The setting of St. George, Utah is geologically spectacular, noted for its bright sandstone rock formations. Unfortunately, development has overtaken many of the high bluffs, detracting from the beauty of a backdrop that used to be enjoyed by all. Photo by Todd Wilkinson
EDITOR'S NOTE: It is happening literally before our eyes in every corner of the scenic rural West: people who believe their money or ego entitles them to the best views in a valley, by building dream homes where previous generations have refrained from selfishly imposing their presence. They are doing it without seeming to reflect on how their actions are ruining the scenery and sense of common aesthetic connection for everyone else. The following essay by Richard Knight, in this week's edition of Writers on the Range, is poignant, for it speaks to a common, sorrowful lament felt by many. —Mountain Journal
By Richard Knight
High on a mesa where
everyone can see it, a trophy house is going up in the northern Colorado valley
where I live. Some of my neighbors hear that the house will be as big as 15,000
square feet. Others say it will take three years to complete. Whether that is
valley gossip or truth, the house is now the center of everybody’s attention.
Until this happened, my
valley seemed to offer much of the best of what Colorado has to offer,
including views of a snow-capped mountain range, and spread out below,
irrigated hayfields with black cows on tan rangeland. But now, right in the
center of the valley, will be one person acting out a lack of consideration for
others.
Gigantic trophy houses
seem to signal, “I built here to see, but also to be seen.” It’s a jarring
reminder that we in the New West are remaking the Old West in our own image, a
job that apparently requires a drastic redoing of topography. These big homes
seem to follow a pattern of complicated rooflines, lots of windows that reflect
the light and “ego gates” at the beginning of driveways.
Most of us in this
valley delight in what we’ve been able to see from our front door:
Uninterrupted ridgelines, cliffs, and the rounded slopes that converge to make
foothills, which then rise into mountains. Nature made these views, and we’ve
been fortunate to have them in our lives every day.
But more and more,
houses that resemble castles are sprouting on ridgelines and hilltops, here and
all over the mountains. And sometimes it’s ordinary houses or trailers that get
built on ridgelines, interrupting the natural flow of the land.
Where only a few years
ago our eyes might find comfort in tracing a ridge's backbone— wondering how
it got to be named White Pine Mountain when no white pines grow there —now we
look at manmade structures that irritate the eyes.
A subdivision blighting the edge of Capitol Reef National Park in Utah. It's true that we can't eat the scenery, but natural beauty is what draws us to the West and it's what nourishes spiritual sustenance. Unfortunately, in the New West, from Big Sky to Bozeman and Jackson Hole to the North Fork of the Shoshone River corridor, some in the real estate industry approach everything as if it's for sale and worth less unless it's got a human structure on it. Photo courtesy Richard Knight
People who have lived in
my valley for decades share a different style. Appreciating what a winter wind
can do to steal warmth from inside a house, they looked for sheltered areas to
build. They saw it made sense to build low, tucking a home against the south
side of a hill or cliff.
Most yard lights were
few and hard to see, as were their homes. But the new Western lifestyle
broadcasts yard lights at night for all to see, just as the homes are
conspicuously visible during the day.
In this newfangled West
that has “ranched the view,” people apparently need to stand out to enjoy an
amenity lifestyle. Will these new folk ever take time to appreciate the human
and natural histories of the place they live in now, to show respect for the
land and its natural beauty? Will they learn to be considerate of neighbors and
not take away from the views that define where we live?
In this newfangled West that has “ranched the view,” people apparently need to stand out to enjoy an amenity lifestyle. Will these new folk ever take time to appreciate the human and natural histories of the place they live in now, to show respect for the land and its natural beauty? Will they learn to be considerate of neighbors and not take away from the views that define where we live?
It’s shameful to think
that just as we first moved into the West to exploit its valuable resources, we
now exploit the last resource our region has to offer — its heart-stopping
beauty.
There is some good news,
because in many parts of the West we are learning how to sustainably log, graze,
divert water and develop energy. I hope it’s not too late for us to also
realize the value of fitting into the land as residents, to keep intact our
ridgelines, mesas, mountains and valley floors. Once a house caps a hilltop,
however, that view is irretrievable, gone forever.
I hope we can learn how
to value homes that blend with the land in shape, color and location. Maybe a
new generation of home builders, architects, and developers will lead the way
in paying due respect to our region’s natural beauty.
But I’m afraid that it's
too late for our valley. The great writer Wallace Stegner told us that the task
of Westerners was to build a society to match the scenery. From what I see,
we’re not doing the job.
NOTE: Richard Knight is a
contributor to Writers on the Range, writersontherange.org, an independent
nonprofit that hopes to inspire lively conversation about the West.
About Richard Knight
Dr. Richard Knight is professor emeritus of wildlife conservation at Colorado State University. Across four decades, he has been a leading thinker on issues framing what some call "the New West." Exploring the intersection of land use and land health, he has been a forerunner in investigating the impacts of suburban sprawl and outdoor recreation on natural ecosystems and rural agricultural communities.
