Facing slow growth, Dallas exurbs stuck with unused services, half-built developments

By THEODORE KIM / The Dallas Morning News

For the constellation of towns at Dallas' frontier, the tough times have brought a reckoning.

places like Celina and Sanger, Princeton and Ponder, the steady march of the suburbs has all but stopped.

Builders have gone under. Vacant lots now checker many subdivisions. And communities that not long ago were seemingly destined to become Dallas' next great megaburbs are tempering their forecasts.

"Growth has come to a halt," said Sheri Clearman, city secretary of Ponder.

While the economic crisis has touched every corner of North Texas, it has wreaked particular havoc on the ambitions of communities at the outer edges of suburbia.

Most believe the slowdown constitutes a temporary halt to the region's relentless advancement into the North Texas prairie. The region still ranks among the nation's fastest-growing areas despite the sour economy.

Yet for towns on the perimeter, becoming the next Plano, Frisco or Grand Prairie is not as automatic as it once seemed. And some outlying communities that were girding for a housing explosion are now experiencing whiplash.

Slackening growth prompted Princeton to shrink the size of a proposed 2 million-gallon water tank by 500,000 gallons. Prosper might not have enough money to open a $1 million emergency dispatch center that the town started building when times were rolling.

In the Rockwall County community of Fate, revenues from building permits are projected to decline as much as 40 percent this year.

An even more pronounced slowdown is unfolding in rural Celina, located amid windswept ranches at growth's vanguard in northwestern Collin County.

Celina's population has tripled to about 5,000 over the past decade, compelling City Hall to earmark millions to expand water and sewer service.

But growth has come to a virtual standstill in recent months. Celina now finds itself saddled with an expensive water system meant to serve thousands of new homes that have yet to materialize.

The community previously processed hundreds of new home permits each year. Last month, the city did not receive any.

"You have to plan for enough capacity," City Manager Jason Gray said. "But when [the growth] doesn't turn out to be true, you still have those fixed costs sitting out there."

Housing growth has served as Celina's lifeblood in recent years. It has anchored upgrades to the school district and other public improvements, such as a quaint brick-lined city square.

Yet with Celina's trajectory flattening out, the community has felt the squeeze.

Membership is down at the local chamber of commerce. The school district has pushed back its expansion plans. And dwindling sponsorships have put a popular summer balloon festival in jeopardy.

"We've been in growth mode for the past four or five years," said Scott Tingle, a Celina homebuilder. "But the Celina area is just about shut down right now."

Farther west in Denton County, Sanger confronts similar challenges.

The housing boom ushered in an unprecedented era of building in the pastoral city, more than 50 miles north of Dallas.

Two large subdivisions were born on the outskirts of town. Schools were upgraded. And Sanger, a community originally founded on cattle and wheat, appeared poised to become another tentacle of suburbia.

But the downturn has, instead, left Sanger on rocky shoals and facing an uncertain future. Several developers have either skipped town or become insolvent.

These days, the motto on banners that hang around town, "A community in bloom," seems out of place. One half-built subdivision project, Quail Run, stands as a testament to the boom and bust.

Yet even amid the hard times, new life is stirring.

Louisiana natives Nick and Susan Neyrey landed in Sanger after fleeing from Hurricane Katrina in 2005.

They scrimped and saved, having lost all of their possessions in the storm. The couple recently opened a restaurant, The Gumbo House, on Sanger's main drag.

The rustic storefront clashes a bit with the decorative touches of the Neyreys, which include blow-up crawfish that hang from the ceiling.

But their tasty Cajun food has won over the locals. And their presence has injected downtown with a measure of hope and vitality.

"Maybe this slowdown is a good thing," said Nick Neyrey, 46. "Municipalities should take the time to catch up to the growth."