Not for me but with me: Greenways lie at the nexus of community health and engagement
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About This Saving Land
Greenways intersect with multitudes of lived experiences, social histories and expectations for the future. This human diversity inherent within greenways allows land trusts to listen, learn and foster community in ways that the average land deal does not.
Tom Springer has served in several roles for the accredited Southwest Michigan Land Conservancy, including board member, volunteer and writer.
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There’s an axiom in community development that says, “don’t do anything for the community unless you do it with the community.” Land trusts are used to building consensus and strong ties with residents, funders, agencies and NGOs, but greenways present their own distinct challenges. Unlike self-contained parcels of protected land, greenways are linear. They can span mile upon mile of urban, suburban and rural landscapes, passing through neighborhoods that vary widely in terms of demographics and environmental health.
Greenways intersect with multitudes of lived experiences, social histories and expectations for the future. This human diversity inherent within greenways allows land trusts to listen, learn and foster community in ways that the average land deal does not. But engagement isn’t a one-and-done thing. It must continually evolve through planning, construction and ongoing operations.
“Building trust with neighbors takes consistent communication,” says David Johnson, a program manager at the accredited Trust for Public Land (TPL). “We must be present and available when they identify issues.”
As TPL found, it pays to ask what people want before you build it, especially if you’re talking about a multi-million-dollar greenway. When it came to developing the South Chickamauga Creek Greenway in Chattanooga, Tennessee, one telling instance involved the Cromwell Connector, a 4-mile stretch of the “South Chick” that, on paper, looked like a slam dunk. The Connector would link 415 residents in the Cromwell Hills affordable housing complex to the 12-mile South Chick greenway, which ties into the 16-mile Tennessee Riverwalk. It would bring recreation and foot-powered transit to a place with low car ownership and no public transportation.
But not so fast, the residents said.
“When we met with Cromwell residents, their main concerns were safety,” says Johnson. “People were suspicious about bringing outsiders into their neighborhood, and we understood that. You can’t build a trail and expect people to show up unless you discuss the barriers they have to using it.”
One key issue was a fence that stood between Cromwell Hills and the trail. TPL thought that removing the fence would create more trail access. The residents feared that removing the fence would create a security breach. In the end, both goals were achieved. “During design, we proposed multiple access points so residents could easily get to the trail,” Johnson says. “But the safety concerns of neighbors pushed us to consolidate access to a single path. It’s located at a well-trafficked spot, farther from the residences.” The security fence still stands.
TPL also worked to surmount a financial barrier that discouraged trail access. “Several neighbors said the trail didn’t really feel like it was meant for them, because they didn’t have bikes,” says Johnson. TPL turned to White Oak Bicycle Co-Op, a grassroots Chattanooga startup that restores and distributes bikes to people of limited means. With support from TPL, residents can request a refurbished bike and even have it delivered. White Oak also teaches people to repair bikes they already own.
“The city’s renaissance focused on the Riverwalk and almost all the capital investments for parks occurred downtown,” says Noel Durant, TPL associate vice president and Tennessee state director. “We’re serving part of the city that’s largely forgotten and has public health challenges associated with lack of physical activity.”
Early doubts about the greenway have eased as engaged residents realized its potential. The Cromwell Connector was completed in 2022, facilitating physical activity and travel to work, school, shops and other destinations. And a new subdivision in South Chattanooga, called Waterhaven, incorporated the trail into its site design and then transferred 20 acres of adjacent land to help TPL build it.
“People are leaning into the trail corridor,” Johnson says. “Instead of backyards that face the trail, we’re seeing houses built with front porches that are 6 feet away from it.”
“If you never notice the creek unless it’s flooding your house, you can’t care about it. If there’s shade and a nice bench to sit on, you might start seeing it as an asset instead of a nuisance.”
A greenway that flows like a river
In Chicago, where the Chicago River was once famously rerouted to flow backward from Lake Michigan, there’s also a greenway that takes an uncommon turn. It’s the African American Heritage Water Trail, and instead of a bicycle or walking shoes, it takes a paddle and life vest to explore this trail.
The water trail was developed by the accredited Openlands, an urban conservation nonprofit that operates in northeast Illinois, in conjunction with several community and agency partners. The water trail follows the Little Calumet River, a recovering industrial waterway that freedom seekers once used to flee slavery on the Underground Railroad. The 7-mile trail leads paddlers past landmarks that span 180 years of African American history. This includes Ton Farm, once owned by Dutch immigrants and used as an Underground Railroad safe house. There’s Chicago’s Finest Marina, a Black-owned business that opened when white-owned marinas prohibited Black members. The route also passes beneath the Major Taylor Trail Bridge, named for the world’s first African American bicycle champion.
The African American Heritage Water Trail opened in 2020 to much acclaim. It made the New York Times’ 2022 list of “52 Places for a Changed World.” Yet, as with any greenway, the planning was anything but speedy. Laura Barghusen, director of restoration and trails for Openlands, says the first light bulb came on after a 2006 survey of Illinois canoers and kayakers. It found that certain Illinois rivers were not being used by paddlers, even though infrastructure such as boat ramps existed, and even though they were considered to be part of the Northeastern Illinois Water Trail system. The Little Calumet was among these underused waterways.
“In 2018 we participated with community [members] in design charettes led by the Forest Preserves of Cook County and American Institute of Architects to figure out how to connect local communities to the Little Calumet River,” says Barghusen. “One good idea that came out of that was the African American Heritage Water Trail.”
As in Chattanooga, some local residents have needed some coaxing to use it. And, here, too it’s been engagement that’s gotten them on the water.
“Due to historical prejudices and exclusion, Black and brown folks may not know about the river, may believe that the river isn’t for them or a place for them, or may feel unprepared for paddling the river independently,” notes Lillian Holden, water trail manager for Openlands.
Openlands has held public paddle trips to boost boating skills and awareness since the water trail opened in 2020. Since paddlers must share the river with power boats and barges that can create waves as they pass by, the trips are guided by safe and experienced paddlers. Some guides use oversized, Voyageur-style canoes that hold up to 10 paddlers. In the future, Openlands and partners plan to install containers near public access sites where canoes and kayaks can be stored for trips on the water trail.
Last summer, Openlands began offering a paddling and interpretation training program for youth. Through paid internships, local youth ages 14-18 learn about paddling, history, environmental justice and ecological restoration at Cook County forest preserves; they also receive interpretation and public speaking training. As youth ambassadors at river events, they promote pride and interest in the history of the river and its future, including the dream for a “blue economy” where local businesses cater to water trail tourists with services such as food vendors and kayak transport.
“You can have as many paddling events as you want,” says Barghusen, “but if you don’t have people to interpret and explain what happened along the trail and why, then you can’t convey the real significance of the region.”
Along with interpreting history, water science and aquatic ecology themes have been added to Openlands’ paddling excursions. This includes testing and explaining dissolved oxygen levels, a key indicator for water quality and survival of aquatic species (above 7.0 mg/L is good, below 2.0 mg/L is fatal for fish). For much of the 20th century, heavy industry and a concentration of landfills around the largely African American neighborhoods on Chicago’s Southeast Side spewed untold tons of toxins into the soil, air and water. Residents have suffered higher than normal levels of asthma, lung disease and cancer. While pollution remains, the river’s water quality has much improved over the past 50 years. The adjacent forest preserves, wetlands and river teem with birds and wildlife. Openlands’ website describes them as “some of the most majestic yet underrated natural areas in the Greater Chicago region.”
Openlands promotes community engagement and wants the water trail to have a life of its own. “We don’t gatekeep information about the trail,” says Holden. “We provide training, talking prompts and educational materials for partners interested in leading paddles.”
During a paddle on the Little Calumet, the river’s appeal tends to sell itself. Many stretches of water are remarkably wild and unpeopled, a setting that invites contemplation. “One of my paddling partners from the community was surprised by how relaxed she was on the river,” says Holden. “It’s very rich, very biodiverse. We see ospreys, kingfishers, hawks and great blue heron. We see beavers and muskrats. It’s ethereal and spiritual when you preface the river’s historical component with that.”
History and health equity in Birmingham
In Jefferson County, Alabama, the genesis of the Red Rock Trail began with a “Communities Putting Prevention to Work” grant from the Centers for Disease Control (CDC) in 2010. A look at the county’s health disparities helps explain why. Black residents have a life expectancy that’s 2.5 years shorter than white residents, along with higher death rates from heart disease, diabetes and stroke. Given the vital role of exercise in chronic disease prevention, Red Rock planners set an ambitious goal: Every Jefferson County resident would have access to a trail or greenspace within 1 mile of where they live.
The trail’s development has been led by the accredited Freshwater Land Trust, based in Birmingham. FLT led a community input marathon over the first two years of the CDC grant: 40 stakeholder meetings that solicited comments from 3,000 people in-person and online. Attendees could suggest trail routes by drawing on maps and penciling suggestions in the margins. FLT has since worked with local and federal partners to build 129 miles of the proposed 750-mile system.
Much of the trail has been built in Birmingham, where geography and Civil Rights history have shaped its course. Birmingham sits in a narrow valley, surrounded by parallel ridges at the southern end of the Appalachian Mountains. The Red Rock Trail’s main corridors align with five streams that converge on the city. While the creeks promote conservation and recreation now, their human legacy has been less sanguine.
“Historically, often because of redlining, people bought homes in flood plains because it was the only land available,” says Carolyn Buck, FLT director of the Red Rock Trail System. “The creeks were ‘flashy’ with a lot of flooding that damaged houses.” Such losses brought increased hardship to Black neighborhoods that already suffered under segregation. With development of the Red Rock Trail, FLT hopes residents can view the creek as an amenity, instead of an adversary.
“If you never notice the creek unless it’s flooding your house, you can’t care about it,” Buck says. “If there’s shade and a nice bench to sit on, you might start seeing it as an asset instead of a nuisance.”
Shade trees are another resource where less-affluent neighborhoods can get short-changed. The city’s GIS data clearly show this discrepancy. When the Cool Green project at the University of Alabama at Birmingham looked at the city’s 1930s redlining maps, they “matched up almost exactly” with areas that have little tree canopy today, notes Buck. Then, as now, neighborhoods devoid of trees face higher temperatures and increased air pollution. The Red Rock Trail project works to lessen these disparities by planting trees and buffer strips that will reduce temperatures and pollutants in the air in addition to absorbing storm runoff to reduce flooding.
The project took a leap forward in June 2023 with a $21 million grant from the U.S. Department of Transportation (DOT). The project includes 3.16 miles of new urban trail near the 16th Street Baptist Church, the sight of a deadly bombing by the Ku Klux Klan in 1963. The trail project will connect the Civil Rights District and historic Civil Rights Neighborhood of Smithfield. This year, FLT received an $11.75 million DOT grant for the Fairfield Trail. It will link Miles College, a historically Black college, to the growing trail system.
Even with such big wins, a greenway and its rolling cavalcade of users, residents, supporters and critics never stays static. But Buck celebrates victories where she finds them. “When I met with neighbors on the trail today, I saw where people who built fences to screen the trail have now put in gates that open onto it,” she says. “One guy, who was a big skeptic, now plants fairy gardens there for kids! That’s what we want the trail to do: become organic and part of the fabric of the community.”