Development Exposed

When my wife and I moved to Fairfield at the beginning of the summer, we situated ourselves on a quiet street on the shore of Ash Creek. Our particular block bends around to meet with a parallel residential street.

That bend was lined on the far side with a large grove of wild trees and shrub that obscured the skyline beyond. I took particular pleasure in walking on the road beside towering brush that was barely held in check by a chain-link fence.

In the meantime, my parents told us that we had arrived in the town at a lucky moment: the new train station was in the process of being constructed just a few blocks away, easily within walking distance. As a fan of mass transit, I was initially delighted.

But about two weeks ago, while looking out our attic window, I noticed something strange. Off in the distance, I could see water towers and other structures. Previously, the horizon in that direction had been an unbroken sea of green.

Over the course of the next week, the tree line grew thinner and thinner, until just a single band of branches hid the newly stripped land from our street.

Now, even those are gone. In their place is a gigantic pit of stewed dirt, mud, and roots, crisscrossed with tire and tractor marks. The rabbits, possums, squirrels and birds have fled into the adjacent neighborhoods (where they will no doubt perish in the paws of cats and the headlights of cars).

Now that I can see over the ridge, it’s become apparent that this once verdant patch of land is all that separates us from the forthcoming train station. My speculation is that the trees will literally have been paved to put in a parking lot for all of the commuters who can’t find space for their SUVs at the older Fairfield station.

I plan to get confirmation of this in the next few days. If it is true, I’ll soon have a much different view from home: one of blacktop and metal glinting in the sun.

Our block terminates in this gate to a whole new world of development. Beautiful, no?

Construction equipment roams the denuded hillside.

The extensive root systems of felled trees still cling to the dust beneath.

The last carcass rests in the dirt where it was killed.

The tallest thing around is now the street sign. Two weeks ago, I didn’t even know it was there.

When removing natural structures, the workers are careful to preserve the man-made ones.

A long view.