Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SUNDAY, September 4, 1994 TAG: 9409060039
SECTION: VIRGINIA PAGE: A1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: JAN VERTEFEUILLE STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: LENGTH: Long
\ The sun is climbing to the peak of another steamy summer day and one of the Poage cows is slogging through Back Creek, leaving the pasture for the barn and the relief of the giant fans inside.
She ambles through the concrete tunnel that lets the Holsteins cross under the road at their leisure, beneath the 10,000 cars a day that zip past the farm.
Despite the tunnel, the cows and cars on Bent Mountain Road may be on a collision course. William L. Poage fears his cows may be the casualty.
"I feel like it's going to ruin us," Poage, 65, says of the plan to widen the road that bisects his dairy farm. "Either way, it's going to leave me stranded. I won't have enough land to farm."
For nearly 250 years, the farm has been the Poage family's life. Its Back Creek location is rural, scenic and 10 minutes from the strip malls and burger joints of Virginia 419.
It's country living, conveniently located. People who want a slice of it have crowded the Poages and other longtime Back Creek residents, until the rural qualities that attracted them are in jeopardy.
Named for the stream that runs through it, Back Creek is a loosely defined area along U.S. 221, also known as Bent Mountain Road. It stretches about 10 miles from the base of Bent Mountain to Virginia 419 and Brambleton Avenue.
Suburbia has crept into this part of Southwest Roanoke County like kudzu, thriving while threatening to overrun the native inhabitants.
"A lot of people move out here thinking they're moving to the country," lifelong resident David Underwood says. "But at night, the lights look like we're living in Penn Forest."
Nearly half the 1,000 or so homes in Back Creek have been built since 1980; hundreds more are in the works. There's only one main road into the area - U.S. 221 - and it's experiencing "growing pains," in the words of one highway engineer.
Back Creek is a community at a crossroads.
A four-lane highway has been proposed to replace the winding, narrow 221. Water lines are being laid to Cotton Hill Road. And there's a chance that the yet-to-be-located Interstate 73 could come zooming through as well.
The residents want country living. The county wants more development.
The question that must be answered: What does Back Creek want to be when it's all grown up?
A few miles down the road from Old Poage Farm sits the most expensive subdivision in Back Creek. The homes in this 28-lot development, now under construction, command prices from $250,000 to $600,000. Those prices are in the top tier for homes in the Roanoke Valley and are "astounding" for Back Creek, one real estate agent says.
Developer David Vaughn plans to plant $32,000 worth of trees at the bottom of the street to blaze gold in the fall, befitting the name on the massive marble-tiled entrance sign: Autumn Park.
The brick luxury houses climb up the hilly development on winding cul-de-sacs, ending at turnouts with views of the mountains. All houses come with 9-foot ceilings, garage-door openers and ceramic tile baths. Their wooded lots sit on wide streets lighted by antique-replica lamps.
But it's the view that sells them, listing agent Nancye White says. The houses stand high above 221, with dramatic views of forested mountains in front.
The custom-built homes satisfy the outwardly mobile who want to move from the city - but not too far. Improvement of 221 can only help developments like Autumn Park, White figures.
"As soon as they started developing [the first stretch of 221], we became real, real popular," she says. "Where can you go and have these kinds of views, have curb and guttering, street lights and be 10 minutes from 419 and any shopping you want?"
Vista Forest. Carriage Hills. Highfields Farm. Forest Edge. The streets on these subdivisions wind back through the hills to reveal enormous communities whose presence is mostly invisible from 221 - at least until rush hour, when hundreds of cars pour onto the winding, narrow road that takes their occupants to and from jobs in Roanoke.
It's country living designed to simulate the suburbs - carefully manicured lawns, paved driveways and little privacy. Often, lots are situated so that residents can look into their neighbors' backyards - not what usually springs to mind as rural.
But the lots are usually bigger and more wooded than in urban subdivisions, real estate agents point out, with an acre about the norm.
Some houses sit atop hills; others are wedged into lots with front lawns at a 45-degree angle up to the road, with only the second story visible from street level.
Despite the unaccommodating terrain, developers have managed to carve neighborhoods out of Back Creek.
"The key is getting roads approved," county Planning Director Terry Harrington says. "There are very few lots that are unbuildable if you can get roads to them."
Many residents are moving from urban subdivisions in the valley, looking for more space and a view.
Linda Cullinan moved into Highfields Farm a year ago, after 16 years in the Penn Forest development.
"The lots are bigger," she says. "We were bulging at the seams."
She was watering the lawn on her one-acre lot on a recent evening. She loves looking out from the top of her hill to the blue-green mountains across 221. She says she'd hate to see more growth eat away at the trees on those mountains, and she has mixed feelings about the road widening.
"I don't want a four-lane road out here because I enjoy the view," she says. "I'd like to see [the curves] straightened out, being the mother of a teen-age son."
One reason she was hesitant about leaving Penn Forest was the strong sense of community there. But even in her Back Creek neighborhood she's found "a suburb-type feeling."
In Autumn Park, unlike in some less pricey subdivisions, most of the people who've bought lots so far are business executives and their families transferring from outside the region. Only two lots have been sold to Roanoke residents, White says.
"Every time we open up property out here, I think, where are our buyers coming from? But they come."
\ This wasn't supposed to happen here.
Years ago, no one predicted the popularity of Back Creek. Instead, county officials expected that most growth would be in the northern and western parts of the county. Back Creek thus is officially a "rural village" where the county is supposed to use its power to limit growth. The county's comprehensive plan has said so since 1985.
Roanoke County is not to extend utilities or spend public money on services that encourage growth in a rural village. It is supposed to encourage agricultural uses and prohibit middle- and high-density development - the kind that now dots the hillsides of Back Creek.
The comprehensive plan states some of the reasons for that: "Farmland conversion pressures could diminish the county's agricultural base" and "Residential sprawl is costly, requiring public investment for roads, and water and sewer lines."
But the plan got trampled in the rush out to Back Creek. People want to live there, despite the county's plan.
Lee Eddy, chairman of the Board of Supervisors and the member who represents most of the Back Creek area, says the comprehensive plan is out of date. Rather than being a strict constructionist, he views the plan as "an ongoing, changing document."
The comprehensive plan is the county's guide - in theory, for both public and private planning - to where and how it wants to grow. In the case of Back Creek, the Planning Commission has realized the plan was off the mark, says Harrington, the county planning director.
So the plan's recommendations for Back Creek are pretty much ignored now.
In the early '80s, when the plan was drafted, the county knew that projects that boost growth were coming - 221 was going to be widened and water lines were headed out there when the Spring Hollow Reservoir was finished. Those changes would make the rural village designation hard to enforce.
And, Harrington says, the county didn't have the tools to enforce the plan until 1992, when its zoning ordinance was rewritten. (If laid out in conjunction with the comprehensive plan, the zoning ordinance can give the guidelines teeth.)
After deciding that its 1985 guidelines were no longer valid for the area, the county - in a move that contradicts its comprehensive plan - rezoned Back Creek out to Poage Valley Road (including the Poage farm) from a low-density designation to R-1, the densest single-family residential zoning.
Six houses per acre are now allowed there. New farms no longer are.
Supervisor Bob Johnson, a real estate agent, says: "This is the one instance where our county staff finally gave up and allowed reality to establish their standards."
Realtor Roy Lochner tells of a couple to whom he recently sold a 30-acre spread off Corntassel Road. The county would let them build a subdivision there, but what they wanted to do - keep horses on the property - was not allowed.
Since the area is now zoned residential and horses are restricted, they had to apply for a special-use permit for a private stable.
"So you have to ask the question," Lochner says, "Is the county planning department not forcing conversion of this land to residential use?"
While some fear Bent Mountain Road could end up as commercialized as Virginia 419, retail development in Back Creek doesn't bother Eddy. Some residents have been asking for more convenience stores and the like, he says.
"People who are concerned about the road see a McDonald's or 7-Eleven on every corner," he says. "There'll be a little bit of that," but it won't be like 419.
Besides, Eddy says, "I don't think terrible things have happened to 419."
As for the demise of some of the county's limited agricultural land, Eddy says, "I don't have any sentimental concern over the farmers.
"I think some areas of the county - particularly Southwest - should be preserved for agriculture. But those areas closer in are already rezoned and we're encouraging growth because we think we can provide services economically."
David Poage says the county is allowing the buildup of Back Creek for one reason: "They're looking to reap the tax dollars."
Other longtime residents agree, and they're angry.
Fran MacGregor, who has lived on Poage Valley Road Extension for 18 years, says a combination of pressure from developers and taxes from the county is squeezing out older residents.
"The big developers are selling small lots at astronomical prices," driving up everyone's property values and their taxes, she says. "Some of us are having a hard time keeping our homes."
Clayton Helvey, who lives across from the Autumn Park entrance on 221, watches luxury houses being built and sees his assessment going up. He says the nearby expensive homes raise his property taxes, "and I've still got the same old house I've had for 30 years."
While much development already has taken place, residents have a chance to help shape the future of their community with input on the road widening and in updating the county's comprehensive plan next year, which could remove Back Creek's rural designation and clear the way for more development.
The question for 1995's plan will be: Should it continue to say the county is against more growth in Back Creek, or should it bow to private-sector desires?
Can the county stop it? Harrington asks. He cites what happened in Back Creek in the '70s and '80s, even without public investment in services.
Is more growth what Back Creek wants?
"I don't think anyone out here is waiting for a big boom with any excitement," says Genevieve Henderson, who grew up on Bent Mountain and lives on 12 O'Clock Knob Road. But she figures it's inevitable.
"We have acreage and we've held on to it because we like country living. Every day, it seems it's a little bit closer to city life."
Others are cynical about whether they have a voice in their community's future.
"The companies that have the money - that's who the county works for," MacGregor says. "They don't work for the people. They want tax money."
A community evaluation - with citizen participation, Harrington says - will have to decide what happens out there. But he adds: "It's going to be hard to keep it [the same]. The services are getting closer."
Back Creek's evolution frustrates some longtime residents who see their rural life going the way of the apple orchards that once dominated the hillsides. Others accept it as progress.
Karren and David Underwood raise beef cattle in Back Creek, but they're planning to move to Floyd in search of more affordable land.
"I would rather see opportunities for our kids to have good jobs than have farmland," says David, who grew up in Back Creek. "We can commute a little farther."
A 221 widened and straightened to serve the larger traffic volume could run right through the Poages' 161-year-old farmhouse on its way to Bent Mountain.
And newer neighbors down the road can get impatient having to drive behind a tractor going 15 mph. Sometimes they complain about the smell of manure being spread on the fields. It's enough to make Poage feel out of place in an area named Poage Valley.
"Ever hear that saying, 'An onion in a petunia patch'?" asks Poage, standing by the milking room with a barn cat stretched out at his feet. "That's how I feel I am. An onion in a petunia patch."
The Transportation Department hasn't decided whether to widen the existing two-lane road or build a new four-lane somewhere nearby. Any way the road goes, Poage figures, it's going to take his house or his cropland, wiping out his livelihood. Poage runs the operation with his wife, Audrey, and youngest son, David. They own about 90 acres but farm 300, grazing their cattle and growing corn and hay for the cows.
Despite what it would mean for his farm, Poage admits that the road could use improving. When he and his son are hauling corn off the fields into the silos, the tractors have to fight with the other traffic on the road.
"From 4 o'clock in the afternoon, Lord have mercy, they'll run right over top of you," he says.
And the straight stretch in front of the farm is one of only two places to pass in a seven-mile stretch, with drivers taking chances to get around slower motorists.
"I don't begrudge them coming out here," David Poage says of the subdivision dwellers, "but I don't think they should come out and ask for a road and put me out of business."
Since before the United States was created, the Poages have farmed this property in Roanoke County. Family patriarch Robert Poage was one of Back Creek's first settlers in 1748.
Poages have farmed their spot along Back Creek ever since. Part of the original log cabin still stands as the farmhouse's west wing; a family cemetery where Poages have been laid to rest for generations sits on the hill behind the farm.
Even with those roots, the Poages may leave their land.
"If they choose to come through here, I might just sell it," the elder Poage says. "I don't know. ... I've spent my whole life in this house. I'm 65 years old. It would be awfully hard for me to change."
Others have changed. In 1990, there were six dairy farms in the county. Now, only the Poages' and another in Catawba endure.
"This is just a small operation," Poage says, and its closing wouldn't even show up in local milk supplies. It would just mean Roanoke County is down to one dairy farm.
It's 4:30 in the afternoon and the 55 Holsteins are queued up for their turn at a milking machine before returning to the barn for the night. The exodus of commuters from Roanoke soon will take their places in their own line, forming the Back Creek rush hour past the farm.
"They want water, they want sewer, they want cable TV," David Poage says of his newer neighbors. "If they wanted all that stuff, they should have stayed in the city."
It's a sweaty, sweltering afternoon and three wild turkeys peck around in a pasture that is quickly becoming "The Gardens of Cotton Hill," Steve Strauss' new development.
One field over from the birds, bulldozers and workers are at work on the first house going up.
Work proceeds on the 147-lot neighborhood, despite the uncertainty the Virginia Department of Transportation has thrown over the project. The project stands in the corridor that VDOT shows as the possible route for a four-lane 221 if it's moved to the other side of the creek.
"The Gardens of Cotton Hill" was supposed to mean 23 to 30 houses built a year, or two-thirds of Strauss Construction's business. The uncertainty creates "serious harmful effects for my whole business for the next three or four years while VDOT decides," Strauss says.
Last year, Strauss won the right to develop next to the Blue Ridge Parkway over the objections of neighbors and parkway supporters. His subdivision and another by Len Boone were the subjects of a battle with the county last year. Strauss won the right to build there, but had to make concessions, such as only 2 1/2 houses per acre instead of the six normally allowed with R-1 zoning.
Now Strauss argues in defense of the parkway. If a new 221 runs across his development, he says, it will bring commercial development and thus hurt the parkway.
And if the road is routed through his property, Strauss says he'll go before a judge to get a court order overturned that limits the number of houses he can build there.
He says he would seek to build multifamily units, such as town houses and condominiums, instead. If 221 slices across his property, Strauss says, "No one's going to buy a house on a 20,000-vehicle road."
After a four-lane highway comes through, market forces will push the area into commercial development, he says.
"It would be a slow process," Harrington, the planning director, says of such a transition. "We would not change the zoning [immediately] with construction of the road."
Correspondence between County Administrator Elmer Hodge and Strauss gives a hint of the county's thinking.
"If we are to expend considerable public funds to move traffic more efficiently through an area, should we not also attempt to recoup some of the cost by creating a more accessible inventory of developable land?" Hodge asked Strauss in a letter.
In other words, an improved 221 may need to pay for itself by providing the county with a bigger tax base.
As a developer, Strauss sees himself as satisfying a demand for housing.
"I'm not here to destroy land," he says. "Where would all these people be if someone hadn't done this?"
And there are plenty of people who have lived the rural life who are willing to sell their land to the highest bidder.
MacGregor has seen that on Poage Valley Road Extension.
"For the longest time, there was no land for sale up our road. Then [landowners] see what others are getting, plus they can't afford to keep it, so they go on and sell it and get big bucks," she says. "Part's a squeeze by the government and part's greed."
Observes Lochner: "As a Realtor, one thing I've learned is sooner or later, every developable piece of property gets sold as it passes down generations. And the only question is, 'How much money am I going to get?' There's very little loyalty to the community or anything else."
Lochner moved to Back Creek in 1977.
"Same story," he says. "To get more land and elbow room and less traffic."
Then he developed the Highfields Farm subdivision down the road on what was once farmland.
As for the wild turkeys and the deer and the great blue herons that reside in the woods and use the creek, they'll have to do what they've been doing: retreat farther into the woodlands - what's left of it.
"As a kid," William Poage says, "I could count all the houses in a five-mile area around here on both hands."
Now he can see that many from his farm.
There's no real hostility; it's just that the Poages and the new residents don't really mix.
"They live in their world," he says, "and I guess I live in mine."
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by CNB