Designing for Disaster: Domestic Architecture in the Era of Climate Change
176
Designing for Disaster: Domestic Architecture in the Era of Climate Change
176Hardcover
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Overview
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780764357848 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Schiffer Publishing, Ltd. |
| Publication date: | 09/28/2019 |
| Pages: | 176 |
| Sales rank: | 1,106,072 |
| Product dimensions: | 8.30(w) x 9.50(h) x 0.90(d) |
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CHAPTER 1
WATER
Miami, pictured on these pages, is ground zero for global warming in the United States. If nothing changes, large swaths of the city will be underwater by the turn of the century. Homes along the inland waterway, with no beaches for protection, are in greatest jeopardy. It's not just rising seas that make them vulnerable; storm surges and tidal flooding will take their toll as well. High-tide flooding has doubled in the last thirty years, according a NOAA study of nearly a hundred locations relying on tide gauges that have been in place for a century or so. The pace is accelerating; it grew 50 percent in last eight years.
Tidal floods used to be rare in Annapolis, Maryland, on the Chesapeake Bay. But now, nearly forty days a year, nuisance flooding threatens homes, closes harbor restaurants, deters tourists, and ultimately costs jobs. Within the next fifty years, according to NOAA projections, parts of Annapolis can expect to flood at least once a day. In the meantime, the city recommends that homeowners in harm's way elevate their homes, install flood vents, grade lots so that water flows away from the house, install sump pumps in crawl spaces, and patch foundation walls. Meanwhile, the government is repairing sidewalks to create a clear path for floodwater to pass and upgrading its sewer system so that it's less likely to back up during storms and high tides.
Even without the push of a flood, water insidiously works its way inside a home. It discovers gaps in roof sheathing, zeroes in on poor window flashing, or bubbles up from beneath the basement. Sometimes it works subtly — condensation builds up behind walls until black mold finally appears or drywall crumbles. During big storms, high winds can lift roofs from their mooring, toss siding around the neighborhood, and crack measly windows. Then demon water wends its way inside, ruining interiors. Insurers say that mold can grow on a damp surface within one to two days. Insurance can't cover the loss of marriage photos, heirloom furniture, and your children's art projects.
Big snowstorms are a symptom of the same problem, according to NOAA. A warmer atmosphere holds more water vapor, the fuel for snow. Northern regions where snow is common can expect heavier snowfalls for that reason.
Twice as many snowstorms hit the eastern two-thirds of the country in the second half of the twentieth century compared to the first.
High ocean surface temperatures from El Niño currents worsen the situation. In 2010, warmer-than-normal seas contributed to "snomaggedon," a monster storm that dumped 17.8 inches of snow on unsuspecting Washington, DC.
Meanwhile, port cities break records for high tides, some set decades ago. Charleston, South Carolina, recently exceeded the tidal surge of a 1928 hurricane four times in one year. Boston and Atlantic City now have twenty-two days a year when seawater inundates infrastructure. The Embarcadero in San Francisco, built safely above sea level 150 years ago, now floods twenty days a year. The situation worsens as hurricanes bring storm surges that wipe away the coastline. The evidence suggests that today's storm surges become tomorrow's high-tide levels.
PARADISE REVISITED
Hibiscus Island House
Miami, Florida Choeff Levy Fischman
6,000 square feet
Who doesn't dream of spending idyllic afternoons sipping fruity cocktails under palm trees beside a disappearing-edge pool with Jobim playing from hidden speakers? Unfortunately, today's dream of owning a home in a tropical paradise needs to be tempered by the reality of severe weather: homes must resist the party-spoiling threats of hurricanes, storm surges, and rising sea levels. Otherwise, as Floridians learned the hard way during tropical storms Andrew, Irma, and Matthew, dreams become nightmares and sometimes even lead to financial ruin.
The stakes were high for Hibiscus Island House, designed by the Miami-based architecture firm Choeff Levy Fischman. Its spectacular setting — on man-made Hibiscus Island, surrounded by Biscayne Bay — makes it particularly vulnerable to the elements. With little protection against storm surges, the island is among the first places to be evacuated when hurricanes threaten South Florida. Architects like to think their buildings will remain standing long after they pass, a testament to the prescience of their work. The future impacts of global warming make that noble goal trickier to achieve.
A seawall that rises 7.26 feet above sea level provides an important first line of defense for the vulnerable house. To further buffer it from storm surges, the architects sited the home 22 to 26 feet from the shoreline.
Additional security comes from elaborate grade changes designed to mitigate neighborhood street flooding. A series of limestone pavers elegantly rises through the front yard to meet the house, which sits 10 feet above sea level. The path culminates in an up-close view of a two-story glass stairwell tower.
The home's roost presented another challenge: controlling runoff. The solution was to build retaining walls that preserve rainwater to keep the lot from eroding. The walls work with a series of trenches and drains that capture and filter water. The system comes in handy when floods cut off potable water supplies; it produces water clean enough for drinking, bathing, washing clothes, and doing dishes. (FEMA recommends keeping a supply of potable water in homes vulnerable to flooding — one gallon per day per person.)
The high winds that accompany driving rain called for additional protections. The architects framed the house with rows of concrete blocks, reinforced intermittently with rebar and poured concrete. Its foundation, floors, and roof were formed in one integrated concrete pour, eliminating the need for connectors. During a storm, a home is only as strong as its weakest link, and that's usually the windows and doors. On this house they were made with category 5 hurricane–resistant glass and frames that can withstand the pressure of 150-mile-per-hour winds and the impact of flying debris.
The Hibiscus Island house was also designed to endure the everyday Florida hazards of rainy seasons, dry winters, and intense summer heat, a particularly big challenge given the many glass walls. Carefully calibrated low-e film in windows and patio doors minimizes solar heat gain and glare. A light-colored "cool" roof — it absorbs less heat than a dark one — reflects sunlight back into the sky, reducing air conditioning needs during intense summer heat. In more-comfortable seasons, ceiling fans circulate cool air through an open floor plan.
Sliding glass doors open both levels of the house to the tropical environment. The corner of the living room disappears, thanks to column-free sliders that pocket into walls to produce uninterrupted views of the Miami skyline. The master bedroom appears to float over a shaded pool with a cascading fountain and stone accents. Doors in the master bath open to create the opportunity for al fresco bathing in a large soaking tub. Even in the second-floor office, patio doors open to sea air.
Surfaces run from inside to outside to link the environments. Limestone floors extend from the great room to an expansive patio. Cumaru, a resilient Brazilian hardwood used to clad the exterior walls, makes a return appearance in the great room and master bedroom.
Board-formed concrete was used for walls both outside and inside. To further blur boundaries, the home's interiors and exterior rely on the same basic color palette — white stucco, cumaru, and gray concrete. Wood accents — a bar built from stained Italian oak and Brazilian oak wood floors in the master bedroom suite — warm the modern interiors.
The home's outdoor architecture more than delivers on the promise of a tropical paradise. On most days, a waterfall set against a poured-concrete wall produces a soothing sound. Underwater lights in the rectangular swimming pool cast intriguing reflections. A sunken, covered entertainment area provides an ideal spot to lounge with family and friends, share a drink, and take in the city lights. Above all, the Hibiscus House offers firm proof that resiliency and great architecture can go hand in hand.
ONE NATION UNDERWATER
During the last housing downturn, economists popularized the term "underwater" to refer to negative equity — the dire situation where homeowners owe more on a mortgage than their home is worth. Now the expression is used to define an even more calamitous condition — homes that may be literally submerged. Zillow, the online index of property values, estimates that if sea levels rise 6 feet by the turn of the century — a conservative forecast — 1.9 million homes would wind up underwater, nearly half of them in Florida (www.zillow.com, 2017).
Miami leads the list of large cities at significant risk. It would lose a quarter of its housing stock. But more than one in six Boston homes are also in jeopardy — no surprise considering that a big chunk of the city was built on landfill. New Yorkers, as Hurricane Sandy presaged, may lose 3 percent of their housing stock if the seas climb as predicted. Flooding, the report concludes, would be "especially catastrophic" for lower-income Americans, who spend a disproportionate share of earnings on housing. In Oregon, the bottom price tier accounts for more than half the homes at risk.
In coming decades, tidal flooding — which now typically occurs during high-tide events such as full and new moons — promises to become a near-daily occurrence in some seaside communities. In Underwater: Rising Seas, Chronic Floods, and the Implications for Coastal Real Estate (2018), the Union of Concern Scientists (UCS) reports that half a million homes would be chronically inundated by rising sea levels by 2045, with the mid-Atlantic region most at risk. Atlantic City and Cape May, New Jersey, along with Washington, DC, and Wilmington, North Carolina, can expect tidal flooding 240 or more times per year. Pier construction will be much more commonplace. It currently accounts for fewer than 1 percent of homes built nationally.
The report emphasizes the need for cities to update stormwater systems and other public infrastructure to keep up with king tides — the highest and lowest naturally occurring tides. The danger is that residents will abandon communities that are routinely swamped, lowering the tax base and making it even more difficult for communities to pay for infrastructure improvements. Local governments could be caught in a downward economic spiral that wipes out neighborhoods, even if rising sea levels don't. "Some smaller, more rural communities may see 30, 50, or even 70 percent of their property tax revenue at risk due to the number of chronically inundated homes," says Kristy Dahl, senior climate scientist at UCS and report coauthor. Economists are already finding links between the threat of rising waters and falling property values. Harvard researchers established that properties in low-lying areas of Miami-Dade County, particularly Miami Beach, appreciate slower than others in the
they estimate that homes exposed to rising sea levels sell at a 7 percent discount compared to metro area. Using Zillow data going back to 1971 similar properties not subject to climate-related risk (http://iopscience.iop.org, 2018). A University of Colorado review of nearly a half-million homes throughout the country also found that homes vulnerable to rising seas sell at a 7 percent discount (https://papers.ssrn.com, 2017).
RAISED AT THE BEACH
Beach Haven Residence
Long Island Beach, New Jersey Specht Architects
2,500 square feet
Construction had just begun on the Lofgrens' beach home when Hurricane Sandy hit the Jersey Shore, reducing their oceanfront lot to rubble. The extreme weather event — which created 14-foot storm surges, flooded Manhattan, and caused fires that reduced entire neighborhoods to ash — forced a total redesign of the family's weekend retreat. As it turns out, Craig and Stephanie had plenty of time to mull options. It took three politically contentious years for new building requirements to flow from the calamitous event.
The biggest change made by architect Scott Specht, who had also designed the home that never got built, was to raise it on piers 8 feet above sea level. That adjustment, of course, dramatically decreases the odds that another "hundred-year" storm will wipe out the new house. The aesthetic challenge for Specht was making the piers look like an integral part of the home rather than spindly appendages, a common sight on beach homes up and down the shore. The worst look like boxy flamingoes or mechanical beasts from Star Wars, with legs strangely out of proportion to the house's body.
"Our intent was to embrace the fact that the house had to be elevated on what are basically telephone poles driven into the sand, and use them as major design components to be expressed and highlighted," Specht says.
The pillars, stained to match the home's dark cedar walls, form linear colonnades that blend with the starkly modern massing. They support an integrated wood-and-steel frame that cradles the house's main volume. Parts of the home and furnishings that the Lofgrens could part with in the event of high waters — the garage, storage space, and breakout panels — were left at grade. The arrangement means that the next flood, assuming it's not a tsunami, can't reach structural walls that could bring down the house. The family enters at the beach level through a cedar and fiberglass stairwell tucked behind seven of the load-bearing pillars.
Specht borrowed boat-building techniques and materials to design a super-hardy home. Fiberglass, the same material used to build a boat hull, forms the roof. Siding made from stainless steel — also used to protect the sides of a ship from seawater — will stand up to wind-driven rain. Hurricane-resistant windows, an uncommon spec this far north, will take the impact of flying debris, such as wood from a lifeguard chair. Contrasting cedar cladding — some blanched white, some darkened with a boat stain — gives the home sculptural form. "Cedar has proven over time to be extremely durable in a beach environment," says Specht.
A small lot and government-imposed height and footprint restrictions required thoughtful space allocations. Specht drew a rectilinear form that maximizes the cubic space available on the lot. Then he carved out voids and added balconies and a stairwell bumpout above grade to create visual interest. The stairwell, wrapped with glass on two sides, draws light into the public spaces. With the stairs pulled to one side, a clear line of sight from front to back makes the house appear larger inside. So does full-height glass that invites ocean-gazing from the great room. A large screened panel opposite the stairwell provides privacy from close neighbors.
The need for resiliency doesn't interfere with the ability to create a comfortable retreat. An open plan, with designated zones for living, dining, and food prep, maximizes family time, and a large terrace, open to the living room, is the next best thing to being on the beach. It provides an ideal vantage point to watch the sun rise, waves crash, and hobbyists search for change. A private office provides a refuge when work needs to get done. The guest room is also on the main level, isolated for privacy from the family bedrooms above. When the ocean is too cold for swimming, the Lofgrens can retreat to a hot tub tucked around back on a small deck over the garage.
The house's third level is devoted to relaxation and sleep. A fireplace and private terrace overlooking the beach make the master bedroom suite an ideal spot to wind down in the evening. The kids, accustomed to living in a compact Manhattan apartment, were given free rein to customize their bedrooms. The result: an eclectic array of murals, colors, and furnishings. The family can sleep peacefully knowing that the house will withstand much of the water Mother Nature throws their way.
Brad Pitt Tries to Make It Right
Actor Brad Pitt issued a challenge to architects in the wake of Hurricane Katrina. He asked some of the world's most inventive designers to provide prototypes for resilient homes that could withstand the next big storm. The houses, which his nonprofit foundation, Make It Right, planned to build in a section of the Lower Ninth Ward, would have to be raised above the ground to meet federal flood standards, conserve as much energy as possible, and provide homeowners with an area of refuge. The kicker was that the homes would have to cost $150,000 or less to build. Pitt intended to sell them to displaced residents with subsidies. The program stirred controversy by producing some real curiosities — houses with unusual shapes, bright colors, and ambitious sustainability agendas. Many seemed out of place; they were unlike anything Lower Ninth residents had lost. And eleven years after the hurricane, some residents filed a class-action lawsuit saying their homes were poorly constructed. Nevertheless, the houses are examples of innovative flood design.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Designing for Disaster"
by .
Copyright © 2019 Boyce Thompson.
Excerpted by permission of Schiffer Publishing, Ltd.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
Introduction, 06,
Water, 12,
Earth, 56,
Fire, 92,
Wind, 130,
Resources, 172,
Architects & Builders, 174,