THE COASTAL commission loves words with unspecific definitions, because if you can make a word mean one thing one day and a different thing the next, it’s much easier to justify something that would otherwise be completely illogical or arbitrary. The Coastal Act is shot through and through with such vague words and phrases, giving the commission much of its immense power.

The latest illustration is a ruling from a California appeals court that Bob Feduniak, a homeowner on 17 Mile Drive, has to remove every blade of grass from nearly all his property and replace them with native plants.

Most Americans would find it shocking that the government has the power, much less the audacity, to tell them what they can plant in their yards. Or that a court of appeals would sanction making a big deal out of what somebody prefers as landscaping at his own home. But for the coastal commission, dictating such minutiae, and invading people’s privacy, is no cause for hesitation. In fact, for the commission, it’s become a no-brainer that coastal property owners need to be told what to do. And they’re willing to fight lengthy court battles to prove it.

In the case of Feduniak and his wife, Maureen, the commission’s interference stems from a declaration back in the early 1980s that the land they own was an “environmentally sensitive habitat.” What does this precious phrase mean?

The Coastal Act provides a definition:

“‘Environmentally sensitive habitat’ means any area in which plant or animal life or their habitats are either rare or especially valuable because of their special nature or role in an ecosystem and which could be easily disturbed or degraded by human activities and developments.”

Note the key words that can mean whatever the commission decides they mean on any given day: “especially valuable,” “special nature or role,” “easily disturbed or degraded,” etc.

Two decades ago, the commission took a look at an iceplant-covered site overlooking Fanshell Beach and decided it qualified. On another day, looked at by a different set of commissioners, the opposite conclusion could have been reached. Veteran observers of the coastal commission know that the vote on a permit can be influenced by the mood of the commissioners, where a given item is placed on the agenda, how many environmentalists happen to be in the audience, and a host of similar coincidences, not to mention the political party of the people who appointed the commissioners and other substantive, but nevertheless variable, factors. In other words, different applicants get totally different results.

For the Feduniaks, the outcome of their struggle is one that shocks almost everyone familiar with their circumstances. Their three-hole miniature golf course is not offensive to the neighborhood (which is filled with golf courses). It did not disrupt sensitive habitat (because before it was put in the property was already devoid of native plants). And making them rip it out will actually be a net loss for the environment of Del Monte Forest (because Feduniak offered to pay for restoration of other, much more important properties if he was allowed to keep his mini course).

Our legal system is supposed to promote fairness and justice. In the Feduniaks’ case, the result was the opposite.