Reston Explained: Loudoun, the Other White Meat

Occasion had it that we had to travel into the wilds of Loudoun County, to a subdivision of elegant brick townhouses surrounded by… piles of dirt.

To be fair, this particular subdivision was nicer than most of the particleboard and vinyl shantytowns that pass for development in eastern Loudoun County. It even borrowed a few stray notes from the whole New Urbanism concept. The garages were relegated to outbuildings in the back, tastefully hidden from sight and leading into alleys that were actually called alleys. (How edgy! How urban!) You could conceivably walk to the massive strip mall under construction a short ways down the road, except that no businesses have opened there yet. A block in the heart of the subdivision had been left undeveloped and adorned with playground equipment, creating an effect vaguely suggestive of a New England village green.

It was a beautiful sunny day, unseasonably warm, and while walking down the narrow streets to the green space, you could almost imagine you were strolling down a tree-lined street of row houses in Georgetown. Except for a) the palpable lack of trees, b) the shabby, indifferent way the electric meters were bolted at eye level to the front of each home, and c) the nonstop sound of earthmovers carving out space for identical townhomes just blocks away. And then there was the complete, utter absence of people. We walked the length of the subdivision and sat in the green space for a half-hour during the late afternoon, and didn’t see a soul. Of course, this being Loudoun County, there were tons of cars parked everywhere in sight.

What was lacking in human activity was made up for by For Sale signs--dozens of them, each more desperate looking than the next. “Buy Me!” one said plaintively. Many added the ominous word “Foreclosure” to the cat-bird spot at the top of the sign usually reserved for such teasers as “I’m Beautiful Inside!” or, in happier times, “Under Contract.” A sign taped to the window of one home for sale warned that it had already been winterproofed, urging Realtors not to turn on the water or flush the toilet on the off chance they had someone to show the home to before spring rolls around.

Then, as we were sitting in the deserted green space, we finally saw movement. Two Loudoun County sheriff department cars pulling up to a townhouse whose furniture had been disgorged to the curb. An honest to goodness foreclosure! Of course, neither the foreclosers nor the foreclosees were anywhere to be seen, so the deputies settled for getting out of their cars and milling around for a few minutes before driving away. No lights, no sirens. Just another day as part of Loudoun’s Special Foreclosures Unit, we guess.

Then it was time to walk back through the deserted, faux-urban streets to our car and drive home. For some reason, the phrase “nuclear winter” kept flitting through our heads. Somehow, it fit.

It’s true: There are worse things than mauve earth tones and DRB regulations.