There was a small farm near where I live that was bought when I was a teenager. The buildings and pond near the highway were bulldozed, filled in, flattened, and replaced with a lifeless swath of dirt and invasive grasses. The grass was mowed often enough to stifle any chances the errant tree or shrub might grow. But eventually it wasn’t mowed anymore. Over the years rain washed away the exposed soil. The sun desiccated the clay dirt. The winds blew it away leaving only rocks. Now there’s an O’Riley’s Autoparts store about where the farmhouse used to be, with enough parking to safely land a single engine aircraft.