Development comes at a cost One summer evening in 1963 I pedalled my JC Higgins bike as far west as I could go. The journey took me past the old section of my town in suburban Cook County, past a new subdivision, past a soon-to-be subdivision, and finally to the edge of a farm. Dismounting my two-wheeled steed, I looked beyond the fence and saw nothing but fields. The sun was sinking behind a sea of cornstalks, and the expanse of field and sky stirred my 9-year old soul. I imagined this landscape rolling on forever. As far as I knew, I was standing at the edge of the frontier.