Forests Fading: Why Trees Keep Disappearing in Anne Arundel County

Back in 1609, when English settlers first arrived, the Chesapeake Bay area was almost entirely covered in forests. Over time, trees were cut down for farms and buildings, especially for growing tobacco. By the late 1800s, farming slowed down in some areas, letting forests grow back. But by 1950, another wave of cutting began—this time for houses and businesses. Today, forests cover just 58% of the area, down from 95% in 1609. Maryland has lost even more, with forests shrinking to 39%. Anne Arundel County once had 95% forest cover but now only has 60%, and the loss keeps speeding up. Between 1986 and 1999, the county lost 42, 000 acres of forest—almost a third of its trees. From 2010 to 2017, another 2, 775 acres disappeared, mostly to make room for new homes and roads. That’s nearly 300 acres every year, faster than any nearby county. Between 2014 and 2022, another 1, 426 acres vanished. When trees disappear, the soil washes into rivers, filling harbors with mud and choking off old ports like London Town and Joppatowne. But the real problem isn’t just lost scenery—it’s what happens to the water. Forests act like sponges, soaking up rainwater and filtering out pollution like nitrogen and phosphorus before it reaches the bay. A single acre of forest releases only 750 gallons of runoff after a one-inch rain. But a parking lot? It sends out 27, 000 gallons—full of dirt and chemicals. Trees also help recharge drinking water supplies. When they’re gone, wells can dry up, and saltwater can creep in, ruining freshwater sources. Plus, more flooding, hotter air, and less wildlife habitat follow forest loss. The science is clear: the bay can’t recover without more trees.In 1991, a law was passed to slow forest cutting, but it’s not strong enough. Developers often bend the rules to their advantage. A few years ago, Annapolis passed one of the best forest protection laws in the region, but Anne Arundel County weakened its own rules in 2019. Council members, including some running for county executive, voted to strip protections, bowing to pressure from land speculators and builders who profit from clearing land. One candidate, Allison Pickard, took over $145, 000 from developers since 2019—more than three times what her rivals raised. She also helped block a plan to save a piece of land in Millersville from being carved up into smaller lots. Even though neighbors protested, she voted with the developers, who donated nearly $18, 000 to her campaign through their law firm. Another candidate, Pete Smith, wasn’t far behind, taking $122, 600 from the same groups. A third councilwoman, Lisa Rodvien, tried to stop this by proposing a ban on developer donations when zoning decisions are on the table. The bill would have made developers reveal all their contributions, but it was killed in a 5-2 vote. None of the public spoke against it—only five council members stood in the way. This isn’t just about money—it’s about trust. In the past, local leaders have gone to jail for taking bribes from developers. Even when donations aren’t illegal, the public still sees corruption. That’s why one candidate, James Kitchin, stands out. He refuses all developer money and limits donations to $250 each. He’s a Ph. D. in public policy, with deep experience in county government. His opponents, meanwhile, have raised hundreds of thousands from the same groups pushing for more construction. Pickard’s campaign keeps sending mailers claiming she built new schools and hired teachers—but those projects cost millions, while her developer donations add up to thousands. It’s a misleading claim when her biggest supporters are the ones selling the land. If you care about clean water, healthy neighborhoods, and honest leadership, this election matters. The forests—and the bay—can’t afford another round of weak rules and fast cuts.