Where Rules Are Few and Water Views Are Many

The seven-mile drive from Route 1, down Gunston Road to the community, can be relaxing and challenging. "You do your harvesting and gathering before you come home," Cressey said. There is no darting out for a forgotten gallon of milk.

Commuters said workday tensions fade as they head home, past the greenery surrounding Pohick Bay Regional Park, Gunston Hall and Mason Neck State Park. Sometimes, though, porcupines, turtles, deer and beavers appear out of nowhere, especially at dusk.

Within the sidewalk-free community, driving demands similar attention, for speed is dictated not by signs but by the need to navigate around boats or their trailers jutting into the road. Rounding a corner, you might find bicycles abandoned as the young owners splash in puddles. You are less likely to see other cars than to see children trying out all-terrain vehicles or a family toting fishing rods to the river.

Gunston Manor was established in 1929 as a weekend camping retreat. Today, residents hike, kayak, fish and water-ski, all without driving elsewhere.

Whether it is a Memorial Day picnic in a shaded back yard or a Fourth of July fireworks viewing from a riverside house, it is not unusual for many neighbors to show up for a celebration. Nancy Darby had more than 100 guests at her 50th birthday, while Janet Scheid, who grew up in the neighborhood, had 150 at her son's first.

When Jim Mountjoy is not working at the Bureau of Engraving and Printing, his 1970s rock-and-roll band, made up of Gunston Manor residents, often plays at neighborhood gatherings.

And yet, Gunston Manor offers an abundance of opportunities to quietly watch nature. From their deck, 35 feet above the river, the Mountjoys have a perfect observation perch. "You can set your clock by the arrival of the osprey," Mountjoy said. "March 15th, on the day."

Scheid revels in watching the comings and goings in an eagles' nest next door to her house.

While Randy and Barbara Streufert's tiny 1935 cottage lacks public water or sewer hookups, it has an unparalleled natural setting. The heavily wooded property, dotted with birdhouses, backs to a tidal marsh, providing a natural studio for Randy Streufert's photography. His daily observations of hundreds of species of feathered visitors have earned him quite the portfolio, including the recent cover shot of a prothonotary warbler for Virginia Wildlife magazine.

Marilyn Giampa and her husband, Mike, are raising their children on the same lot where she was raised. As children, Giampa and her four siblings were locked out of the house during the day so they would work in the garden, growing fruit and vegetables to sell to Sunday drivers who flocked to the area.

She remembers childhood treks to their outhouse, where navigating the mud one rainy night did in her favorite pair of pink slippers. Across the lane was a natural spring where residents would get their water before they had wells.

There are still some undeveloped lots in Gunston Manor, but their failure to perk is the key to reining in development. "No sewer" is a community rallying cry among those who do not want to see the kind of growth that often follows sewer lines.

Mike Giampa, a real estate agent and appraiser, said, "As a real estate professional, I've seen more neighborhoods than I can remember, but none more friendly or better to raise a family in than Gunston Manor."

Marilyn agreed. "I've always praised my father for bringing me here."