Old Friends, New Neighbors As Farms Disappear, Five Mile Prairie Wrestles With Growth, Organizes Neighborhood Council

Like a peaceful island, Five Mile Prairie rises above swirling activity in the city below.

While Spokane boomed for decades, the prairie - part in the city, part in the county - remained an agricultural oasis with its own Grange Hall and, some say, its own weather.

Orchards filled with apple, peach and cherry trees. Fields thick with strawberries, raspberries and wheat sprawled across the countryside.

Cows grazed and chickens pecked near freshly painted barns. Deer, coyotes and pheasant were all at home on the sparsely-populated plateau.

But, farm by farm, acres have been sold to developers. Houses, streets and sidewalks are gradually replacing fertile cropland.

New subdivisions sprout like wild grass every summer.

In 1970, there were 160 landowners on the prairie. When an six-month building moratorium was imposed in 1994, there were an estimated 500 homes. If fully built, the prairie could have more than 6,000 homes, more than 15,000 people.

The end of Five Mile Prairie’s rural lifestyle is in sight, some residents say. Others say it disappeared a long time ago.

And then there are those who believe there is still time to manage development, allowing the prairie to grow gracefully.

For many, that means homes on large lots, roads to handle the coming traffic, parks to ensure open space and attention to the natural environment. Controlling Development

In late April, 100 prairie residents met at the old Grange Hall and, in record time, organized a neighborhood council.

“Growth is the primary issue facing our community,” said Rich Fink, who moved to the prairie seven years ago. “But there are many potential quality-of-life issues that need to be addressed.”

At the meeting, neighbors quickly signed up to join committees researching traffic, parks, schools, wildlife, stormwater and development.

“Five Mile Prairie is unique; you can’t approach growth here the same as you can elsewhere,” said Kathy Miotke, who’s lived on the prairie for 25 years.

Similar words were written in 1972 when neighbors organized and created “The Five Mile Prairie Plan.”

The plan was prompted by outrage over the impacts of the prairie’s first major housing developments, rising without improvements to roads or plans for parks. The city contributed $60,000 to the long-range planning effort.

The plan, which won state awards for its thoroughness and vision, was submitted to the city and county for adoption but never surfaced again. No hearings were scheduled. Politicians and city officials ignored letters and phone calls.

Even today, those early activists still ache with frustration.

“We hauled in experts from all over the nation to work with us,” said Ora Mae Orton, who moved to the prairie in 1972, just in time to join the effort. “We were crucified.”

The plan called for preservation of the rural lifestyle. Higher densities were to develop around the rim, with its dazzling city view. Large lots and agricultural space were planned toward the center of the plateau, where the best soil is located. It called for hiking, equestrian trails and wildlife areas.

Now, 1,000 new homes are planned by developers and approved by city and county officials.

Rural or Urban?

Development issues have divided the community since the 1970s, when the city first proposed annexing a part of the plateau and bringing in water.

Some, envisioning urban sprawl, battled the plan to bring in city water. Other landowners, many of them elderly, welcomed the plan because they were eager to sell their property to developers for a retirement nest egg.

The first pipes, along Five Mile Road, were laid in the early ‘70s. A decade later, the two-million-gallon Strong Road water tank was built.

“We are caught in the middle between people who have wells and don’t want to see development and those who want the water to develop their land. That has been the problem for 30 years, maybe longer,” said city water director John Bjork.

Since the first settler arrived on the prairie in 1880, water has been an issue. Sometimes there’s too much, sometimes not enough. And it’s always unpredictable.

Natural ponds rise across the prairie, appearing in different spots each year.

While ideal for dryland farming without irrigation, long-time residents have also learned to expect water in their basements or duck ponds replacing front lawns.

But the flooding has worsened lately as more developments sprout. With so much cement, there’s no place for the water to go.

Seattle developer Barry Margolese, who is proposing a 183-home Summerhill subdivision on 52 acres near Cedar Road, heard a roomful of worried residents describe flooding woes at an April 30 meeting.

Some have pumped out 800 gallons of water from their basements in a single day. Some run sump pumps most of the year.

“People who have never pumped their basements before have to now,” a concerned man said.

Margolese was well aware of the flooding problem.

“These houses won’t have basements,” he told the crowd.

Margolese isn’t the first developer to confront prairie residents.

One of the most embattled developments, Jesse’s Bluff, was proposed in 1991. Residents, fearing the end of their country life, rallied against the plan to build 213 houses on an 83-acre wheat field near Five Mile and Johansen roads.

Resident Doug Metcalfe led the fight.

Almost 100 neighbors attended hearings. Some 200 signed a petition opposing the development. Metcalfe sued the developer, Baldwin Properties, over the potential impacts.

After Metcalfe and about a third of the prairie residents spent $14,000, the case was settled three years later. Baldwin Properties agreed to plat fewer homes and donate 2.5 acres for a future park.

But more developments quickly followed: Prairie Ridge, Five Mile Heights and the Lanzce Addition grew seemingly overnight.

New home prices start close to $180,000 and quickly soar toward $1 million. The prairie was the site of the 1996 home show, bringing crowds of curious people to look at mansions perched along the rim.

Metcalfe couldn’t fight them all.

“I’m thoroughly disgusted. I’m burned out,” he said. “We bought here for privacy and now it’s built up all around us.”

On a recent weekend, he watched a subdivision neighbor smack a golf ball across a field, apparently oblivious he was trespassing.

“The prairie is ruined for me,” said Metcalfe, whose Jeep wears license plates reading “A NIMBY.”

He was conspicuously absent last month when the neighborhood council organized.

Half the people in the crowd were relative newcomers to the prairie. But they share the same concerns prairie residents wrestled with a quarter-century ago.

But now, traffic has tripled.

“The roads are a joke,” said Doug Burke, who was elected vice chairman of the new neighborhood council.

Narrow, potholed, two-lane roads crisscross the prairie.

“Those roads were meant to serve the farmers taking their produce to market, not heavy traffic,” said Fink.

Cars from the Indian Trail neighborhood to the west cut across the prairie, traveling to NorthPointe Shopping Center. Joggers, cyclists, and an occasional horseback rider further crowd the roads.

In the morning, Mead School District buses roll across the plateau, collecting most of the 300-plus students who leave the prairie for school. The old Five Mile School, boarded up long ago, still stands at the intersection of Strong and Five Mile Roads.

A volunteer fire department serves the county portion of the prairie. City fire protection comes from a station miles away. In traffic or snow, it could be 10 minutes or more before help arrives.

Although the city has 24 acres of park land off Strong Road, there are no plans or money to develop it. Ironically, in a community of wide-open fields, there’s no place for organized soccer or softball games.

Resident Jeri Garwood once took her children to play on the rusting swingset outside the old school, built in 1939, a few feet from Strong Road.

“It was sad,” she said. “I don’t think it’s fair that we don’t have a place for our children to play here. We have to drive them somewhere off the prairie to play sports.”

For years there has been talk in the community of buying the vacant brick schoolhouse for a community center, to house a neighborhood police substation or local recreation program.

Historically, the Grange Hall across the street from the school has been the community gathering spot.

“Five Mile Prairie used to come alive on election day,” recalls Ora Mae Orton. “We’d have a barbecue at the Grange. People would go vote at the volunteer fire station next door, then come and eat.”

Pat Bledsoe has lived on the prairie 50 years. She would love to see a community center in the old school. She, too, has watched sadly as her beloved prairie has changed.

“It is the lifestyle you dream about: wildlife, flowers, things growing all around you. And that’s what brings so many people up here,” she said. “Most of us came here for the way it was.”

“Come on up, find an old house that is for sale and buy it,” she said. “This is a beautiful place. It’s next to heaven.”

, DataTimes ILLUSTRATION: 8 Photos (6 color)

MEMO: This sidebar appeared with the story: WHAT’S NEXT A Five Mile Neighborhood Council meeting will be held at 6:30 p.m. Thursday, June 5, in the Five Mile Grange Hall.