A Not-So-Happy Anniversary

As she conducted a tour of the sanctuary on a recent day, Cummings compared Montgomery's upcounty skyline with that of Loudoun County's across the Potomac River.

"There's a lot of history here," she told the small group of downcounty residents who also visited several farms and orchards. Then she pointed to the view across the river. "Unfortunately, now we have to look at those high-rises."

Perry Kapsch, second vice president of the Historic Medley District, a nonprofit group that focuses on preserving open space in western Montgomery County, said part of the problem is that many county residents do not know of the reserve's existence or of its goals.

"It's not land being held back from development. It's land that was developed as farmland. . . ." she said. "It's a reserve, not a holding ground for land for future suburbia."

One pressure that the County Council plans to take up in the fall, when it returns from its summer recess, is the presence of megachurches in the reserve. Taking advantage of current policy that allows them to build anywhere in the county, the churches are buying land in the reserve because they cannot find enough affordable property in southern Montgomery.

It's not just churches that are taking up space in the reserve. Some large homes have been built on big lots, making it difficult to have contiguous farmland.

Also, talk of a "techway" bridge linking Montgomery to Northern Virginia through the reserve has never completely gone away. The decision by the state to build the Intercounty Connector from Gaithersburg to Laurel through the eastern part of the county has intensified some northern Montgomery residents' fears of an outer Beltway, even though county officials have rejected such proposals in the past and say they have no plans to change their stance.

Then there's the farming industry itself. Though one of the goals of the reserve is to conserve land for food and fiber production, traditional farming has become less viable. As a result, horticultural businesses and farms that produce hay for the growing equine industry are taking up more space in the reserve, officials said.

Criss said the county is trying to embrace nontraditional forms of farming because they contribute to the economy, but zoning laws require such businesses to apply for special permission to operate in the reserve. "It's a process that is very expensive, very [time-consuming] and highly uncertain," he said.

As a result, county officials have worked to ease restrictions on such enterprises as equestrian facilities and horticultural businesses.

Despite the challenges, officials and ag reserve residents say the future is bright for the land-preservation program.

And Brown, a 52-year-old artist who also did the illustrations for a book on the nearby Sugarloaf Mountain, said she hopes the 18- by 14-inch map she designed can help the effort. "We have a sacred landscape," she said. "This map project was great, we feel, because it was a great way to get the story out."

About 2,000 copies have been printed and will be sold for $12 each. The project was financed through grants: $2,500 from the Montgomery County Historic Preservation Commission and $5,000 from the county's Department of Economic Development. Historic Medley, another sponsor, put in $1,500.

A five-person committee decided what roads, farms and images of animals and vegetation to include in the drawing. Brown said she wanted the map to be as authentic as possible. That meant, for example, that her original decision to prominently display a rooster on the border was vetoed by other committee members. The reason? There isn't a substantial poultry industry in the county, she said on a recent morning, as she ruffled through dozens of watercolors that she had scanned into her computer and arranged onto the map.

The other images on the map -- a horse nuzzling the ground, a farmer on a green tractor, two sheep taking a stroll -- all came from real people and animals she spotted as she rode her bike around the reserve, her home for about six years.

"Everyone who lives here, and a lot who don't, understand what we have here," she said. "It's a legacy."