Suburban Squatters Find Private Uses for Public Land

A Chantilly family carved a half-acre lawn out of county parkland.

A neighbor put up an invisible dog fence, padding his yard with thousands of square feet of public land to give boxers Monty and Missy more room to romp.

At the Bethesda Park condominium near Rockville, a cement area used for a dumpster and junk collection sits on parkland so it doesn't take up parking or mar residents' views.

"It's not a park. It's woods. It's a forest," said General Manager George Hedrick, adding that the setup has been in place for decades. "Nobody goes there. It's not like there's a tot lot right next door."

In parks across the Washington region, neighbors keep creeping into the commons. Whether sneaky, stubborn, earnest or oblivious, these modern-day squatters have been nibbling at public land with verve. There are gardens and sheds, a Frisbee golf course and ball courts. The incursions have spurred discord in quiet cul-de-sacs and a sharp debate over citizenship, the environment and just what makes a park a park.

"We call it encroachment. That's just a very kind, politically correct word for trespassing," said Michael Rierson, resource protection chief for the Fairfax County Park Authority.

There are no regionwide tallies, but it is clear that authorities are struggling to keep up. Violations can linger for years. Officials have lacked the resources, and at times the inclination, for stern enforcement.

"We just have four inspectors, and we have close to 400 parks. . . . We try to do as much as we can," said Mitra Pedoeem, chief of construction for Montgomery County parks, whose inspectors handle border enforcement. "A lot of encroachments have been removed, but there are still a lot of them," she said, adding that the potential $50 fine isn't much of a deterrent.

In Fairfax, building or encroaching on parkland is a Class 4 misdemeanor punishable with a $250 fine. Officials can force compliance in court and collect costs. But the legal system is rarely used.

When a violation is pointed out -- by a neighbor or a park employee who happens through the woods -- reactions range from chagrin to entitlement.

On a recent morning, Fairfax parks surveyor David Kimbrell was tromping through knee-high grass with a squealing yellow metal detector.

Behind a two-story brick home in McLean, he found two buried pipes marking the property line and a long wooden fence cutting off a hefty wedge of Little Pimmit Run Stream Valley Park. Shut off from the public, through an arbor entangled with fuchsia flowers, were flower beds, lawn and a strawberry patch.