public interest in protecting nearby nature not for its productive capacity, as was the case with traditional conservation, but for its scenic, recreational, and open space amenities.4 But suburbanization did not just encroach on open space; it also degraded ecologically sensitive areas such as wetlands and hilly terrain and polluted the water, air, and soil.5 As residents in more affluent communities became frustrated with the environmental impact of rapid growth and higher property taxes to support development further out, they embraced land preservation as a way to improve their own quality of life.6 The idea that growth could be too expensive—environmentally and financially—was a cornerstone of the smart growth movement in the mid-1990s. This concept was manifest in the Burling case, in which a county that supported rampant postwar suburbanization saw an unprecedented constituency mobilize in favor of environmental protection instead.
While the Burling case represented a certain triumph of an early smart growth movement, it also highlighted the biases among the mostly white, middle-class environmentalists in suburbia. Postwar housing policies and practices had not only created exclusive communities but also differentiated access to opportunities that improved people’s lives, including good schools, public services, well-paying jobs, transportation, and low incidence of crime.7 Even as historically marginalized peoples gained political influence during the 1960s, social segregation reinforced the voices of affluent whites over other groups.8 At the time of the Burling case, conversations about inclusive housing had shifted from racial discrimination, which had been outlawed with passage of the Fair Housing Act of 1968, to affordability.9 In affluent, white-dominated communities, however, many residents downplayed the need for affordable housing to focus on protecting environmental resources for their own enjoyment, even in cases where land preservation could be expensive.10 Thus, environmental activists did not challenge the systems underlying community formation, which benefited them, but instead sought to block specific projects that impaired their access to natural amenities.11
Postwar Suburbanization and Open Space
Fairfax County was the epicenter of postwar suburbanization in Greater Washington. The county developed its first zoning code and subdivision regulations in the 1940s, but these proved inadequate to manage the growth ignited by the postwar baby boom and the pent-up demand for housing. By the mid-1950s, its transformation from a quiet rural county to a bustling suburb was well under way.
Late in the decade, officials reduced the density of development in the western two-thirds of the county in order to maintain its rural character. The Virginia Supreme Court, however, rejected the move, concluding in a case brought by a developer that the policy unfairly restricted housing to those who could afford large lots.12 The court went even further in doubling the allowable density of the area from one house per two acres to one house per acre. The case reflected the unusual control that the state legislature and judiciary exerted over Virginia localities in land use planning, and the tendency of the state to elevate interests in revenue-generating development over local efforts to manage growth.13
Residential suburbanization and the decentralization of employment and commerce continued to flood Fairfax with development during the 1960s. By 1970, the county had 455,000 residents, a tenfold increase from 1940. Local elected officials and planners, however, had little interest and fewer tools for managing growth than Maryland counties like Montgomery, which developed its own wedges and corridors plan to promote compact development that was based on the regional plans of the National Capital Planning Commission. Indeed, most residents had little concern about suburbanization except when their communities were threatened with the loss of open space or with high-density development projects.14
Fairfax made some progress in preserving open space despite conservative political leadership and limited planning tools. In 1950, local officials established a county park authority that administered six regional parks totaling 3,198 acres by 1960. This paled in comparison to the nearly 9,000 acres of parkland in Montgomery, where there was earlier and broader support for pairing open space preservation with compact growth.15
As suburbanization accelerated, residents and county officials contemplated how to protect the natural amenities that made living in the county appealing.16 Local planners offered several proposals: reducing the density of development, lowering property taxes on rural land and open space, and increasing public financing for conservation easements or purchasing land outright for parks.17 But there were numerous barriers at the state level to moving forward with these strategies. Historically, the state courts had narrowly defined how zoning and other tools could be used to regulate private property rights. In addition, the state constitution precluded the use of financial incentives to encourage landowners to preserve land rather than develop it. Although communities in Virginia could use public funds to pay for conservation easements or acquire scenic and historic areas, they had to seek state authorization for each case.18 In sum, the state constrained localities in their ability to manage growth and preserve rural land.
As suburbia consumed more land, residents and officials in mostly white middle- and upper-class communities stepped up their support of open space preservation. By 1969, parkland in Fairfax expanded to 5,000 acres from 3,200 at the beginning of the decade, although Montgomery’s increased to nearly 15,000 from 9,000.19 While local officials, as well as regional park authorities, played an important role in parkland acquisition during the 1960s, federal financing through the Land and Water Conservation Fund was crucial to many local projects. Created by Congress in 1965, the fund included a state assistance program that provided matching grants to help states and local communities protect land for parks, recreation, and nature preserves. Among the three large suburban counties in Greater Washington, Fairfax was the biggest beneficiary of the federal program, receiving $2.85 million between 1966 and 1969, while Montgomery received $463,000 and Prince George’s $260,000.20
The motivations behind land preservation in postwar metropolitan America highlighted a shift from the conservation-oriented values of a production-based economy to the environmental and quality-of-life values of a consumer-based economy. Indeed, the commitment to open space preservation that blossomed in the 1960s was made possible by postwar material abundance and the willingness of officials and their constituents, albeit mostly in white middle- and upper-class communities, to invest in land preservation. The protection of specific sites from suburbanization had deep roots in a search for health and well-being that defined the suburbs as better off than central cities. As suburbanization consumed ecologically sensitive resources like hillsides and wetlands, concerns about pollution and the loss of wildlife grew. With the Burling tract, the stage was set for a dramatic grassroots campaign that argued that certain places were too ecologically sensitive, too rich in natural splendor, and too special to develop.21
A Controversy Forms
The Burling tract was one of the few properties in Greater Washington adjacent to the Potomac River that had not been significantly developed or permanently preserved by 1970. It was named for Edward J. Burling Sr., a midwesterner who moved to Washington, D.C., during World War I and bought 336 acres of hilly and mostly forested land in McLean in the early 1920s. The property, located twelve miles from the White House, was positioned atop 150-foot cliffs looking down on the Potomac rapids to the north and the waterfall of Scott’s Run to the west. It was situated at the northernmost portion of the Scott’s Run watershed, which drains directly into the Potomac, and offered scenic water views, a remarkable collection of wildflowers, forests of ancient hemlocks, and abundant wildlife.22 Burling, who became a prominent Washington lawyer, had a log cabin built overlooking the rapids. But he refused to have electricity installed, preferring to use kerosene lamps and a wood stove rather than allow a utility company to run wiring underground. Despite not having modern utilities, the estate became a gathering spot for political and social elites, artists, and intellectuals.23
In 1967, Burling died, leaving his waterfront property in trust to his family. Shortly
