Real Estate

A forested stretch of land (somewhat bigger than a football field) has long remained wild, a survivor within city limits. Two decades of home builders gradually developed the surrounding neighborhood -- and the neighbors got used to that last bushy bit of hillside property being left that way. "I figured it was, like, our park," one commented. Not intentionally sly, just candid. Because it isn't a park. It is where our house will be.

For any undeveloped land, such an undertaking demands extraordinary consideration. Although ours is not extra virgin (having been logged, long ago) this place will be forever changed by our plans. Even though most of the property is designated natural area and won't appear any different, at one end of the lot some trees will come down, a house will be inserted. Disrupted creatures will move on.

Why do it? Aren't there enough houses? Maybe not what we had in mind, but adoptable -- why not rescue one of them? It's a fair question.

Where I grew up, there was an old estate nearby. I don't know acreage, but it was quite a spread -- big enough to be developed into a subdivision of fifteen-or-so large homes on spacious lots. Which amounted to a major loss for young me, because that land was my world apart. Forbidden territory (accessed through a hole in the fence) that once inside, unfolded magically.

An expansive, central meadow fanned out into memorable niches. One prominent outcropping (AKA: Starved Rock) was a gathering spot for games. Behind it, a sticky stand of pine trees was the forest. In a far corner, an old log cabin still stood -- the original estate dwelling -- tucked away from the mansion that once housed the estate owners. Their mansion had eventually become a convent; a statue of Mary guarded its neglected garden. There was a fort, a big hole really, hidden by tall meadow grass, outfitted with a ladder, some salvaged pots, detritus. Just once, I ventured over a shaded, side embankment, to discover a tiny valley, spectacularly covered in wild, blooming Black-Eyed Susans.

And then it was all gone.

Cleared and leveled, paved, it then became the series of construction sites that were my next fascination. Gradually, those homes were finished, families moved into them, and all traces of the land's original nature were erased. The Estate Homes (so christened) may still be there. Perhaps some have been razed and replaced with McMansions and tinier yards, but residences, for sure, because there are no "vacant lots" in that locale today.

These days, build-able, undeveloped land is harder to find anywhere.
So precious.
Irreplaceable.