A little bit of farm, a little bit of suburbia: That's the recipe for Agritopia

GILBERT, Ariz. (AP) — Just steps from the porticos, patios, clay-tiled roofs and manicured lawns of suburbia, Kelly Saxer has gotten used to questions. As she weaves through tomato vines, snaps asparagus and generally gets her hands dirty, visitors and even some nearby residents want to know what she’s doing — and how the farm where she works wound up here.

“Sometimes it feels like we’re animals in a zoo a little bit because people will walk by and they’ll just stare, you know, like gawk at us,” Saxer said.

This is Agritopia, an 11-acre (4.5-hectare) organic farm that's all that remains after miles of alfalfa, corn, cotton, durum wheat and sugar beets were swallowed up by Phoenix's roaring development.

In this “agrihood” — a residential community that includes a working farm — kids play outside at a school that borders vegetable fields or in communal green spaces nestled between homes. Well-dressed couples and boisterous teenagers flock for selfies and picturesque photos. Lines form at the diner featured on Guy Fieri’s Food Network show. On the farm itself, people can walk the dirt roads, rent out plots to grow their own foods or buy its produce.

Some developers have turned to the agrihood concept in the past couple of decades to lure buyers with a different kind of amenity. At least 27 U.S. states and Canadian provinces had agrihoods as of a 2018 report from the Urban Land Institute, and more have cropped up since then.

Experts say agrihoods cater to buyers interested in sustainability, access to healthy food and a mix of urban and rural life. The core aim of many projects is to “create a feeling for people,” said Matt Norris, one of the lead authors of that report.

It was the late 1990s when the family behind Agritopia saw “the writing on the wall,” said Joe Johnston.

The family farm was some 5 miles (8 kilometers) from Gilbert then but it was clear the Phoenix area's rapid growth was going to bring development to their doorstep. With his parents mostly retired and a pair of brothers interested in doing other things, Johnston got their blessing to develop the land himself rather than simply selling it.

Johnston, with a background in design engineering, was intent on “creating place," as he puts it. The neighborhood features narrow streets and homes within walking distance of restaurants, bars, shops, small parks and fitness businesses. The farm is at the center of it.

Melissa Checker, a professor of anthropology at City University of New York and author of a book on environmental gentrification, said agrihoods can appeal to people in different ways — their desire to feel environmentally conscious, nostalgia for an imagined idea of the past, increased interest in food “self-sufficiency” and even a heightened desire to be safe and connected to neighbors after the COVID-19 pandemic.

“You have a kind of convergence of some commercial interests, you know, something that you can sell to people, and then also this real desire to change the way we do things,” she said.

In an ideal world, using green community space to grow food could especially benefit people who are food-insecure, Checker said. But because agrihoods are often tied to real estate prices and developers want a return on their investment, “it’s much more likely that these kinds of projects go into gentrifying neighborhoods or more affluent neighborhoods,” she said.

It's not clear just how big a role the farm plays in attracting buyers. At Agritopia, for example, few of the 500 homes participate in the farm box program that offers them first pick of seasonal fruits and vegetables. (The farm also sells at a market in downtown Gilbert and donates to a local food pantry.)

Johnston said he knew “not everyone's going to be passionate about agriculture." That's why he was intent on creating a village where people have spaces to come together; it's up to them how much, if at all, they want to be involved in farming.

Still, farms are a selling point for developers especially across the Sun Belt who compete to offer pools, gyms, parks and other perks to would-be residents who have a wide range of planned communities to choose from, said Scott Snodgrass. He's founding partner of a developer that created Indigo, an agrihood outside Houston, and also of a company called Agmenity that runs farms for agrihood developers.

As the sun rises, the farm's workers snip the roots off scallions and pull up thick bunches of lettuce and green garlic.

Before he started working at Agritopia, Ernesto Penalba didn’t know all the steps involved in growing garlic — harvesting, cleaning, plus packing and transporting. “But we only perceive it as one process. So it was really interesting to understand that,” he said, speaking in Spanish.

CC Garrett, who goes by “Miss Hickory” when she's leading educational tours for kids on the farm, said she loves watching young people connect with their food in new ways — eating and maybe even enjoying salad for the first time or learning why you can't grow tomatoes year-round.

“It’s amazing for me just because this community, it just really speaks to me, being built around an urban farm, which I think is such an important American concept,” she said.

For some who live here, this place is more than a typical neighborhood. In Agritopia's “kid pod,” a cluster of families with 23 kids between them, parents let the young ones roam freely, knowing at least one guardian will always be looking out for them. The rest of the parents make dinner or plan a date night. Just across the street, a peach and citrus orchard sways in the breeze, occasionally wafting the smells of fruit into front yards.

Maria Padron lives in the “kid pod” with her husband and two children. She loves living in Agritopia for the sense of camaraderie with her neighbors.

Her own family in Virginia had to give up their farm when her grandfather couldn’t take care of it anymore. She wishes it had stayed in the family, but it’s a vineyard now.

Asked whether she would have wanted her grandfather’s land to become an agrihood, she says maybe — if it was done right.

“There’s something obviously beautiful here that’s going on, but there is some grief there too, if you’ve watched this land be a certain thing and then it changes within an instant,” Padron said.

Follow Melina Walling on X @MelinaWalling and Bluesky @melinawalling.bsky.social. Follow Joshua A. Bickel on Instagram, Bluesky and X @joshuabickel. Follow Annika Hammerschlag on Instagram @ahammergram.

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Maverick, left, and Brennan, right, play in Agritopia's "kid pod," a cluster of families with more than 20 kids between them at Agritopia, a community nestled around a plot of agricultural land, on April 21, 2025, in Gilbert, Ariz. (AP Photo/Annika Hammerschlag)

Maria Padron, center, plays with her daughter Fae Padron, 4, right, in a "kid pod," a cluster of families with more than 20 kids between them, at Agritopia, a community nestled around a plot of agricultural land, April 21, 2025, in Gilbert, Ariz. (AP Photo/Annika Hammerschlag)

Lettuce is washed at Agritopia, a community nestled around a plot of agricultural land, April 22, 2025, in Gilbert, Ariz. (AP Photo/Annika Hammerschlag)

At Agritopia, a community nestled around a plot of agricultural land, residential homes are intentionally close to the farm, April 22, 2025, in Gilbert, Ariz. (AP Photo/Annika Hammerschlag)

Sabrina Mathisen stops to smell the flowers at a garden in Agritopia, a community nestled around a plot of agricultural land, April 21, 2025, in Gilbert, Ariz. (AP Photo/Annika Hammerschlag)

Josie, 3, and Fae Padron, 4, play house in a "kid pod," a cluster of families with more than 20 kids between them, at Agritopia, a community nestled around a plot of agricultural land, April 21, 2025, in Gilbert, Ariz. (AP Photo/Annika Hammerschlag)

Fae Padron, 4, plays in a "kid pod," a cluster of families with more than 20 kids between them, at Agritopia, a community nestled around a plot of agricultural land, April 21, 2025, in Gilbert, Ariz. (AP Photo/Annika Hammerschlag)

Joe Johnston, the founder of Agritopia, a community nestled around a plot of agricultural land, poses for a portrait inside his office April 22, 2025, in Gilbert, Ariz. (AP Photo/Annika Hammerschlag)

Residents greet Joe Johnston, founder of Agritopia, a community nestled around a plot of agricultural land, as he makes his rounds in his golf cart April 22, 2025, in Gilbert, Ariz. (AP Photo/Annika Hammerschlag)

Kamori Parra, 5, hangs out on one of the farms at Agritopia, a community nestled around a plot of agricultural land, on April 22, 2025, in Gilbert, Ariz. (AP Photo/Annika Hammerschlag)

Farmland sits amid Agritopia, a community nestled around a plot of agricultural land, on Monday, April 21, 2025, in Gilbert, Ariz. (AP Photo/Joshua A. Bickel)

BETHLEHEM, West Bank (AP) — Thousands of people flocked to Bethlehem's Manger Square on Christmas Eve as families heralded a much-needed boost of holiday spirit. The giant Christmas tree that was absent during the Israel-Hamas war returned on Wednesday, overlooking a parade of scouts playing songs on bagpipes.

The city where Christians believe Jesus was born cancelled Christmas celebrations for the past two years. Manger Square had instead featured a nativity scene of baby Jesus surrounded by rubble and barbed wire in homage to the situation in Gaza.

Cardinal Pierbattista Pizzaballa, the top Catholic leader in the Holy Land, kicked off this year's celebrations during the traditional procession from Jerusalem to Bethlehem, calling for “a Christmas full of light.”

Arriving in Manger Square, Pizzaballa said he came bearing greetings from Gaza's tiny Christian community, where he held a pre-Christmas Mass on Sunday. Among the devastation, he saw a desire to rebuild.

“We, all together, we decide to be the light, and the light of Bethlehem is the light of the world,” he told thousands of people, Christian and Muslim.

Despite the holiday cheer, the impact of the war in the Israeli-occupied West Bank is acute, especially in Bethlehem, where around 80% of the Muslim-majority city’s residents depend upon tourism-related businesses, according to the local government.

The vast majority of people celebrating were residents, with a handful of foreigners in the crowd. But some residents said they are starting to see signs of change as tourism slowly returns.

“Today is a day of joy, a day of hope, the beginning of the return of normal life here,” said Bethlehem resident Georgette Jackaman, a tour guide who has not worked in more than two years.

She and her husband, Michael Jackaman, another guide, are from established Christian Bethlehem families that stretch back generations. This is the first real Christmas celebration for their two children, aged 2 1/2 and 10 months.

During the war, the Jackamans pivoted to create a website selling Palestinian handicrafts to try to support others who have lost their livelihoods.

During the Gaza war, the unemployment rate in the city jumped from 14% to 65%, Bethlehem Mayor Maher Nicola Canawati said earlier this month.

A visitor from France, Mona Riewer, said that “I came because I wanted to better understand what people in Palestine are going through, and you can sense people have been through a very hard time."

Although friends and family cautioned her against coming due to the volatile situation, Riewer said being in Bethlehem helped her appreciate the meaning of the holiday.

“Christmas is like hope in very dark situations, a very vulnerable child experiencing harshness,” she said.

Despite the Gaza ceasefire that began in October, tensions remain high across much of the West Bank.

Israel’s military continues to carry out frequent raids in what it says is a crackdown on militants. Attacks by Israeli settlers against Palestinians have reached their highest level since the United Nations humanitarian office started collecting data in 2006. Israel captured the West Bank in the 1967 Mideast war.

The internationally recognized Palestinian Authority has limited autonomy in parts of the territory, including Bethlehem. Palestinian President Mahmoud Abbas is expected to attend midnight Mass for the first time in two years, the mayor said.

As poverty and unemployment have soared, about 4,000 people have left Bethlehem in search of work, the mayor said. It’s part of a worrying trend for Christians, who are leaving the region in droves.

Christians account for less than 2% of the West Bank’s roughly 3 million residents. Across the Middle East, the Christian population has steadily declined as people have fled conflict and attacks.

Fadi Zoughbi, who previously worked overseeing logistics for tour groups, said his children were ecstatic to see marching bands streaming through Bethlehem's streets.

The scouts represent cities and towns across the West Bank, with Palestinian flags and tartan draped on their bagpipes, drummers spinning mallets adorned with pompoms. For the past two years, the scouts marched silently as a protest against the war.

Irene Kirmiz, who grew up in Bethlehem and now lives in Ramallah, said the scout parade is among her favorite Christmas traditions. Her 15-year-old daughter plays the tenor drum with the Ramallah scouts.

But her family had to wake up at 5 a.m. to arrive in time for the parade and waited upwards of three hours at Israeli checkpoints. The drive previously took 40 minutes without the checkpoints that have increasingly made travel difficult for Palestinians, she said.

“It's very emotional seeing people trying to bounce back, trying to celebrate peace and love,” Kirmiz said.

The Israeli Ministry of Tourism estimates 130,000 tourists will visit Israel by the end of December, including 40,000 Christians. In 2019, a banner year for tourism before the pandemic, the tourism ministry said 150,000 Christian tourists visited during Christmas week alone.

During the previous two years, the heads of churches in Jerusalem urged congregations to forgo “any unnecessarily festive activities.” They encouraged priests and the faithful to focus on Christmas’ spiritual meaning and called for “fervent prayers for a just and lasting peace for our beloved Holy Land.”

Palestinian scout bands parade at the Manger Square near the Church of the Nativity, traditionally believed to be the birthplace of Jesus, on Christmas Eve, in the West Bank city of Bethlehem, Wednesday, Dec. 24, 2025. (AP Photo/Mahmoud Illean)

Palestinian scout bands parade toward the Manger Square near the Church of the Nativity, traditionally believed to be the birthplace of Jesus, on Christmas Eve, in the West Bank city of Bethlehem, Wednesday, Dec. 24, 2025. (AP Photo/Mahmoud Illean)

Palestinians and tourists visit the Manger Square and the Church of the Nativity, believed to be Jesus' birthplace, ahead of Christmas, in the West Bank city of Bethlehem, Tuesday, Dec. 23, 2025. (AP Photo/Nasser Nasser)

Latin Patriarch Pierbattista Pizzaballa, the top Catholic clergyman in the Holy Land, is received by local community while crossing an Israeli military checkpoint from Jerusalem ahead of celebrations at the Church of the Nativity, traditionally believed to be the birthplace of Jesus, on Christmas Eve, in the West Bank city of Bethlehem, Wednesday, Dec. 24, 2025. (AP Photo/Mahmoud Illean)

Latin Patriarch Pierbattista Pizzaballa, the top Catholic clergyman in the Holy Land, is received by local community while crossing an Israeli military checkpoint from Jerusalem ahead of celebrations at the Church of the Nativity, traditionally believed to be the birthplace of Jesus, on Christmas Eve, in the West Bank city of Bethlehem, Wednesday, Dec. 24, 2025. (AP Photo/Mahmoud Illean)