The dirt bog in Sugar House draws the most disdain, but that crater is far from the only open wound scarring Salt Lake City.

A so-called landscape loophole -- a rule that allows buildings to be bulldozed in exchange for planting a few shrubs -- still sits on city books.

It was the ordinance employed for the now-stalled Sugar House development -- a pre-demolition tactic that unnerved the neighborhood, and increasingly, City Hall. But it also has been used (then rarely enforced) across other pockets of the capital, leaving weed-ravaged lots from Central City to the Marmalade area.

The problem seems to spike when the economy flat-lines -- construction stalls, or never starts, and leases remain elusive. Just ask Sugar House.

But since the City Council has yet to ax the landscape ordinance, despite a growing chorus of complaints, a new crater could be coming to a neighborhood near you.

Elizabeth Giraud, a senior preservation planner with the city from 1992 to 2006, is all too familiar with the ordeal. She points to demolition sites that have become dusty distractions -- from the old Bill and Nada's Cafe spot near Trolley Square to the once-thriving corner of South Temple and E Street.

"It's happened in a lot of places. It's discouraging," she said. "Buildings get demolished but it never gets landscaped."

Giraud also sees a double standard of sorts with the treatment of Craig Mecham, the developer of the Sugar House property at 2100 S. Highland Drive, who seems to be planning's public enemy No. 1.

"Is it fair to take him on when the same situation is happening elsewhere without any consequence?" she asked. "Why has the city not gone after these other owners where properties have been demolished?"

Mecham would not comment this week, citing advice from his attorney, according to an employee. But in an October letter to Mayor Ralph Becker, Mecham pointed to a city-owned lot a block away that has no landscaping or fence, but often heavy equipment.

"I have personally seen people use the ground as a dumping spot for grass clippings, old furniture and other junk," Mecham wrote.

The developer told Becker he feels singled out and wondered why other would-be builders were not required to add landscaping or forfeit their bonds. The city has given Mecham until the first week in January to produce a final development plan and proof of financing for his retail and residential project.

Frank Gray, Becker's new director of Community and Economic Development, says city enforcement works on a complaint basis. "Sometimes that gives the impression of uneven enforcement," he explained.

Even so, he favors changing the landscape ordinance, arguing it always is preferable to keep a building -- unless it is inherently hazardous -- in place until another is ready to replace it.

"It's a very simple text change; it's not complex," he said. "Politically, it might be complex."

Then-City Councilwoman Nancy Saxton blew the whistle on the landscape loophole five years ago -- when buildings east of the still-defunct Zephyr Club were razed -- to no avail.

"It lets them off the hook," said Saxton, who argued then for requiring community gardens or at least fencing. "It's too easy for companies to change their minds."

Saxton maintains that builders should never be given demolition permits without approved plans. And she called for "substantial" bonds in the interim. "There's just an obligation to the community, and it really is a domino effect."

Councilman Eric Jergensen also has concerns. "A landscape plan acts as a reuse plan," he said this spring. "Is that smart? No, I don't think so."

Still, as Sugar House and other holes fester, nothing happens.

That could change early next year. Councilman Soren Simonsen is pushing a text-amendment change he expects will take 30 to 60 days to get on the books.

"The outrage that's been expressed vocally by many in Sugar House has brought attention to this," he said. "It can be a drag on a community to have an unkept property for a lengthy period of time. It affects business, it affects motivation of homeowners. It affects everybody in the neighborhood and morale is lower.

"We have to have some standards that are enforced."

But Mark Wilson, a former member of the Historic Landmark Commission, warns that the city can apply only so much pressure -- and certainly cannot force owners to build.

Given the looming recession, perhaps the most realistic outcome is seeing neglected dirt lots dressed up with drought-resistant plants.

djensen@sltrib.com