ROANOKE TIMES
Copyright (c) 1997, Roanoke Times
DATE: Monday, January 27, 1997 TAG: 9701270014
SECTION: EDITORIAL PAGE: A-5 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: LIZA FIELD
"WE WANT to make kindling of pianos and violins, and call this `economy.'"
- John Muir
It was interesting to hear the various visions of the Mill Mountain Development Committee regarding the future of the mountain.
True, some of the usual, somewhat shopworn ideas were presented: big restaurant, incline, hotel, parking lots, and lawn-type landscaping - plans that have little to do with the reality of the mountain itself.
But some committee members shared visions that revealed awareness of and respect for the mountain as a living place, of value in its own right.
Scott Shackleford, grandson of J.B. Fishburn (who gave this mountain park to city residents), foresaw a natural area with quiet walking trails, not manmade structures.
Jim Trout, who has devoted much of his public-service career to the mountain, felt that it should be kept a mountain, not made into a commercial enterprise.
It was Trout who, years ago, spent day and night helping the aged elephant Frump-Frump at the zoo. And after she died, Trout himself worked long into the night burying the elephant in our hard mountain dirt to protect her from the various individuals wanting tusks and other "souvenirs" to take home.
At the committee's recent meeting, Trout showed this kind of reverence toward the mountain itself, as a living organism - not pieces to divvy up and use for our own purposes.
Regarding the proposed developments, he also made the point that Roanoke is already overloaded with restaurants and shops. What it has increasingly less of is natural, living landscape.
I agree with these committee members, as apparently did most of the residents who turned in the Rhodeside-Harwell survey in late 1990. This study (whose purpose now eludes us) showed that Roanokers wanted the mountain to remain what it was: a sanctuary for walkers, church picnics, families; a place with no admission fee, where money was not the point.
We know that wild areas like Mill Mountain are fast vanishing from Virginia, as well as from the entire globe. We also know that no matter how comfortable, well-fed and entertained we are, something in the human spirit yearns for those lonely places where we escape the crowd for a while. We still hunger for the space and quietness to fathom where we live on this Earth, in this universe, and to stand with reverent awe before that mystery.
Perhaps this is why people of all faiths are seeking wilderness retreats, camps and the pilgrimage of trails. It may help explain why eco-tourism and wilderness sports have become the fastest growing recreation in the United States. City dwellers are in search of fresh air, solitude, wildlife, trees. They yearn to be themselves in a real place, not a pretend place built for their money.
How amazing that Roanoke is the steward of such a real place: a natural preserve closely connected to a beautiful campground, Roanoke Mountain and the Blue Ridge Parkway. While congested cities elsewhere - Virginia Beach, Richmond, the D.C. madness - can only wish, now, that they'd had the foresight to set aside natural areas, for us it is not too late.
For this reason we should also be interested in the vision of my mother, Betty Field. For years a daily visitor to the mountain, she's learned its back paths, its trees and wildflowers, its hawks, wild turkey, owls, and songbird migrations. More than any person living today, she has become an authority on the mountain's geology, its boundaries, weather patterns, wind currents, water flow and history. She's spoken with visitors, both local and out-of-state, and gained some perspective on why people come to the mountain.
Although she was not given the opportunity to share her vision at the daylong development committee retreat, she later told me what she saw in the mountain's future.
"I don't see a lot of landscaping," she said. "It's a mountain, not a lawn. The understorey, the bracken, fallen leaves and wood: these are essential to the native landscape and our wildlife, and should not be `cleaned out'."
"I see people on the mountain, having family reunions, tossing a Frisbee, walking the trails. Sunrise and other church services take place in this quiet setting. Classes and students of all ages come to study ecology and our native landscape."
In spite (or because) of the lack of commercial motive, my mother believes the mountain could serve as a genuine community and cultural center, bringing Roanokers of various ages, incomes and backgrounds together with their environment and heritage.
"Garden Club members and other naturalists would lead people on wildflower hikes, and people could learn what native plants should be growing in our area. Local birdwatchers can teach area residents how to listen for and identify native and migratory species; and help kids build and place bluebird boxes."
My mother's vision also addresses the growing demands for wilderness trekking, biking, backpacking and camping. She foresees a simple, basecamp hostel for long-distance bicyclers coming up the parkway.
"Boy and Girl Scouts could help create and maintain footpaths from the greenway down to the Chestnut Ridge Loop Trail, where local groups can hike or backpack to the Roanoke Mountain campgrounds to spend the night," she said. "That whole contiguous area should be protected; it offers so many outdoor opportunities."
These seem like bright ideas to me - in harmony with the living place as well as public opinion regarding the mountain.
But in particular, my mother's vision, and those of Shackleford and Trout, remind us that Mill Mountain - a man's beloved gift to the city - does not really belong to any committee or individual. Rather, it belongs to the children of centuries to come. Surely it is our duty to pass on - unspoiled and unbroken - the gift we loved so well in our own lives.
Liza Field of Wytheville grew up beside Mill Mountain, hiking its trails with her mother, Betty Field, an advocate for preserving its natural state.
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