This article will feature an assertion I’ve made in the past, and I have ruffled feathers for it then. In all likelihood, I’ll ruffle a few more this time around. Yet I’m sticking to my guns.
So here goes: far too many communities embrace the notion of urban parks as an absolute good—of parks for parks’ sake—without any real consideration as to whether it’s a prudent use of scarce land, given the other market forces at work. All too often, the solution is clear: the city’s parks department should sell the land and let the buyer develop the heck out of it.
Before I tread further down this facially extreme libertarian footpath, some context is necessary. One might speculate that I target this assertion for cash-strapped municipalities that should reduce their assets, many of which they lack the resources to maintain. But no; quite the opposite. I’m referring to places that are wealthy, prosperous and can generally boast land values well above the area median. These are the communities most beholden to the notion that public space represents an intrinsic value, largely because the constituents themselves overestimate and confer excessive value to the ideals associated with conservation. More than a few affluent communities across the country boast their fair share of pocket parks and civic spaces that are verdant, pulchritudinous, and lifeless.
In some cases, I suspect the reason these parks are persistently empty is because they lack the right programming: that is, they offer soccer fields or a basketball court when far more of the neighbors simply seek a quiet place to sit. But in most instances, the mismatch is even more basic: there’s simply more parkland than the community demands. Even high-density urban settings often reach a saturation point, where the need for parks is less about quantity and more about quality, or even strategic placement. After all, urban parks are more likely to offer benefit if they serve as an informal place for people to congregate; people like these civic spaces because they are already vibrant with people coming and going. Perhaps it’s a chicken-and-egg relationship, but the correlation between undesirable urban parks and lewdness or even violent criminal activity is powerful; the two conditions reinforce one another. Thus, an oversupply of green space in dense or prosperous (or dense and prosperous) urban settings does not help the municipality in quite the same way that the land would, if left to the private sector to make a more judicious determination of the optimal use. And the ensuing private land use is something new from which the municipality gains, in terms tax revenue through the added value of greater economic activity. And the constituents thus eliminate the albatross of a costly park that no one uses. A double win in most respects.
To illustrate this contentious assertion, I offer an unlikely example: the coastal town of Mendocino, about 150 miles north of San Francisco.
At first blush, an unincorporated community of less than 1,000 people wouldn’t seem very comparable to San Francisco, Manhattan, Chicago, Washington DC, or any of the other milieus conjured through my previous paragraph. But Mendocino, while tiny and not exactly urban, still shares the most of the characteristics of an organized settlement, in contrast with the unspoiled wilderness typical of most of the northern California coast. Since it’s California, it’s almost expensive by default. But Mendocino is also distinctive because its breathtaking surroundings have made it both a popular artist colony and a tourist destination. It’s hardly struggling.
Situated on a tiny cape of the same name, Mendocino bestows sapphire tides cleft by proud rocks in three directions to its many weekend visitors. And it’s small enough that it’s virtually impossible not to catch a glimpse of the ocean, even when smack in the middle of this reticent little hamlet.
I visited during the late-fall off-season, but apparently in the summer, tourists nearly overwhelm Mendocino’s modest little streets. But it’s definitely small. No stop lights. Only intermittent sidewalks. Not including back alleys, I was able to count eighteen blocks that comprise Mendocino’s core. That’s it. And smack in the middle of this grid is an open space.One’s first impression, most likely, is that Heider Field looks like nothing special. And that impression, by most people’s estimates, would be accurate. It does not seem to feature anything other than an acre of minimally maintained grass: no landscape, no playground equipment, no softball diamonds, no goalposts. There so little evidence of improvement to the land that, without clear evidence of grading, odds are strong that the unevenness of the ground under the scraggly turf would make any high-energy sport undesirable if not impossible. iI’s unlikely that it’s safe enough for an impromptu game of flag football. Even croquet might not work. Here’s another view:Pretty unremarkable.
I could certainly appreciate an argument that Heider Field is a much-needed reprieve from an overdeveloped, threatened coastal setting—except that a map easily reveals that parkland is hardly in short supply. It’s everywhere: about half of the cape consists of the Mendocino Headlands State Park. (There’s also another pocket park a few blocks away: Friendship Park, of similar size, which at least featured trees, landscaping, and a baseball diamond.)Heider Field is there in the middle of it all, outlined in purple. It comprises 90% of the northern half of the block, bisected by a dirt path. The remaining 10% of the block consists of a humble white chapel.
I had to dig a little to find the story behind Heider Field (but only a little). Apparently it is not, nor does it ever appear to have been, the property of the adjacent Mendocino Baptist Church. Over four decades ago, the owner (last name Heider) considered building an unconventional educational institution on the land, but residents were not keen. John Heider sought to sell the land, and a group of Mendocino activists collaborated to form the Mendocino Land Trust. Collaborating with the state, the Land Trust initiated a land swap that ultimately conveyed the property to California State Parks. And it has remained in this condition ever since.
This is where I (most likely) get people’s dander up. I do not think Heider Field is a prudent use of the land. I recognize that I’m an outsider, I have no real connection to Mendocino, and it is hardly my place to make declarations of how a community should grow. But I’m entitled to my opinion, and I cannot help but draw the conclusion that this is not conferring a great deal of benefit to anyone. I find little evidence that Heider Field gets used for much of anything except possibly some weddings in the more favorable weather. But even then, does this field really compare to the spectacle just two blocks away, at Mendocino Headlands?
Or the other direction?
The fact remains that Heider Field’s ecological value is minimal in its aggressively mowed current state. Perhaps, during other times of year (like this photo), it’s allowed to grow out in a tangle of wildflowers. But, in its November state, it’s a monoculture. As mentioned earlier, it’s not carefully enough maintained to offer great recreational opportunities; that’s clearly not a priority. And it constrains the supply of what the state of California seems to suffer in general: good housing. Here’s the site immediately across the street from Heider Field.A row of charming single-family homes. Would Heider Field—and Mendocino as a whole—be worse off if we replicated this very low intensity development pattern and allowed a few dozen more people to live here?
Yes, I’m positioning this insignificant little pocket park in a tiny town as a metaphor for a bigger problem in California. The state—through an aggressive regulatory environment that both induces and compounds the strain on supply—has suffered exponentially rising housing costs for the last decade or so. And they were always high. And everywhere one go, one encounters a culture that seeks to constrain new housing construction even further. Obviously the relief on the market provided by developing Heider Field is so small that the phrase “statistically insignificant” doesn’t even apply. And since Mendocino is far away from a major urban center, the appeal of living in a remote area will never be that great (unless you’re retired). But even given the village’s obscurity, median home prices at the time of this post are well above $500k; it’s difficult to find even an unimproved lot under $250k; many of the homes are well over $1 million. The residences across from Heider Field would easily approach $2 million.
Obviously my bold assertion—that the State should sell Heider Field to a private homebuilder—is likely to be hugely unpopular in certain circles. After all, would providing more dwellings in a rural hamlet mostly appealing to vacationers achieve anything? But the broader question remains: is Heider Field in its current state achieving anything? The map featured earlier demonstrates that Mendocino is not suffering a shortage of protected lands; I wouldn’t begin to suggest chipping away at the park that generously spans the littoral areas of this cape. But an inactive vacant lot—which is all Heider Field really is—accomplishes less environmentally than a slight relaxation of development restrictions would accomplish economically.
I’ll be frank, and this is where I’m at my most callous. I seriously question the intent of the activism behind the Mendocino Land Trust, which sought to preserve Heider Field in the 1970s. While I understand the possibility that a higher intensity use—John Heider’s proposed school—could prove disruptive to the quiet residential setting, the act of subdividing the land into eight to ten lots and an access road would just provide more of the same settlement pattern that already dominates Mendocino. It would compromise nothing about the environmental integrity of the area, and it would allow a handful of families to enjoy a distinctive setting, while raising the tax base for Mendocino County (remember this is not an incorporated area itself). If it’s not obvious already, I see the outward expression of virtue through this conservationist drive as a deflection for some garden-variety NIMBYism. And it’s a social attitude pervasive on the California Coast.
The “drawbridge effect”—of long-term homeowners harnessing land use laws to keep additional development out in their immediate vicinity, where housing is needed—is a huge contributor to the fact that San Francisco’s median home prices are up to 25% higher than New York City’s. If the powers that be in San Francisco were cultivating zoning and permitting laws that aligned housing supply with the demand, at least a portion of the city would look like Manhattan. But it doesn’t. And while this compromise provides spectacular vistas among the Bay Area topography, while salvaging much of San Francisco’s distinctive vernacular architecture, it also keeps out many people from entering that surging tech market.
It’s not fair for me to transpose San Francisco real estate valuation to microscopic Mendocino. After all, I have made an assertion with regard to Heider Field without knowing if development potential exists. It’s possible there is no demand to build there. But the values of the surrounding area would suggest otherwise, and, in the meantime, like much of California, we see the physical manifestation of very wealthy residents harnessing the law to stymie housing construction, thereby keeping the values on their property sky high. No doubt few or even no people in Mendocino have malicious intents, and it’s probably many don’t even know the underlying forces preserving Heider Field. But they know what the homes are worth, and it doesn’t take a brain surgeon to figure out that an acre of scraggly land isn’t all that productive in its current state. Given the spectacle of the Mendocino Headlands State Park, Heider Field’s not even great for a wedding. It’s time to set an example by letting a few more people in to this exclusive little nook.