They are nothing more than mounds of earth, often camouflaged by grass. But in the fight to stave off suburban sprawl in northwestern Montgomery County, sand mounds have taken on unusual prominence.
Twenty-five years ago, county planners created one of the nation's most ambitious land preservation programs, setting aside 93,000 acres for farmland and open space. To deter residential development, they kept public water and sewer service out of most of this agricultural reserve, forcing property owners to use wells for water and septic systems to filter sewage into the ground for absorption.
Back then, the planners knew that sewage would not drain well in much of the clay-like dirt, making large chunks of land unsuitable for traditional septic systems and for development. As is often the case, however, technology has caught up with them -- in the form of sand mounds.
The mechanics of sewage disposal are well-known to residents of Montgomery's "upcounty." In a conventional septic system, waste flows into a storage tank, then into a drain field where the soil soaks up most of it. In a sand mound system, a pump carries the sewage up into a man-made mound of sand and gravel, bypassing the unsuitable soil. A pipeline then lets the waste drain down through the soil.
Sand mounds are "a cheat in terms of the intent and the spirit of the ag reserve," said Larry Schaudies, a horse farmer near Poolesville.
Last week, two County Council members took on the sand mounds, proposing a six- to nine-month moratorium on the building of such systems while the county decides how, or whether, to regulate them. The council will hold a public hearing on the proposal tomorrow.
Schaudies has a vested interest in the outcome. His farm sits next to 704 acres of hills, wetlands, streams and forest. Not long ago, soybeans and corn grew there, he said. This year, the county's Planning Board gave preliminary approval for a Bethesda-based developer to build 15 single-family homes on the property; most would rely on sand mounds for sewage disposal.
"They're ruining the land for agriculture," Schaudies said on a recent afternoon, a faded John Deere cap covering his long, gray hair.
Many other farmers, developers and some county officials believe that to be an overreaction, considering that just 37 sand mounds have been approved in the vast reserve since 1999. "I don't see where the crisis is," said Wade Butler, co-owner of Butler's Orchard in Germantown.
As the county celebrates the 25th anniversary of the agricultural reserve this year, its leaders face a number of potential showdowns between preservation and development. A council vote to limit the ability of churches to build large complexes in the reserve is expected this month. The Planning Board, meanwhile, is trying to determine whether some farmers have sold for profit houses that they were allowed to build specifically for their children's use.
"The concern about the ag reserve is the proverbial death by a thousand cuts," said Council President Tom Perez (D-Silver Spring), who is sponsoring the sand mound proposal. "There's no one, specific initiative that ends up eating into the agricultural reserve. But little by little, it becomes like Pac-Man . . . potentially eating its way into the commitment of the ag reserve."
A Shield From Sprawl
County leaders have touted the reserve as a national model, proof that a local government can protect a large swath of land from suburban invasion. Despite a housing shortage throughout the county, the council has restricted development in the reserve to one house per 25 acres.
