Something similar happened to my partner’s grandmother’s place in rural France in a matter of years.
My partner grew up in her grandparent’s backyard that was loaded with a garden, fields, and animals. They had no neighbors within sight. Slowly all around them new commercial developments cropped up. The equivalent of a Lowe’s or Super Target, different bricks and mortar, and the like. The nail in the coffin was the McDonald’s adjacent to their property, probably the same field where my spouse used to roll in the dirt. Now the house has been converted to an optician storefront. The area was re-zoned with no appreciation for the inhabitants. I suppose it had to go somewhere, but why does the march of “progress” have the familiar feeling of tragedy?
Her grandparents were immigrants of the Spanish Civil War, and this property epitomized their grit and triumph. To see it today, it is haunted and sad. It is unimaginable that a family ever lived there.
I wish I could offer you hope, but the only solace in this tragedy of so-called progress is the conservation easement. Plant some trees for me, and good luck to you.