Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SUNDAY, May 21, 1995 TAG: 9505200016
SECTION: EDITORIAL PAGE: G3 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: JAMES E. WRIGHT
DATELINE: LENGTH: Long
I have seen neighborhoods spring to life from empty fields, flourish and later fall into disrepair as its inhabitants, for some reason, sought a new field to move into. I have witnessed a once-forgotten downtown become a rich cultural, commercial and social garden. The sweeping hands of progress have brought us a new airport terminal, new malls to shop, new parks to play in and new highways to drive. These changes have been as persistent as the seasons that grace our mountains each year with beautiful spring flowers, summer greenery and autumn's vibrant parade of colors.
But now these mountains are being graced with a new change that threatens the very essence of what makes the Roanoke Valley great. A seemingly unquenchable need to own these mountains, to exploit their vantage points and possess a "room with a view," is turning the valley into a sad example of a good thing loved to death.
I consider myself a Roanoker, even though I no longer live in the valley. I was born in Roanoke, and lived most of my years in Wilmont Farms, a classic example of suburban development: cookie-cutter homes stacked neatly beside one another, each with its own driveway, mailbox, and a tree or two in the yard. Despite its name, however, no indication of a farm could be found within its boundaries, much akin to the more recently developed "orchardless" Orchards, or the practically treeless Appletree Village.
After 30 years in the valley, my work took me to Pittsburgh, where I have lived for the past several years in harmony with about half a million other Pittsburghers. My family still lives in Roanoke, so I manage to visit the valley several times a year. These visits allow me to view the city and surrounding areas as a series of snapshots, each one a slightly different frame in a constantly changing panorama.
Lately, these pictures have shown a disturbing phenomenon. Regardless of which end of the valley you go to, the picture is much the same - new houses and developments rising ever higher into the surrounding mountains; whole neighborhoods blanketing the lower slopes of our mountains, single mansions perched atop the ridges. Bent Mountain, Read Mountain, Fort Lewis, 12-O'Clock Knob, Stewart's Knob - the list continues - are all becoming grand versions of high-rise apartments.
If you have not noticed this, I suggest a drive on a clear day from U.S. 460 to U.S. 221 along the Blue Ridge Parkway. This drive along one of our nation's greatest treasures, one we are so fortunate to have in our own back yard, is becoming a "parade of homes" - a showcase for developers.
The desire to live on a mountainside is certainly no mystery. Who would not enjoy waking each day to the view of the valley in the morning sun, or returning at the end of the day to watch the setting sun paint the valley? Roanoke's biggest attribute is its beautiful mountains and valleys, so it is easy to see how someone would want to maximize their enjoyment of this beauty by taking the bird's-eye point of view.
But unfortunately, every time people capture this view by building their dream house in the mountains, their possession is everyone else's loss. Whether it is an entire neighborhood that blankets the slopes where trees once stood, or just a few expensive ridgetop homes painstakingly designed to "enhance" the natural surroundings, the results are the same. The mountain is forever changed from a wild, uncut gem that we all have the privilege to own, to a poorly cut stone that sits hidden away in someone else's jewel box.
To some, this may not seem a problem. Certainly the owner of the million-dollar mansion perched over the parkway near Bent Mountain does not perceive a problem. I suggest these people visit Pittsburgh and check out the south hills of the city. See what the extreme can look like: hillsides covered in houses as thick as trees.
Or perhaps they should go to Denver, a city once somewhat similar to Roanoke, and see how the western foothills of that city have been blanketed beyond recognition with suburban sprawl. In both areas, it all started with one house, one development. You say this couldn't happen in Roanoke? I would not bet on it.
Comparing Roanoke with Pittsburgh or Denver may be a stretch - for now, anyway. But the basic problem in Roanoke is the same as in these cities, or in any city for that matter: Benefits for a few strip away benefits for the many, and usually at our children's expense. Roanoke needs to take a hard look at itself and decide how it wants to present itself to its visitors today, and how it wants to look for its children tomorrow.
The valley is blessed with two amazing national treasures, the Blue Ridge Parkway and the Appalachian Trail. To have either of these gifts in this age would be a blessing; to have both is a miracle.
But this miracle comes with a responsibility. Both treasures are under extreme pressure from urbanization, to the extent that their future existence in present form is doubtful. Roanoke owes a debt to these delicate flowers to do all it can to preserve their surroundings, so they can exist for future generations.
Millions of people from all over the nation visit the parkway each year. How do they feel when they leave the rural farmlands to the south and enter the Roanoke Valley along the slopes of Bent Mountain? What is their impression of Roanoke as they look into fields of houses and mountains carved with driveways and development? This must seem as welcoming as a "No Vacancy" sign to a weary traveler. Or how about the visitor from the north whose first impression of Roanoke is the fortress of housing developments spilling out of the east county suburbs? One would have to get the idea that Roanokers are not too concerned about the quality of one of our premier national parks.
Roanoke needs to realize that its natural beauty is its strongest attribute. Without it, the valley ceases to be a destination for the rest of America, regardless of how socially sophisticated our downtown becomes, how great our new baseball stadium is, or how well our hockey team is playing.
It is possible for everyone to enjoy this beauty without having to own it - it should be shared by all, Roanokers and non-Roanokers. I know this is possible; I have enjoyed it all of my life without living on top of a mountain. But the power of development is strong, fueled by dollars and demand.
Development is not inherently bad. In fact, it is necessary. But development should be done with care and consideration of what we have to lose. Roanoke's politicians and developers need to be made aware of this before it is too late.
James E. Wright, a Roanoke Valley native and resident for many years, is a chemical engineer who now lives in Pittsburgh.
by CNB