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Apparently I hadn't been getting out much. As we pulled up to a particular intersection east of town, I was taken aback by the changes: new pedestrian trails, lamp posts, landscaping, mini malls and gas stations. However, it was not these changes that left the biggest impression. I guess you could say it was the lack thereof. On one corner sat a postage stamp-sized piece of meadow, where a few horses grazed at the fenceline against the backdrop of a weathered barn and snow-dotted foothills. I had probably driven past the idyllic setting dozens of times, but now, framed by concrete and pavement, it seemed downright conspicuous.
I suddenly came to the sad realization that such a scene, once commonplace in these parts, now was noteworthy - something novel to wistfully gawk at out the car window.
"How much longer do you think that'll last?" I skeptically asked my husband who, due to his line of work, is more in the know on such matters.
"It's probably already sold," he answered frankly.
I'm sure he was right. It was prime, road-front real estate, the kind that developers salivate over and landowners struggle to justify hanging onto.
A drive north of town a few weeks later told the flip side of that two-edged sword we call growth. As we made the well-worn trek toward the mountains, we passed no more than half a dozen large-scale residential construction projects. Fresh earth had been upended and mowed, and backhoes and cranes stood silent at the ready. Once again, it was not what we were seeing that disheartened us so much as what we weren't seeing. Not a single one of the developments offered anything that was even remotely attainable for the average working person.
That day, we were accompanied by a Durango native, someone who, after a ski bumming stint elsewhere in the state, returned home to go to college and make a go of it. In her 30-some-odd years she had seen a lot, from the disappearance of Woolworth's and her beloved Rocket to the arrival of Wal-Mart and Starbucks. And she seemed to have weathered it all in stride, knowing that much in the same way she had left only to see the real beauty of her home and return, others wanted to move here as well.
But the recent direction of events were almost too much to stomach. A college graduate who had recently accomplished that coveted goal of narrowing her workload down to one, full-time job, she shook her head in disbelief and disgust.
"Who are they building all this for?" she asked skeptically. "Not for me - I could never afford it."
And once, for all the lip service affordable housing is given these days, the issue really hit home. Here was a law-abiding, contributing member of our community who, even with the combined salary of her partner, probably would never be able to buy anything in the town where she grew up, worked and deserved to live. I must admit, for the past few years I had been on the other side, breathing a secret sigh of relief anytime the subject came up. See, after two years of watching prices jump radically (or so we thought at the time), my husband and I bit the bullet and flung ourselves on the mortgage merry go round. We were the "lucky ones" - you know, the ones who got in just as average home prices were hedging into six-figure territory. But that's nothing but a memory. The fact is, if faced with buying the same home today, there is no way we could swing it.
And therein lies the problem, or problems - not just for Durango but virtually every desirable town in the West, if not the nation. As populations rise, precious land is gobbled up for housing and amenities. As land becomes scarce, prices rise, forcing those less fortunate (i.e. the working class) to move farther out to the cheaper land, thus gobbling up even more precious land and open space. It's that insidious spiral we call sprawl.
That's the bad news. The good news is that Durango is still in that inner coil. Yes, home prices are sorely out of step with wages, strip malls are becoming regular occurrences and open space an anomaly, but (with all due respect to my West Coast relations) it's not like it's California. Yet. To borrow that cliché yet again, growth is inevitable - everyone knows that. It's the manner in which it's conducted that makes the difference.
So before we lay down and let the steamroller of suburban homogenization roll over us, let our voices be heard. It's as simple as checking a little box on a sheet of paper and putting it in the mail. That's right - our American-given right to vote. Sure, there's always the big push to get out the vote in the national elections, but some would argue that local elections are where grassroots change and action are most immediate and effective. For city voters this April, there are a few chances to make a difference, first with ballot question 2A, which would put proceeds from a half-cent citywide sales tax toward open space (among other capital improvements including a new library and trails), and of course, the battle over three City Council seats. There have been and will be ample opportunity for voters to acquaint themselves with 2A as well as the candidates and their thoughts on growth and affordable housing - some intriguing ideas have already been thrown out there. On the other hand, opportunities to preserve Durango as we know it and would like to know it in the future are growing slimmer by the day.
Please, vote responsibly.
- Missy Votel
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