’re fair questions — aimed at very complex issues — ones that can’t possibly be responded to with a single post or video. I get that. That’s not a reasonable expectation of anyone. Even public officials.
To be clear: I’m not a public official. I’m a private citizen, so I am allowed to ponder these questions with you that are bugging me, and I recognize that I have much to learn about all of this, but I do know that we need to keep asking… it’s how we get to the answers we can live with.
My goal here isn’t to declare what’s technically perfect or not. It’s to describe what I’m seeing — clearly, if not completely. And I might not have it all right. I don’t want you take it as gospel. If we arrive at the same understanding, great. We’ll have earned it together.
But, I somewhat hope you don’t.
If something here doesn’t sit right, or feels worth asking about, then the question becomes yours. Ask it your way. Bring your own lens. I’m always amazed at what that reveals.
I haven’t been here for long and my good intentions are no substitute for your lived experience.
Clarity doesn’t always come from feeling right. Sometimes, it comes from asking the question until you understand.
Whatever the answers, here’s what we know: there’s no silver bullet for this. No single post, protest, or petition will fix it overnight.
We’re left with the harder work—the work of convincing our leaders to change how this system operates. That means navigating red tape, closed doors, and limited access.
But here’s the good news: the path forward doesn’t have to be complicated. It starts with three simple things:
- Clearly identify how this is harming us
- Ask for specific relief that could be granted
- Bring forward ideas and solutions our officials can actually use
That—and persistence.
To those of you who’ve read these long posts over the past week—thank you. I’ve tried not to waste your time. I know you have other things to do, and I’ve done my best not to take your tolerance for granted. And finally, thank you to my wife—for all of it.
This will be my last extended update about this on the neighborhood watch page. Most of the continuing work will move elsewhere from here.
But before we shift focus, I owe you an answer to one of the most common—and pointed—questions raised so far:
Why is it called the Vortex House?
Picture a storm tearing through a town. When it clears, neighbors step outside to find wreckage everywhere: roofs torn, windows shattered, generational homes cracked at the foundation.
But one house stands perfectly intact—seemingly untouched by the chaos.
The locals would call it lucky.
That’s the image that came to mind when we first looked at what became known as the “Vortex House.” A house that stood in the eye of the storm we’re in.
Naturally, we were compelled—out of awe—to ask: How?
That question was answered by working backward: reverse-engineering the steps, the knowledge, and the access it might take to reach that outcome.
But even with the pieces in place, I had a hard time believing my own answer. So I asked for your help—not to confirm my hunch, but to test it.
You didn’t have all the details. That was by design.
I left clues. Some were obvious. Some weren’t. And a few of them weren’t meant for you.
And here’s where it went from odd to extraordinary:
Some of the clues disappeared.
You may remember a non-specific clue from The Vortex House post—the breadcrumb about a recorded addition. First, I told you it was listed at “more than $10,000.” Then, a bit more precisely: “over $14,000.”
That wasn’t trivia. It was the key to identifying the property—and to explaining why this precise data point mattered.
On June 4, the assessor’s website listed a $14,300 addition.
On June 5, it was still there.
June 6? Gone.
Removed. Altered. Replaced. That line now reads: “N/A.”
See for yourself.
All of the outbuilding data was altered as well.
Why?
That doesn’t appear routine. It appears that someone—with access—made changes after the property might become a focus of public attention.
But Wait, There’s More
The Vortex House lists zero bedrooms and, curiously, 12 plumbing features—despite showing zero bathrooms.
We know that’s inaccurate. Social proof confirms a full-scale renovation began in 2023 and was livable by late 2024. It may be innocent, but if so, it signals a troubling lack of precision—and oversight—within the county’s process. Especially when it comes to the records of its own officers.
In a system where property values are often determined using software like CAMA—Computer-Assisted Mass Appraisal—those aren’t excusable oversights. They’re structural data flaws that distort everything that follows.
CAMA systems calculate value using structured data. If fields like “bedrooms” or “bathrooms” are blank or wrong, the valuation gets skewed.
Worse still: future assessments often rely on past records. So when errors are missed, they don’t just repeat. They compound.
Here’s why that matters:
Properties like this—no sale, no permit, no obvious external trigger—can go years, even decades, without a fresh review. The system is designed to catch what’s visible. Not what’s silent. Or been removed.
So once a record like this settles in, it becomes the new baseline.
Undervalued once.
Undervalued forever.
Taxes you and I can’t avoid.
CAMA systems, however, are built for accountability.
Every keystroke.
Every user ID.
Every time a record is created, read, updated, or deleted—it’s logged.
That means if this wasn’t an error or routine, and someone changed this entry, the system knows:
who did it, when they did it, and what exactly they changed.
Unfortunately, I don’t expect anyone to hand us a password to the County’s internal systems anytime soon.
So to defeat this Hydra, we’ll need someone with access. Someone on the inside.
We’ll have to rely on local leadership to act on our behalf.
That’s a fair ask. We’ve earned it.
But we also have to accept—they may not see it that way.
So take a breath. Step into the center of the ring.
Because this is the real test.
The Long Game
And that brings us face to face with our toughest battle.
Reform.
If the burden of the budget is on the taxpayer, then the burden to fix it is on our elected officials. That’s the agreement.
To defeat a hydra, you need to cut off its heads, but be prepared for them to regenerate. Use fire to cauterize the neck stumps immediately after decapitation to prevent new heads from growing back.
This won’t fix your bill today. But maybe it’s a good metaphor for real reform. Maybe not. Either way, it’s a reminder: this isn’t going to be easy. Tests rarely are.
And we have to recognize something else:
Every level unlocks its own Hydra.
Taxpayers face one.
Cities wrestle another.
Counties fight their own monsters—often upstream from the state, or downstream from federal change.
And states? They get it from both sides.
None of these forces were supposed to feel at odds.
We’re not enemies in this.
We just aren’t fighting together—so it feels like it.
But if there is anything certain in life, it’s this:
When it comes to taxes, we’re all in this together.
– Max
This isn’t the end of the story—just the end of this chapter. If something here stirred a question or reflection, we’d welcome your thoughts. Leave a comment or share the post if it helps others do the same.
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