Affordable Housing

As a professional planner, I am concerned with many issues surrounding land use, development, and housing. This morning I heard a program on NPR (The Diane Rehm Show, for those who might be interested) where the current status of housing in the United States was discussed. While the economy appears to be on the mend, and the housing market has stabilized significantly since 2007-2009, there remain real and persistent concerns with access to adequate, affordable housing.

Part of the problem is regional in nature. "Affordable" means different things in different places. What the government usually uses to determine what is "affordable" relates to the average cost of housing compared to average income. The percentage typically used is 33%, or 1/3, of one's income is to be utilized for housing costs. So if you earned (take home) $3000 per month, the threshold for afford of what you could feasibly pay is $1000. Anything more than that is considered not affordable. Regionally, the expense of living where the jobs are does not keep pace with what the costs of living tend to be. You could live in the sticks, for example, but there are no jobs there.

Part of the problem continues to be a persistence in income inequality. People's wages simply aren't raising at the same rate of people's housing costs, or even with the way the economy has expanded. As the disparity in income continues, those people who can afford a home is decreasing.

Further exacerbating the problem is the influx of investment capital, which drives an overall increase of housing values, but does not lead necessarily to occupancy. House-flipping was a significant contributor to the housing bubble in the first place, because artificially inflated housing costs are not only unsustainable, but they have a chilling effect on those who might otherwise be able to get into a place that is affordable. Additionally, the real issues of gentrification and inflated taxes make it difficult for folks to get into a home.

Rents are not cheap. Buying a home can be an insurmountable task. And for those on limited incomes, the challenges are real and persistent.

What to do?

Income disparity needs to be addressed. If we had wages commensurate with regional standards the benefits would be immediate and dramatic, which would help people buy homes, which would help stabilize the market further.

Rent controls could also be looked at to ensure that folks have access to decent, affordable housing.

And incentives could be made for banks to fund smaller, more affordable places rather than the large, expensive homes to well-heeled buyers.

Just my $0.02 for a Thursday morning.

The Dance

So I've recently been reminded of how interesting the profession of planning can be. We are currently engaged in a fascinating exchange of ideas and desires. I have been referring it to the dance - the balance between the rights of property owners to develop, and the (sometimes conflicting) rights of others to enjoy their current way of life. The developers and the please-don't-develop-ers. It is intricate, fraught with intrigue and positioning, and deceptively fun.

Fun, you say? Well, yes. I really like it. A coworker pointed out that I seem to thrive on "drama". And it's probably true. I enjoy a healthy, robust debate. It's what attracted me to the profession, and I am grateful for the chance to be a part of it, humbled that I can spend a part of my professional life dedicated to making the dance proceed in the best way possible.

I love it when passions are aroused on both sides of a particular issue or project. I love it when people are engaged and responsive. I love it when things are a little bit (not too much, of course) contentious - because that's what gets people to respond. And it's awesome.

Enter the Sage Grouse.



This lovely animal is a male sage grouse. They live in various areas of the west, feeding off of the sage brush that is as associated with the west as the tumbleweed and the lonely cowboy. They are skittish little things, though, and they do not like having their breeding grounds disturbed. As a result of recent growth and development throughout the west, the bird has seen dramatic declines in population, and is running the risk of extinction if appropriate steps are not taken.

In our County, we have had a proposal for the first (of many) steps towards a potential development. There is an active breeding ground (called a lek) on the property that may one day be developed. It is private property, and there is currently no regulatory requirement for preservation of leks on private property. The way the thing is set up is through a series of incentives that will help create conservation easements on private property. But this is not a requirement. It's a big carrot. The question is - is it a big enough carrot?

If the birds do get listed as threatened or endangered, the Federal government will have oversight over the disposition of development in protected areas. This is a big stick, and while not in place, could have a very strong chilling effect on development in the west - not just for housing and property development, but for mineral extraction, utility easements, etc.

On a County level, everyone (and this includes the property owners) is interested in seeing the sage grouse stay happy and healthy. We all like the birds, and we all want to preserve the best habitat for them. The County is also concerned about many other aspects of the potential development, including access to water, roads and other infrastructure, etc. And the local citizens are concerned about impact of a development on their property and lifestyle. All of which are very, very important.

So it's a balancing act. The desires of the property owners to develop on one side, the desires of the environmentalists and others on the other side.

We're having a public hearing tonight to discuss it. It should be very interesting.

How to plan...

This is an interesting concern, not just for people like me in the planning profession, but for life in general. How do you look into a distant and unknowable future and try to anticipate how things will shape up? What logical steps can you take now to help form that future? What surprises should you prepare for? (How can it be a surprise if you're prepared for it?) How do you react/adapt as circumstances change? And as you move into the future, how do you find a balance between sacrificing present needs in order to preserve a future safety net? Which needs trump, in other words - the needs of the present or the needs of the future?

When it comes to development, there is a dance that is done between the needs, goals, and investment-backed expectations of return on the part of developers, and the oftentimes opposing needs, goals, and community-character-preserving expectations of the community? Property rights are a real thing, and the question becomes - whose rights trump? The property rights of a developer, or the average citizen?

I don't have a definitive answer. I view it as my goal to be a facilitator for both sides. I want to foster good, clear lines of communication in order to ensure that everyone at least has a chance to be heard. Appropriate laws, general plan guidelines, and good policies make for positive working relationships that are consistent and predictable. The fun (I know, I may be a bit sadistic that I think it's fun) lies in when the unpredictable becomes the reality, in dealing with the various and sundry as it appears, trying to make things happen in the best, easiest, and most efficient way possible.

If I have to come down on a particular side, however, my view is ever towards making accommodation for the average citizen. Often, the developer is a known quantity with lots of money, lots of experience in front of commissions and councils, and one who is  therefore very familiar with the processes. The average citizen is not. And yet, their investment is not merely in property, but in the community in general. They want the community to succeed because they live here, their families are here, and they have a social network that contributes to the collective history and spirit of the community, which is in fact what a community is.

Change in a community is inevitable. The goal for planners should ever be to help guide the changes in positive directions, taking into account the disparate views and concerns to mitigate the potential negative impacts of change. It's a dynamic, exciting thing to contemplate.

Perspective

Sometimes it's useful to take a larger view of things. The world can feel a very large, intimidating space, and it's easy to feel overwhelmed and lost.

I recently came across this:

http://memolition.com/2014/06/15/stunning-aerial-shots-that-that-give-you-a-new-perspective-of-the-world/

The world is a lovely place, one in which we - all of us - has a part.

I like looking at google earth - I'm a bit of a map junkie, anyway. It's fun to look at distant places and think about what it would be like there. I also like to look at places I've been, whether it's looking at that small inlet in San Diego where I spent nine weeks in boot camp or the zoo I went to in Korea or the gardens of Versailles.

I like looking for patterns - things that are only able to be perceived at a huge scale. I also like looking at the smaller scale, noticing how the individual houses and streets are laid out. It's very interesting also to consider the relationships between them - the large scale and the small scale. The juxtaposition of man-made and natural environments is also incredibly fascinating to me.

Planning in the Garden

Life is interesting. I've been here in Morgan for about six weeks now, and in that time I've come to start to appreciate some of the similarities and differences that exist between what's going on here and in other places I've been. The differences seem to only highlight the similarities, because human nature is similar all around the world.

The conflict in planning stems from the need to have good, quality development according to the rights of property owners. Contrasting that is the desire of property owners and residents who wish to retain exactly the same environment in which they formed their perception of the community.

As a case in point, I drove through the city where I lived when I was in high school. The place has changed dramatically, from a small-feeling, family-centered community to one where commercial development pervades everything. The thrust of the community seems to have changed from one focused on families and a small town kind of feel, to a bustling commercial destination where things feel frenzied and frenetic. I indulged in a moment of reflection as I drove the familiar streets, nostalgic for a community that was.

But I am not right in my nostalgia. It is not productive as a planner to be over-fond of the past. It is vital to balance the sense of character and history of a place, particularly those elements which make the community unique, and the vision of the future which must help guide the community as it grows. While I KNOW this to be the case, the reality is different, and I am as human as the next person.

Some of the changes are positive. I like that they've emphasized the multi-modal transit options, and have given active transportation a lot of attention. This speaks well to the goals and principles which guide the community. I also quite liked the natural surroundings, which draw me back to this place again and again.

Some of the changes were less desirable, though. I dislike the continued catering to the car/car culture. Streetscapes continue to be auto-oriented, particularly along major thoroughfares. And, while I found the pace to be frenetic, I did (always do) enjoy the energy that exists. It's invigorating.  But I think it would become tiresome if I had to live in that kind of environment all the time.

These changes, positive or negative, are interesting because they're probably barely perceptible to those who live there. Day in and year out, these changes take place on a fairly gradual and subtle pace. Unless one is really looking closely, it's doubtful one would catch these changes. But, as I've been away for several years, I have the ability to notice these things as stark, glaring contrasts that have altered my hometown.

Looking ahead to the future of Morgan, I hope that I can carefully guide the steps that will keep Morgan an incredible place to live, work, and play.

Ink by the Barrel

Check this out:

http://morgannews.com/article/morgan-county-welcomes-new-planner

Quoted text follows:

Morgan County welcomes new planner

ARTICLE | 2 MAY, 2014 - 21:25 | BY DEANNE WINTERTON

ARTICLE DATE:

25 April, 2014 (All day)

Bill Cobabe started his job as Morgan County’s new senior planner and zoning administrator Monday, April 28. 

“Morgan is an incredible place,” said Cobabe, one of five applicants for the position.  “I am excited to be here.  It is just beautiful here.”

Cobabe’s resume includes a mix of both planning education and experience.  Most recently, he worked as assistant director of parks and community development for the city of Grants Pass, Oregon.  Other past employment includes senior planner for Beaumont, Texas; city planner of Mont Belvieu, Texas for five years; planner of Saratoga Springs; and planning intern for Cottonwood Heights.

Certified with the American Institute of Certified Planners, Cobabe earned a master’s degree in urban planning, urban design and environmental planning law from the University of Utah in 2007.  He also earned a bachelor’s degree in architectural studies from the University of Utah in 2005 and studied at Brigham Young University.

He now lives with his sister in East Millcreek of Salt Lake Valley, but plans to move his wife and children to the Morgan area later this summer.  He has another sister living in Utah County and parents living in Rexburg, Idaho.  Cobabe grew up in Utah County and graduated from Mountain View High School.

Cobabe is the fifth planner employed in Morgan in the last five years. Charlie Ewert, Morgan’s most recent planner, accepted a planning position in Weber County in February.

“I know the concerns and issues with people in my position in the past,” Cobabe said.  “My hope is to put down roots here, and be here for 20 to 30 years.  It is important to me to live in the county.  I want to be here and have some investment and buy-in, so the decisions I am making affect me and my property values as well.”

Having worked at a small town in Texas, he said he is familiar with the “politics and machinations” of small-town mentality.

“A small town is dynamic because growth and things happen very quickly,” Cobabe said.  “There is potential for any one citizen or individual to have a huge impact.”

After growing up in Utah and working in both Texas and Oregon, Cobabe said returning to Utah for employment felt like “coming home.”

Cobabe’s past volunteer experience includes a Boy Scouts of America Scoutmaster for two years, president of a local Lions International Club for over a year, and chairman of a chamber of commerce board of directors for two years.  He also speaks Korean.

“I would like everyone to know that I am here for them,” Cobabe said.  “Stop in, call or email anytime, about anything.  I know growth is a concern for Morgan.  They want growth and economic development, but they also want to make sure the grow takes place appropriately, that it is a contributing thing rather than a distracting thing. The people of Morgan want to retain its unique character, not have Morgan become just another bedroom community of Ogden.”

End of quoted text.

Thank you Ms. Winterton!

I am excited to be here. Morgan County has so much going on - the first week here has been a whirlwind of exciting and fun and interesting things. It's so very lovely here - quiet and laid back, and the mountains (!) are simply majestic. It's going to be an interesting ride. Stay tuned!

The Earth

We forget, sometimes, that we are intimately tied to the earth. We came from the earth, we live on its surface, and we eventually will return to the earth. We derive our lives from the earth - literally and metaphorically. As such, it behooves us to consider the impact of our existence on the earth, particularly when it comes to long-term impacts of current behavior. Some of those impacts are irreversible.

I had a couple of classes from Maged Senbel when I was at the University of Utah. He was a dynamic instructor and a worthy mentor. Lacing all of his conversations was a passion for planning and a realization that it is the interconnectedness of people and places, of the earth and environment and those who live on it, that create meaning and life.

I recently watched this video - not the best quality, but you can look past that, I think, because the content is very good. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.

Maged Senbel Interview - Eco-Pavilion, Vancouver, BC from The Global ARC on Vimeo.

The Mind

I've been going over the Comprehensive Plan for the City of Grants Pass. It's a very interesting document, one that could use some updating. The statistics that are included in the Plan are all dated, the majority of which project out from 1980 (when it was initially adopted) through 2000, which of course was around 14 years ago. I was struck by how accurate the projections ended up being. Looking back from the perspective of the present, the historical projections for the future growth of the City were within a couple of thousand people of being right on - certainly within 10%.

The numbers of course are gleaned and extrapolated from Census data, which is itself a kind of interpolation based on average household sizes, actual counts, and even a degree of guesswork. It's an interesting intellectual exercise - trying to peer into a crystal ball and determine how people will move in and around both the City and in the region - all of which can be strongly influenced by national and even global trends. The fact that the estimate was even in the ball park is a testament to the overall effort that went into the projections, and it makes the document a stronger, more reliable thing.

People like to have control. We like to think that our mental efforts have real-world ramifications and we can achieve a modicum of control over things. There are so many things that feel out of our direct control, and it makes us uncomfortable. So we like to take control of the things we CAN actually control. Some of this has to do with our arrogance and pride as humans - something the ancient Greeks would have called hubris.

I recently drove around downtown San Francisco with my family. Looking at the city from space or in a plan/map view, the topography is not immediately visible. It appears to be a series of grids, streets intersecting at right angles to form blocks and districts. There are a couple of weird intersections where disparate grids do not meet as they should. But the various grids do not acknowledge the natural surroundings. A man-made rigid order superimposed on the natural environment.

The result is interesting. The roads crest at strange places, with intersections becoming blind to oncoming traffic and awkward cross-traffic. Adding large buildings into the mix is both a help and a hindrance - they add visual interest and cues, while at the same time giving even more blind corners. It was disorienting and unsettling. I'm sure that eventually one would become accustomed to it, but for an outsider it was a little... foreign.

And maybe that's a good thing.

Getting people out of their comfort zone, causing them to stretch, or introducing new and interesting variety - even if it's unsettling - can be a very good thing. The thing about San Francisco is that you can easily understand how the grid is supposed to work, but the actual experience is very different. I was reminded of the Campidoglio on the Capitoline Hill in Rome. Designed by Michelangleo, the piazza has a very strong suggested axis. Yet, at the center of the axis is a statue, causing the path to vary from the strict, direct path that one would assume was correct. Further there is a series of lines set into the paving which visually disorient the viewer and create a tension, an energy that pushes one off the main axis. The overall effect is very interesting - and not a little disconcerting. Which, of course, was the intention.

As a community grows, these kinds of things become important. Things outside of one's control become important. They have an effect on how things shape up, and are in turn shaped by decisions made before, during, and as a result of time's passing. Careful planning, the kind of planning which takes the long view, adapts to these effects and inputs and grows with them.

The Body

My father just had some work done on his knee. He's getting up there in years, which was funnier to mention when I was younger... Now his age isn't looking quite as old-man-like any more. His knees have been through a lot over the course of his life - from football and wrestling in high school to hiking all over the West with the Boy Scouts he lead in later years. He's not really a complainer, but you could tell it bothered him.

The process of surgery has changed dramatically in recent years. What would have required major surgery a few decades ago is now handled on an out patient basis. Dad said they scoped his knee, cut out the offensive and painful bits, and sent him on his way. He was on some pain medication, and probably will be for a few days, but then he'll be back to normal. It's truly nothing short of miraculous.

What, you might ask, has this anything to do with city planning?

The processes of development are necessarily iterative and invasive. People change. Their needs and expectations of the community change. Market conditions change. Residential desires change. The world revolves in a continuous cycle of evolution and (hopefully) improvement. Even setbacks are challenges and learning opportunities.

A development cannot happen without change. This change often involves destroying something or tearing into the earth to make the conditions appropriate for the new development. Just like my dad's knee, in order for the rest of the knee to continue to function properly, the offending material had to be removed. This involved a painful procedure, but one that would ultimately lead to a better outcome.

In Provo, Utah, near where I grew up, there is a fabulous old pioneer-era building called the Provo Tabernacle. Originally designed as a religious meeting place, the building became adapted to house cultural activities and other group gatherings. It is a beautiful building, a fine example of pioneer vernacular adapted to local conditions and needs. Just a few years ago, the building was accidentally involved in a devastating fire. The amazing woodwork that filled the building for over 100 years provided excellent fuel for the fire, and the entire building - except the shell - was consumed. This is absolutely devastating for someone like me who spent hours in the building and years as part of my community awareness. The LDS Church decided to reinforce the shell and repurpose the building as a Temple - which is both good and bad. Good, because the building will continue to retain its place in the community and will be reinforced to meet current seismic and fire safety standards, which means that it will continue to be a viable building for generations to come. The bad is that Temples are necessarily access-restricted structures, and therefore will not be enjoyed by just anyone, as was this building in the past.

What strikes me, however, is how they had to dig deep into the earth to preserve the shell. The masonry construction above ground was literally raised off its foundation on great steel beams, lifting it up so that a new, more sound foundation could be constructed below. then these beams were removed and the building was lowered onto its new base. In order to do this, in order to access the earth where this majestic building would rest, huge holes were dug around the building. These holes would of course later be back-filled and the grade restored to what it was. But for a time, the earth itself is scarred as the building is restored and renovated.

So, sometimes in order to do something great, a drastic step must be taken. In order to preserve something valuable, sometimes other damage must be done.

Our communities, like our bodies, are constantly repairing, evolving, becoming. The hope of every planner is to create and perpetuate a vision for the community that lasts beyond the current time and helps inform the shape of the community for the better long into the future. This hope begins anew every day, stemming from the collective experience and feeling of everyone in the community, and reaching on into the future.

The Soul

Do communities have a soul?

If so, how would you define it?

Communities, in my mind, are interesting amalgamations of people, places, experiences, and zeitgeist. I know, that last word is a new-agey, loaded term. Bear with me. I hope it will make sense at the end.

First - people. This is the most important ingredient in a community. Every one of us contributes to one degree or another. I generally walk to work, and I see an interesting cross-section of folks as I trundle my way to the office. The place we're renting is in a (ahem) low-rent neighborhood (if you can call almost $1000/month low-rent). Some of the houses are single-family residences, others are larger, older homes that have been split up into apartments, and still others are multi-family dwellings. And it's awesome. There are people EVERYWHERE, sitting on porches, kids playing in the yards and streets, chasing each other with stick/swords, riding scooters, and just being people. It's refreshing, and it shows how life could be. Or maybe still is. Closer in to work I see people heading in to the law offices, insurance places, and other offices near City Hall. They're dressed up a bit, guys in suits/sports coats, ladies in slacks or skirts. Very professional. Very much contributing to the official sense of the area. And it's awesome, too. Because people are dynamic, unpredictable, and lovely. I see these people and assign stories to the tired child, face flushed with running after his friends, to the professional lady walking in her pencil skirt, the guys coming in and out of the county corrections office (I walk by it four times a day). Sometimes we exchange glances and nods, more rarely a smile or a greeting. That's OK. I understand the zone in which one makes one's way in the world. While we share the planet, and we can even share the sidewalk, the experience is unique. I don't want to get in the way. Sartre would be grateful.

But there's something about people, something that having people in a place... It's hard to describe. It's transformative and synergistic. This can be true of areas of strife as well as a walk to work. Just think of the revolutionary and riotous workings and demonstrations that occur the world over. It's true that the tyrant has only one fear - the people.

Next - place. As a city planner, this one is important to me. I believe in the power of PLACE. That spaces, well-crafted and carefully thought out, can contribute in meaningful ways to the overall quality of life in a community. Designers often try to quantify this - a very difficult task. Some try to pare things away, giving people only the very basic building blocks around which to form their experience; others try to pack their spaces with so much - too much? - that it becomes almost sensory overload. The best spaces, in my point of view, balance the disparate needs of those who may occupy the space, creating some flexibility while helping to generate a sense of uniqueness and being special.

I am reminded of the time when Salt Lake City was awarded the 2002 Winter Olympic Games. The announcement was broadcast and shown at the City and County Building downtown, and the crowd was immense. While there may have been other locations for the announcement to be shown (I think I saw it at home), this was the place people gathered. It was perfect - the building, the backdrop of the mountains, the large, open areas for people to gather... It was the right place. And it was unforgettable.

Also of significance - experiences. By this, I don't mean events, per se. Surely the announcement of the Winter Olympics was a huge deal for Salt Lake City. But this was overshadowed by the Games themselves, of the collective experiences of the thousands who participated, both as volunteers and as competitors. It was a blast, and it changed the way I think about Utah and about my place in the world.

Each of us, as we go through our days, has a series of experiences that tie us together with other people and to the places we are at. Even the neighborhood I walk through on my way to work, although I don't enter the houses, and the trees may just be trees, they become a part of me, and I them. It is in this way that people and places become inexorably linked, and a real community is formed.

Add to this the final point - zeitgeist. This word, which has been defined to be the "feeling of the time" or "spirit of the age" has a meaning that is profound. The elements above - people, places, and experiences - all form a unique portion of the continuum, one part of our essence, one part of who we are at the very core. Collectively, this helps to form the gold on the gilded age that is the present. It is the combination of all of these elements that make our society, our culture, our lives what they are. It may sound grand and perhaps a bit like hyperbole, but I really think that this is the case - the same way that the ocean is made up of individual drops of water.

And just like the ocean, the thing is eternal, inexorable, and absolutely awe inspiring.  

The Heart

Several years ago I read a book called "Kokoro" by Natsume Soseki. It's appropriate that I mention it this year, as it is the 100 year anniversary of its original publishing in 1914. The book is seminal in Japanese literature because of its exploration of the way Meiji Japan was modernizing.

For those unfamiliar with the history (I promise I will be brief!), Japan had a deeply-entrenched anti-western view. During the Edo (or Tokugawa) Period, which lasted from about 1600 to the mid 1800s, the Japanese aristocracy and monarchy resisted western cultural influence and trade. This was done for a number of reasons, both altruistic and self-serving, all of which are very interesting as to their ramifications. Suffice it to say that the Japanese valued their culture, religion, and tradespeople/artisans to a much higher degree than anything ever seen in the west. The Japanese were successful in keeping out foreigners to a large degree. It wasn't until Admiral Perry and his rather forceful insistence that the Japanese open their markets to foreign trade (somewhere, Karl Marx was shaking his head) that exchange between Japan and the west began in earnest. It also took the efforts of Emperor Meiji (for whom the period is named), who adopted extreme measures to not only open markets to western products and trade but also to embrace western culture, with all that that entails.

In Kokoro, Soseki explores the loss of Japanese culture. He points out that although modern society has a lot of convenience and ease, and that many people are able to live in close proximity, that people are not necessarily happier, and they experience profound loneliness - the loneliness of the crowded place, the isolation of the metropolis. 

The question remains, then: have things improved? 100 years from the publishing of the book, are things any better?

This morning I read/reviewed images related to the phenomenon. This one in particular grabbed my attention:

http://ichef.bbci.co.uk/wwfeatures/624_351/images/live/p0/1r/nf/p01rnfw7.jpg

To me, this typifies the experience and feel of what I noted above about the loneliness of the crowded place, or the isolation of the metropolis. It is possible to be crushed by humanity to the point that one's individuality becomes nondescript and insignificant, except, of course, to the individual. 

I have been on trains like this. I have felt the station workers pushing my back as they crammed me into a crowded train car. I have heard the grunts and gasps as people wedge into the spaces. And I have heard (not heard?) the silences that attend such occasions. The avoidance of eye contact. The smell of sweat and fabric softener and bad breath and coffee, hanging like a fug above the heads of the passengers. I have felt bodies of strangers I would never see again pressed up against mine, lurching as the train jerked to a start and stop. The cool rush of clean air coming into the compartment as the doors open at the station, letting a few people on to replace the ones who got out.

It's unbelievable. It's nearly impossible to describe. And it happens every day.

More to the point, I once observed two young girls walking home from school. Based on their uniforms, they attended the same school. Based on their ultimate destination, they lived in the same high-rise apartment complex. But one was 20 feet in front of the other, and they didn't know each other. It was strange, surreal. And yet, it was real. Very, very real.

As a planner, I feel it is my responsibility to counter some of these forces. Of course, we don't have the same kinds of issues with crowding that they do in Asia. But the questions surrounding the idea of how to make a community more inclusive, how to make it feel like home, like a place people of all kinds want to live and play and work and just be... These are all very important to me. Where do people gather? What makes them come back to a place after they've been away for years? What is the source of the connection to a community? Surely it lies in the collective experience of people (individually and collectively) with a place. It's this attitude that gives people not only a connection to the place, but makes them feel invested in the place, wanting to stay and help it grow and succeed. And this is what is interesting to me.

Feeling the spaces

When I was in architecture school, lo these many years ago, we would often try to focus on the feeling of a space. Some spaces are bright and inviting, others moody and oppressive. Some spaces have high content value, seeming to pack a full sensory overload into every vista. Others are simple, clean, and unadorned. Some spaces only make sense in context. Other spaces are so completely dominated by a particular feature that it becomes the Thing - that One Thing that exists in the space. Spaces can be an embrace, pulling you in, making you comfortable, and inducing you to stay. Others are all about movement, drawing you onward and through, while at the same time repelling you.

Truly, the only wasted space is that which is neglected. But even those can have a kind of beauty.

I recently read this article:

http://www.bbc.com/culture/story/20140130-can-buildings-be-emotional

It's an interesting read, so I'll recommend you actually follow the link if you're so inclined. The images really lend credence to the story, and I don't have the ability to add those images here.

The question is intriguing. Some spaces are imbued with a mystical sense of grandeur because they are unique, powerful, or have features that make them awe inspiring. The Chinese and other Asian cultures try to quantify this power of space or geography and call it Feng Shui. They use a series of natural features that exist in a landscape or space to try to tap into the natural energy of the site, locating and orienting the buildings such that this energy is maximized and harnessed. Having spent some time in Asia and experiencing this first-hand, it is very difficult to pass it off as a pseudo science or random chance. It's lovely and powerful and real, if nebulous and inexplicable.

Maybe that's a limitation of our language, more than a lack of understanding. A problem with the tongue not being able to express what is in the soul, in the heart and in the mind. This does happen.

In the West, we tend to be more concerned about things that can be controlled, manipulating our spaces and making each experience into a kind of stage setting that produces an artificial construct. It is effective, but it feels a cheap imitation of what nature can do with a site.

This is why I like spaces that are designed with a balance of these disparate elements in mind. We work to make spaces lovely and beautiful, understanding the context in which they're set without suborning the existing feel of the land. Indeed, architecture is best when it touches as lightly as possible the land on which it rests.

Building spaces is an artificial and necessarily initially destructive process. We scrape off earth to expose the bedrock below, drive piles deep to provide security and stability, and create level spaces that conform to human needs and desires. This is not an inherently bad thing, but it is something that should be considered with care and patience and respect.

In this way, one can retain the feel of a place. And that's really the vital, essential part of space creation.

Getting to know you...

All right. So I'm a not-so-secret fan of Rogers and Hammerstein. I like musicals in general, and the King and I is one of my favorites.

Being in a new community presents a lot of interesting challenges and opportunities. Taking the time to get to know a place is always fun, if surprising. There are nuances unique and special to each community, and those nuances are what make each place precious and desirable. Together, as a large network of such uniqueness, we form a community - a nation - of strength and stability.

As a city planner, I am affected by several aspects of each community. Most obviously, I am affected by the laws that govern land use in a particular city. Oregon has state-wide planning regulations, governing land use according to a state-mandated set of goals, policies, and regulations, and overseen by a state-level planning organization (called the Department of Land Conservation and Development). To my knowledge, there's only one other state that has a similar or analogous structure - Hawaii. And Hawaii is nowhere near as large or populous. So it's very new for me that way. It doesn't really affect how we do things here on a day-to-day basis, and it is somewhat comforting to know that we are a part of the larger framework of Oregon's development. But it's new to me, and something that I have to wrap my brain around.

Another thing that takes getting used to is the interpersonal dynamics of a community. It is true of every community I've been in or a part of. Let me just illustrate this point with the following anecdote. When I was attending the University of Utah, a person was given a ticket for parking without a specific permit. When this individual came out and saw the ticket on his car, he was furious and said - don't you know who I am? The last name of this young man was Huntsman, which may not mean much if you're not from Utah, but the basketball arena at the University of Utah was paid for by this man's grandfather. Kind of a big deal. The young man complained and do you know what? They tossed out the ticket.

The point is - in every community there are people who are major players. Sometimes this is due to money. Sometimes this is due to community activism and ties to various other groups. Sometimes - particularly in planning - these are folks that own large portions of land, or who are otherwise major players. And sometimes they're folks who have just been around the place forever and have a real, vested interest in the shape of the community. All of these are valid and important, and these folks are most often those whose voices are heard in our efforts to shape the community and the direction its headed.

As a planner, my job is to seek out those who are not necessarily major players and make sure they have an opportunity to participate. I have been gratified to see the attendance at meetings I've been to - City Council, Planning Commission, and other public meetings all seem to be well attended, and participation has been good. The trick is to balance the goals and desires of the aforementioned major players with those who don't get the spotlight as much. In a new community, it's important to identify which folks are which, and to make sure that no one gets lost in the shuffle.

It's a fun, exhilarating process. I actually really like it, because it gives me opportunities to meet new folks, learn new things, and expand my understanding of the world in general. I am very grateful to have that chance here in Grants Pass.