A Conversation with Deb Clough
Flower petals floated downstream as the Cochecho River carried away another piece of Deb Clough’s hard work. It wasn’t the first time she’d found her planters uprooted, their soil spilled across the sidewalk, the bright blooms crushed or gone entirely. This time, the trail of petals led right to the edge of the bridge—a streak of dirt marking where someone had yanked the pots from their stands and hurled them into the river.
For years, Deb’s been at the helm of various beautification projects. Just recently this November, she was awarded a Certificate of Excellence in Community Service by the National Society of the Daughters of the American Revolution. Deb was a board member of Dover Main Street and led the Adopt-A-Spot program. In 2018, her lifelong habit of picking up litter evolved into Don’t Trash Dover, a monthly volunteer group that now gathers year-round to clean different sections of the city, one hour at a time. And in 2023, she founded Dover Doers, the group responsible for the vibrant flower-filled planters, the October witchy hats, and now the seasonally ribbon-bowed jingle bells along the Central Avenue bridge.
The Dover Doers started small and modest, a self-funded project with just Deb and a friend. They poured their own time and money into the Central Avenue bridge planters. But the planters quickly became targets for vandalism. “We were losing plants within 24 hours,” she explained. “I mean, seven plants stolen in the first day alone, and then it just went downhill from there.”
“We couldn’t keep up with replacing plants at the rate they were being destroyed,” said Deb. “Sometimes, they were thrown in the river, and we’d see them floating below. Other times, they’d be tipped sideways, or there’d just be holes where the plants were because someone stole them.” Why people targeted the flowers is still a mystery, but some stories have trickled back to Deb. One woman was seen casually pulling plants from a box, openly explaining that she planned to replant them in her own yard. Another time, a man simply punched one of the boxes, sending soil and flowers flying. When confronted, he only shrugged and walked away. “By the end of last summer [2023], I was exhausted. I must have filed 22 police reports last year alone. I hated wasting the police’s time, but I thought it was important that it be documented.”
Despite her efforts, the vandalism continued, leaving her questioning how much more she could take. The planters were never about flowers, but about fostering civic pride and connection. Deb’s frustration with the lack of respect and accountability was a stark contrast to her vision of community. “When people see someone taking plants and don’t feel comfortable questioning them, it’s frustrating. It seems like we’re losing a sense of shared responsibility. I wish there were more people who’d step in and say, ‘Hey, that’s not okay.’”
Determined to find a solution for the flowers on the Central Avenue Bridge, Deb turned to the community she served for help. She teamed up with the welding class at Dover High School’s Career Technical Center to create a lasting solution. Together with instructor Nicole Witham and her students, they designed custom brackets. The brackets attach securely to the bridge, and then volunteers swing the baskets to the bridge’s edge for watering and maintenance, keeping the flowers from the reach of mischievous hands. This year, in addition to the flowers, we’ve seen witchy hats for October, and now Thanksgiving Jingle Bells (The One Horse Open Sleigh was originally written for Thanksgiving) which will stretch out through until the end of December.
For Deb though, beautifying Dover has never been limited to the Central Avenue bridge. Long before planters or jingle bells, she could be spotted on daily walks, gloves on and wrinkled Market Basket bag in hand, quietly picking up litter. A cigarette butt on Main Street, a used Dunk’s coffee cup that had slid up against the curb on Silver. It was just her, the litter, and the quiet satisfaction of leaving the street better than she had found it. “If I’m going to walk anyway, I’m going to pick up litter,” Deb says.
People began noticing, honking their horns, rolling down their car windows, and shouting, “That’s awesome—thank you!”
Then, someone asked if they could join her.
“And I was like, ‘Really, You want to do this?’ They said, ‘I wouldn’t do it on my own, but I’d do it with you.’” That’s when Deb thought, “Okay, let’s see where this goes.”
She began a Facebook Group called Don’t Trash Dover.“ I didn’t know what to expect,” Deb said. But she describes herself as a doer. “If one person shows up, great. If no one does, that’s fine too. I’ll still be out there. But when people started showing up, I realized there were others who felt the same way I did.”
That was six years ago, and to date, the community-driven group boasts 1,200 members, and is dedicated to maintaining the cleanliness and beauty of Dover with monthly Saturday morning one-hour-long walks. Each walk starts at a specific location, such as Garrison Elementary School, Woodman Park School, the Dover Transportation Center. No sign-up is required. You simply arrive. The group provides the bags, the safety vests, and the litter grabber tools.
“Anybody can give an hour,” says Deb. “That’s what I tell people—just one hour of your time, and it makes a difference. You don’t have to commit to more than that, and together, it all adds up.” This ethos has fueled the steady one hour at a time growth of Don’t Trash Dover, transforming what started as one person’s habit into a thriving, community-powered effort. Yet, even with such grassroots initiatives, the city’s broader approach to cleaning its streets remains heavily reliant on machinery and minimal manpower.
Every spring, the Dover Community Services Department pulls out the street sweepers—big, lumbering white trucks crawling along the street edges with their massive rotary brushes spinning, kicking up a faint mist of water. The roaring vacuum sucks up cigarette butts, bits of gravel, and fast-food wrappers. Still, the city carries its tongue-in-cheek nickname: Dirty Dover.
The moniker has historical roots. Dover was one of the earliest industrialized cities in the United States, with numerous mills and factories along the Cochecho River. During the 19th and early 20th centuries, these industries discharged waste directly into the river, creating pollution and earning the city a reputation for being dirty. The remnants of this era, such as deteriorating buildings and industrial waste, contributed to the nickname. And like many older mill towns, Dover experienced a period of economic decline in the mid-20th century as industries moved away. This led to neglected infrastructure, vacant buildings, and urban decay, reinforcing the dirty nickname.
Today, thanks in part to the dedication of individuals like Deb, Dover has undergone significant transformations vibrant downtown, thriving art scene, and community projects. But currently, most of the city’s official cleaning efforts rely on street sweepers rather than comprehensive, hands-on maintenance. This, of course, is not unusual. Many municipalities rely on volunteers or outsourced contracts to handle the physical upkeep of streets and parks, rather than employing individuals specifically tasked with those hands-on responsibilities. Think of the Detroit Mower Gang, a grassroots organization that gets together every Wednesday to mow the abandoned playgrounds of Detroit. Or We Heart Seattle, Friends of the Los Angeles River, SOLVE of Portland, Oregon. And Keep Philadelphia Beautiful.
More locally we can look toward Rochester Cares Clean Up Day, an annual event organized by Rochester Main Street and the Rochester Recreation Department, where volunteers gather to remove trash and debris from downtown areas and roadways. The Blue Ocean Society for Marine Conservation based in Portsmouth coordinates monthly beach cleanups along New Hampshire’s coastlines. Or Don’t Trash Somersworth, a Don’t Trash Dover inspired sister group. Even when beautification or litter removal is a municipality goal, the execution often falls outside the purview of hired staff.
What Deb Clough does is rare because she bridges that gap: she’s a visionary and a doer. Her work doesn’t stop at organizing or planning, it’s deeply tied to direct action. This kind of role doesn’t seem to formally exist anywhere in New Hampshire.
And for grassroots organizers like Deb, securing resources can often be a challenge. Unlike formal nonprofits, without the 501(c)(3) status, securing resources can often be a challenge. Deb did approach the city officials directly and advocated for her work, showcasing the importance of volunteer-led projects like hers and demonstrating how they fill a critical gap in municipal services. The city required her to submit a formal proposal detailing what she was asking for, the specific amount of funding needed, and how the money would be used. This included a breakdown of her projects, such as maintaining the bridge planters, acquiring tools for litter cleanups, and supporting other beautification activities.
The city approved her funding request.
Her advocacy for the city grant reflected her belief that beautification is more than an aesthetic endeavor—it’s a driver of economic growth and civic pride. “An attractive downtown benefits everyone,” Deb notes, pointing to the impact on property values and businesses.
But she is not guaranteed another round of funding. “Next budget season, they [the city] are going to look, and they’re going to go through, and going to ask—do we want to give $1000 to Don’t Trash Dover, and do we want to give $5000 to the Dover Doers? Maybe not. So next year, that funding could go away. I hate for that funding to go away, but I know I’ll be able to show them that I used every dollar they gave me and put it to good use.”
Additionally, a new Dover nonprofit has emerged to support individuals like Deb. Communitively.org was created to assist people who perform community-based volunteer work but do not have formal 501(c)(3) status. Acting as a fiscal sponsor, the foundation provides an umbrella for fundraising and operational support, allowing volunteers to focus on their projects without the bureaucratic challenges of establishing a nonprofit.
Despite the support available, Deb has chosen not to pursue 501(c)(3) status or assistance from Communitively.org. She’s clear about her reasons: “I don’t want to sit at a desk doing paperwork. That’s not why I do this.” Her focus remains on direct action—being out in the community, making tangible changes, and engaging with the work itself. While she acknowledges that Communitively.org could ease some logistical burdens, Deb feels that her current level of support, including the city grant and community contributions, is sufficient. For now. Pursuing additional funding would require time and energy she prefers to dedicate to the work she loves: beautifying Dover one planter, litter pickup, or decoration at a time.
The roles typically found in towns and cities—Town Planners or Community Development Coordinators—focus on high-level strategic initiatives like land-use planning, environmental policies, or managing programs. However, they rarely, if ever, include the on-the-ground work of picking up litter or maintaining public spaces directly.
This disconnect creates a noticeable gap between long-term strategic goals and the hands-on, daily maintenance needed to bring those goals to life.
Deb bridges that gap—and in doing so, she transforms not just the bridge on Central Avenue but the connections between people and their city. While some flowers may float downstream with the Cochecho River’s current, her work leaves lasting roots in the community.
Wouldn’t it be fascinating if Dover or another town piloted such a role? A position like “Community Beautification Specialist” or “Public Spaces Steward” could combine strategic planning with direct, tangible action, ensuring that cities like Dover don’t overly rely on volunteers. It could set a precedent for towns facing similar challenges, where physical upkeep and community pride go hand in hand.
