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.
Wednesday, March 19, 2014
Tuesday, March 4, 2014
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.
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.
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