Rural Studio at Twenty : Designing and Building in Hale County, Alabama [1 ed.] 9781616893170, 9781616891534

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Andrew Freear and Elena Barthel, with Andrea Oppenheimer Dean photography by Timothy Hursley

prin ceto n arch itectu r al pres s NEW YORK

In honor of

Sambo Mockbee  D. K. Ruth  Doug Garofalo  Mary Ward Brown all of whom, in their own very different and brilliant ways, made this book happen.

Published by Princeton Architectural Press 37 East 7th Street New York, New York 10003 papress.com © 2014 Princeton Architectural Press All rights reserved Printed and bound in China 17 16 15 14 4 3 2 1 First edition This publication is supported in part by awards from the Graham Foundation for Advanced Studies in the Fine Arts. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission from the publisher, except in the context of reviews. Every reasonable attempt has been made to identify owners of copyright. Errors or omissions will be corrected in subsequent editions.

All photographs © Timothy Hursley unless otherwise indicated. Images courtesy Rural Studio: 79; 84–85; 87; 92; 103; 111 top (all), bottom left; 119; 125; 127 bottom; 135 bottom; 137 top right, middle (all), bottom (all); 139 bottom; 151; 152–53; 163 middle (all); 169 middle (all), bottom left, bottom middle; 170; 177; 187; 193; 200; 201; 225; 227; 235 bottom; 246 Editor  Megan Carey Designer  Benjamin English Special thanks to Mariam Aldhahi, Meredith Baber, Sara Bader, Nicola Bednarek Brower, Janet Behning, Carina Cha, Andrea Chlad, Barbara Darko, Russell Fernandez, Will Foster, Jan Haux, Diane Levinson, Jennifer Lippert, Katharine Myers, Jaime Nelson, Lauren Palmer, Jay Sacher, Rob Shaeffer, Sara Stemen, Andrew Stepanian, Marielle Suba, Paul Wagner, and Joseph Weston of Princeton Architectural Press  —Kevin C. Lippert, publisher

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data: Freear, Andrew, 1967– author. Rural Studio at twenty: designing and building in Hale County, Alabama / Andrew Freear and Elena Barthel, with Andrea Oppenheimer Dean; photography by Timothy Hursley. — First [edition].   pages cm ISBN 978-1-61689-153-4 (pbk.) 1. Auburn University. Department of Architecture. Rural Studio. 2. Architecture—Study and teaching— Alabama—Hale County. 3. Vernacular architecture—Alabama—Hale County. 4. Sustainable architecture—Alabama— Hale County. 5. Low-income housing— Alabama—Hale County. I. Barthel, Elena, author. II. Dean, Andrea Oppenheimer, writer of introduction. III. Hursley, Timothy, 1955– illustrator. IV. Title. NA2300.A9F74 2014 720.71’176143—dc23 2013045252

6 10

14 23

Foreword  Andrea Oppenheimer Dean Introduction Learning in West Alabama Educating the Citizen Architect

34

The Three Programs Teaching Tools

48

Becoming the Town Architect

59

Client HouseS

23

80

Willie Bell’s House Christine’s House Rose Lee’s House

89

Community Projects

70 76

170

Newbern Firehouse Newbern Town Hall Hale County Animal Shelter Akron Boys and Girls Club Thomaston Rural Heritage Center Pyramid Learning Center Hale County Hospital Courtyard Safe House Black History Museum Perry Lakes Park Lions Park

197

Into the Future

96 104 112 120 12 6 130 134 13 8 146

24 4

20K House Thinnings Rural Studio Farm Farmers’ Markets

249

Voices

202 2 24 2 34

2 81 2 82 2 85 2 88

Rural Studio Team Project Credits Complete Works Acknowledgments

Foreword Andrea Oppenheimer Dean

Soon after Mockbee’s death from leukemia at the age of fifty-seven in 2001, Auburn entrusted Andrew Freear with the studio’s helm. The charismatic Mockbee’s boots would be hard to fill. But under Freear, Rural Studio has become stable, durable, resilient, and—with more than 700 graduates and more than 150 completed projects to its credit—widely influential. The obvious question is why? Why has Rural Studio not only survived but also thrived? The organization started with several huge assets; the first, of course, was Mockbee’s clear and pragmatic vision for it. Good ideas tend to survive. Second, unlike most design/build programs, which are only temporarily based in the places where they build, Rural Studio has a permanent base in rural Hale County. When a local landowner donated a building and property in the tiny town of Newbern, the studio had a home and a leg-up financially. Newbern proved a perfect beachhead. Among its advantages as a place for learning are its—and the county’s—negligible distractions and a three-hour drive to the university and its diversions. For students there is little to do in Newbern but learn. Yet from the start, students have been the studio’s most

It is now two decades since Samuel Mockbee and D. K. Ruth led the first group of Auburn University architecture students to Hale County in west Alabama and founded Rural Studio. During its first eight years under the founders’ leadership, the studio remained a fragile, though much-admired, outlier. Mockbee, a magnetic leader who won a MacArthur “genius” grant and was posthumously awarded the AIA Gold Medal, endowed the studio with a clear and strong identity, in part a moral mission. Architects, he said, had become “lapdogs of the rich” who should put more emphasis on serving poor and neglected people. Education, he believed, was the place to start infusing architects with an ethical backbone. At a time when architectural classrooms were dominated by theory, Mockbee established Rural Studio’s character as a hands-on learning environment in what he called “the classroom of the community.” The community Mockbee chose was rural and largely poor and black. He expected his predominantly white, middle-class students to cross the divide separating them from their unfamiliar environment, to learn from it, and contribute to it by designing and constructing buildings.

Rural Studio at Twenty 6

to tell his students that goodness is more important than greatness and to “screw the theory—choose the more beautiful.” Freear would add only, “choose the more resourceful and the beautiful.” Freear is respectful of Mockbee and his legacy, but says Rural Studio “is more than Sambo. It’s not Sambo’s Rural Studio, and it’s not mine.” Freear was able to step into a revered founder’s footsteps but also to shape his own course. In 2006, he became the first America-based architect to win the Ruth and Ralph Erskine Nordic Foundation Award, which is administered by the Swedish Association of Architects and “aspires to promote urban planning and architecture which is functional, economical and beautiful, and which is to the advantage of underprivileged and deprived groups in any society.” The most significant change under Freear’s leadership is that Rural Studio has become “much more deeply marbled into the west Alabama community,” in the words of William Sledge, a Hale County native who teaches psychiatry at Yale University and is a member of the studio’s advisory group. Ultimately, what differentiates the studio from other design/build programs is its deep engagement with its place. To explain the studio, Freear contrasts it with activist organizations that fly into a disaster area, build a clinic, and fly back out, usually without evaluating their work, learning from it, or fixing its mistakes. In contrast, the studio stays put, taking the rap for its missteps and drawing lessons from what it builds. Freear limits the studio’s work to a twenty-five-mile radius of Newbern and has won the trust and respect of once-suspicious townspeople, local officials, businesspeople, and civic leaders. Nothing has been more important for Rural Studio’s renown, influence, and longevity than the quality of its architecture. Its buildings and landscapes, all designed and constructed by eighteento-twenty-five-year-olds, have made Hale County a rival of Columbus, Indiana, as a repository of

ardent fans. They love being there, totally immersed and working their hearts out. The public, for its part, has loved the students’ work, which has been widely published and enthusiastically reviewed. Hugely important for Rural Studio’s stability was the university’s commitment, beginning in 2002, of $400,000 annually to the studio. “People like the outlaw nature of the studio,” says Rusty Smith, the studio’s associate director and Auburn’s associate chair of the program of architecture, “but there’s no way we could take on five-year-long projects without the university behind us.” Directorial and staff stability has been another source of strength for the studio. In twenty years, it has had only two directors and two office managers, and construction supervisor Johnny Parker just celebrated thirteen years on the job. Both Mockbee and Freear have emphatically shaped the studio. On the surface they seem so different. We remember Mockbee, a sixth-generation Southerner usually called Sambo, as a jovial, portly, learned, and talented extrovert at the height of his powers. Freear, more than twenty years younger, is a tall, lanky Brit from Yorkshire, an outsider who is introverted by nature and was untested as a leader. His management style is low-key. He creates programs without feeling he has to control them and manages people without appearing to manage them. More important than their differences, however, are Mockbee and Freear’s shared values and attitudes. Freear, like Mockbee, is a Pied Piper, besotted with the studio and his adopted community. He is a modest man, an optimist with an intense faith in his students, a storyteller whose oft-repeated tales cement the studio’s sense of itself and its myths. Like Mockbee, Freear is an egalitarian and a populist with a strong streak of altruism. But also like Mockbee, Freear has not let his social conscience dilute the studio’s principal focus on architecture and the teaching of young architects. Mockbee liked

Foreword 7

shows that small-scale architecture, produced with modest budgets and low-tech methods, can make a big impact. Yet another reason for Rural Studio’s endurance is that Freear the idealist approaches his work with utmost pragmatism. His emphasis on teamwork and collaboration mirrors real-life architectural practice and is an antidote to architectural education’s continued unrealistic glorification of the talented individual. Unlike most design projects that are made by students in schools of architecture and never go beyond schematic drawings, those created at the studio get built. The design, as a consequence, must be more rigorous and informed. In reviews of student work, you hear Freear constantly demanding that students test more iterations. “I challenge the students,” he says, “by continually reappearing for more questions, more drawings, more thinking, and more research. I behave like a dog with a bone, and I won’t let go until they have addressed all the questions.” Freear insists that his students accept responsibility for their decisions, while making himself constantly available to his students—“as a patient guide and fifth team member.” Still another significant plus for the studio is its many ongoing collaborations: with professional consultants, visiting architects, local officials, nonprofit organizations, schools, community groups, and donors. This forging of collaborations has become central to the DNA of Rural Studio. While the studio has expanded its collaborations and its ambitions, it has remained small enough to be nimble, intuitive, and responsive. Long-lived organizations need constant reinvigoration. Elena Barthel, who heads the third-year program, has provoked much of the studio’s recent big-picture thinking and planning for the future. A native of Tuscany, Barthel graduated and then earned a PhD from the University of Florence’s School of Architecture, and taught there for eight

modern architecture. Each project is the work of a student team, but students can’t escape the studio master’s aesthetic. For both Mockbee and Freear, modernism and Hale County’s vernacular buildings serve as springboards. During Mockbee’s years, the studio’s buildings tended toward the quirky; they were assertive and expressive. Many seemed like compositional collages. The Freearian projects are more disciplined, precise, and crisp and further integrate such vernacular influences as steep overhanging big roofs and wide front porches. Freear has updated the studio’s commitment to sustainability by stressing what he calls “sustainability with a small s,” by which he means creating climate-sensitive, energy-thrifty, and easily maintained architecture using low-tech methods and hardware that can be easily repaired by local people with few skills. Plans are usually simple rectangles; there is a tendency to expose structure. The work is handmade and untrimmed, each joint cleanly crafted. Often, it is the materials—and contrasting ways of employing and juxtaposing them— that shape a project’s character. Another key to Rural Studio’s success is its emphasis on incremental, rather than revolutionary, change. Revolutions are short-lived; evolution has staying power. Like Mockbee, Freear believes in slow change dictated by the community and the times. He has a knack for sensing the exigencies of the present and anticipating the needs of the future. Mockbee’s ideas were shaped by 1960s social activism and 1970s environmentalism. Freear’s larger ambitions mirror current ideas about social and environmental sustainability and a need to manage local resources. In other words, Rural Studio has changed with the times, a necessity for long-term survival. During the past ten years, especially, the studio has influenced architectural discourse in the United States and abroad by offering an alternative to architectural gigantism. The studio’s work

Rural Studio at Twenty 8

bring in fresh ideas and research; encouraging his students to create more meaningful, sustainable, and beautiful projects; managing people at the studio and in the community according to the Golden Rule rather than a set of rules; neither overreaching nor overspending; changing with the times; cementing the ties that bind the studio to Hale County for the mutual advantage of both; and steering Rural Studio in ways that attempt to secure its own future and that of rural west Alabama. So, for now, Rural Studio thrives.

years. She came to the studio in 2008 as a visiting professor and was offered a tenure-track position as an assistant professor in 2010. In describing Barthel’s role, Freear says, “I’m so intensely involved in the day-to-day, Elena makes sure I look up and consider the large questions surrounding the studio.” Under Barthel’s guidance, the studio has reassessed its own operations and, in response, created a farm on its campus to force itself to “walk the walk” of living and eating more sustainably. The daughter of Italian artisans, Barthel has also reinforced and sharpened the studio’s emphasis on craft, from drawings to buildings, furniture to food. The studio has forged a mutually beneficial relationship with its community: the more its work improves life in Hale County, the more Hale County becomes invested in the studio’s well-being and longevity. But, ultimately, the question arises: how much good can the studio realistically do for a region that is bereft of jobs and the skilled workers and training opportunities that help attract jobs? Quite simply, Hale County needs far more help than the studio can give. As will become evident in these pages, Freear’s energy and commitment—to the studio, to its students, to teaching, to sustainability in architecture, and to the craft of architecture—are formidable. That’s the kind of strong, passionate leadership this sort of program needs. When the time comes, finding a suitable successor to Freear will be daunting. Hale County’s remoteness, poor public schools, and lack of employment opportunities for spouses have so far thwarted the studio’s attempts to attract mature teachers. Before the arrival of Barthel, who is Freear’s wife, Freear shouldered the burden alone, and even with her help he is chronically overworked. Nevertheless, Freear, ever the bulldog, continues to proceed boldly, bravely, and strategically, strengthening Rural Studio’s tradition of well-oiled teamwork and wide-ranging collaborations that

Foreword 9

Introduction

We describe this book as a Rural Studio portrait, a critical behind-the-scenes look at the studio’s dayto-day and year-to-year workings, crafted by two architects, a writer, and a photographer. Each from a different perspective, we have collectively experienced Rural Studio since its beginning. Tim Hursley’s photography has evolved with Rural Studio, and the studio’s work, as viewed by the world, has evolved through his lens. When Tim shows up in Newbern, he gently turns his visits into an event for us and our neighbors. With his big cameras, the longtime Arkansas resident captures our projects’ aims, the spirit of our community, and the atmosphere of Hale County. Tim takes great joy in the people and the way they inhabit and change the projects over the years. Andrea Oppenheimer Dean watches over the studio from Washington, DC: She helps us retain a perspective on the work. Her editing is sharp, rigorous, and demanding, her writing beautiful, fun, and always positive. Elena Barthel and I teach, design, build, and live at Rural Studio. Elena started visiting Newbern ten years ago and a few years later moved to Hale County. I have been living here for fourteen years and my story is a little bit longer.

Mockbee and Me

I first met Sambo Mockbee in March of 1997 when I attended one of his lectures at the Graham Foundation in Chicago. I was blown away: the atmosphere and the talk were electric. Two years later, in fall 1999, I accepted a teaching position at Auburn University, and in the fall of 2000 Mockbee hired me to teach the fifth-year studio at Rural Studio. Mockbee said we had enough money to survive until Christmas and that’s how long I expected to stay at Rural Studio. I was intrigued and excited by his ideas and persona. For two years we lived together at Spencer House, in Newbern, and we became good friends. But Mockbee was nervous about me at first, because I was an outsider and different from him. He was an outgoing storyteller; I was quiet, more introverted. My style is to listen, learn, and respect. I assured Mockbee I wasn’t there to “fix things that weren’t broke.” He had the confidence of a fifty-seven-year old, assured in the world, in his architecture, and in his art. I was easily intimidated, especially by his ability to draw. Everything that came off the end of his pencil was beautiful.

Rural Studio at Twenty 10

We balanced each other well. Now I often wonder whether the studio suffers from having lost some of the gesture in our attempt to be more disciplined. But I think students often didn’t realize that artful garnishing in Mockbee’s experienced hands became artful camouflage in their inexperienced hands. Mockbee had so much experience that even his sketches were to scale; you could build from them. Among the many things Mockbee and I had in common was that we both hailed from a disdained region of our respective countries. Mockbee was a proud but rebellious son of the oft-discredited American South; I was raised in the north of England in a modest family. I was educated in London by architects who had rebuilt England after World War II and remembered its privations. The British architects who became my mentors believed in the public realm, in good and equal access to education, welfare, and health services, and housing for all. I guess I’m a socialist at heart, and I want the best for people and to think the best of them. Like Mockbee, I root for the underdog. Two years after I arrived in Newbern, Mockbee started to withdraw from the studio, spending more time on other things he wanted to do, mainly painting and drawing. He also had design projects in Sagaponack (Long Island, New York), and was working on a 9/11 memorial competition for New York City. Mockbee’s final illness and his death, in December 2001, were terribly sad, astonishingly rapid, and shocking for all of us. To others he became a mythical figure after his death. For us, he was a larger-than-life character, but we knew him warts and all and genuinely loved him. Just before his death, Mockbee made two local full-time staff appointments that helped stabilize the studio: he named Johnny Parker, a brilliant jack-of-all-trades and Rural Studio personality, our construction supervisor and appointed Brenda Wilkerson, a whiz with figures, to rigorously manage our finances.

Mockbee was very complex, hugely talented, well read, and humane, with a wonderful spirit and verve for life. I remember him verbally jousting with the great British architect Michael Hopkins, who was designing a house for the Queen of England. Mockbee was designing one for Alberta Bryant in Mason’s Bend, Alabama. He could hold his own with the New York art gallery crowd as well as with good old boys. Mockbee would visit my fifth-year class and sprinkle a bit of what he called “whiffle dust” on the projects. His mode of operation—a result of his self-assurance, age, and experience—was to breeze in and know when to pat people on the back, give them a hug, and just let them get on with it. My style is to be much more involved. While Mockbee tended to concentrate on the big picture, I love the dayto-day work. He lived in Canton, Mississippi, and spent three to four days a week in Newbern. I live in Newbern—and it’s a twenty-four/seven, very intense process. We laughed a lot. Mockbee had a great sense of humor. At the studio there’s always a lot of kidding around; it’s a serious business but we try not to take ourselves too seriously. I believe in discipline and rigor, but my relationships with people are very much based on self-deprecating humor and innuendo. I use the F-word as a noun, adjective, and pronoun. Mockbee didn’t do that. He would show up and right away say, “let’s go eat! Mustang Oil or Lou’s?” I often forget to eat! It was great to teach with someone who was interested in the nature of beauty. Mockbee got bored easily, especially with too much talk and with architectural theory. Today it’s hard to talk about aesthetics at architecture school. Teachers are rightly interested in rigorous process. But it seems not to matter any longer whether the result is beautiful. Our design approaches were very different. Mockbee had an artful flourish; I strip things down.

introduction 11

reflecting on our work, and nurturing community relationships. As serious architects and teachers, with the privilege of being surrounded by our built work every day, we have simply learned from the past and built on it, and I would expect that to be the way we continue.

After Mockbee’s death a number of events took place to define our future. Crucially important, the university made an annual financial commitment to the studio that covers our overhead costs—staff salaries, vehicles, rents, tools, etc.—but not project materials. (Today for project funding we depend on three loyal annual contributors—the Potrero Nuevo Fund of the San Francisco Bay Area, the Roloson Family Foundation of Telluride, Colorado, and an anonymous friend.) At the beginning of 2002, D. K. Ruth ran Rural Studio for a short time, but a series of illnesses forced him to focus his work in Auburn and relinquish leadership of the studio. By the end of the year, I was named codirector with Bruce Lindsay, then head of Auburn’s architecture department. When Bruce left Auburn to become dean at Washington University in St. Louis in 2006, I became the studio’s sole director. Rusty Smith, Auburn’s associate chair of the program of architecture, was named associate director of the studio in 2007. People say that the work of Rural Studio has changed under my leadership. I would argue it would have been impossible for it to stay the same. The studio is dynamic. I remember the architect Ben Nicholson telling me after Mockbee died, “Get the hell out of there. It will turn into Taliesin.” I told Ben I thought he misunderstood the place. A kind of Taliesin-like homage to a legendary founder or teacher just wouldn’t happen at Rural Studio; it’s not in our students’ DNA. Each year we have a new group of students, and each team wants to improve on what was done before. Often they want to build bigger, of course, and they are hell-bent on making their projects different. I think if Mockbee had lived beyond Christmas of 2001, he would have nudged the studio toward changes similar to those I have instituted. Most have been responses to necessity, a result of staying in one place, reacting to the place as architects and teachers should, critically

This Book

It’s time, after twenty years, to take a step back and look at what we’ve done, how we’ve done it, and what we’ll do next. It’s time to reflect on our process of designing and building, on the impact of our projects, and on the questions that we continuously pose to ourselves and our community, the public, and the academic world. Our work and the way it is produced challenge the conventional role of the architect and how we procure architecture (in light of the current architect/builder confrontational model). Ultimately, we see Rural Studio’s role as creating resources for the community. Rural Studio won’t work everywhere; it is very much a place-based model, but its principles can be passed on. Students asked to commit to this place and take responsibility for their actions flourish, while their projects ignite the imaginations and raise the expectations of their clients and community. The book begins with a personal ode to west Alabama: its history, geography, landscape, economy, and arts, as well as its food, architecture, and, of course, people, and what we have “learned to learn” from them. The strengths and fragilities of this place continuously give rigor and complexity to our actions, thoughts, and wishes. The second section, “Educating the Citizen Architect,” is divided into two parts. The first describes the mission of our three programs. The third-year studio’s current charge is to redesign our own properties for a more sustainable and wholesome way of living in Newbern. The fifth-year studio is dedicated to the design and construction of largescale public projects that focus on the health, welfare,

Rural Studio at Twenty 12

“Community Projects” is the book’s master section, a recollection of the public projects designed and built during the last thirteen years. Together these projects represent both a conquest and renaissance of the public realm. They also illustrate how the studio’s preferences for reuse gradually took on a broader meaning. To the reuse of materials we added the reuse of abandoned buildings, which we salvage along with the collective memories they hold. The sequence of public projects shows their evolution, their increasing scale, and our growing collaborations with local officials. The project overviews are followed by a look “Into the Future” with a section detailing the questions, challenges, and goals that now concern us. Inhabiting a rural area for twenty years, the studio has continuously faced the fragilities and opportunities of a place that has little resilience. As a result, our main concerns are how we should live, build, eat, and consume in such an environment. Our responses include the 20K House program, aimed at creating an affordable home for everyone; building with “thinnings,” an underutilized local lumber that is a by-product of forest management; and the Rural Studio Farm, a small-scale sustainable agricultural system. The book’s final feature is a selection of essays, which we call “Voices,” by those who make Rural Studio unique: our local advisors, who help us to understand and appreciate Hale County and west Alabama; our consultants, who help us realize projects; our clients, who give us the confidence and belief to proceed; and our students, who after leaving the studio search for their own ways to become citizen architects.

and education of our community. The outreach studio brings a group of students from around the world to Rural Studio every year to develop a new prototype of an affordable house that costs $20,000 to build. The mission of the three programs remains as it always was: to take care of the backyard of Auburn University. The second part, “Teaching Tools,” is the core of the book: it describes Rural Studio’s learning process and teaching methodology. As an atelier, the studio produces five new projects each year with the involvement of multidisciplinary consultants. Many voices help frame and develop the students’ work and professionals oversee the process. Our students learn from our completed projects, their project sites, multiple and meticulous design iterations, and immersion in all aspects of the building process. The result is an architecture of joy in designing, making, and building with, and for, ordinary people. It is an architecture without fear thanks to the brilliance and energy that our students offer when given the opportunity. “Becoming the Town Architect,” the third section, is the story of the studio’s evolution in our hometown of Newbern. It describes the projects we built and created with community trust. The ultimate lesson is that architects must be proactive, make projects happen, be in control of their own destinies, and believe in a better world. The following sections offer a selection of our projects from 2001 to today. In “Client Houses,” each work is a site specific, single-family dwelling designed and built as a unique home for a local family. Client houses were the core of the Rural Studio program at its beginning. Grounded in the personality, resources, and peculiarities of its intended owners, the client house gave our students an opportunity to explore a wide range of salvaged and local materials and to speculate on a variety of configurations of home.

Introduction 13

Downtown Newbern: from left, storage barn, Red Barn (Rural Studio’s design studio), post office, and Newbern Mercantile

Rural Studio at Twenty 14

Learning in West Alabama

so. Since we live here, if we screw up, we hear about it. If we do well, we also hear about it (but less often). Living, eating, designing, and building here has been a hugely important learning experience for us as architects, teachers, and residents, as it has been the same for our students. Our completed structures give us a tangible architectural library, a syllabus of lessons in design and construction. We live surrounded by our projects, so we can observe how they perform for their users over years and decades. Because we are in Hale County for the long haul, we know we have to prove we are good neighbors. We have worked hard to build trust and show that we feel accountable and responsible for all of our actions. That includes the projects we build, the way we take care of our properties, and our behavior toward our neighbors, local officials, civic organizations, and businesses. We go to local high school football games, attend local churches, eat and work in the local restaurants. Every Thursday our students tutor at the public school. When I first came here, the locals seemed hugely suspicious. Their mistrust was fueled, in part, by a history of academics coming to Hale County to work on projects with local people as a prerequisite

Hale County is essential to what we do and who we are. We live in Newbern, in Hale County, Alabama, and none of our work takes place farther than twenty-five miles from our home. For the last twenty years we’ve designed and built for this particular place and its communities. We believe that design must start by observing the context and learning from it. Living where we work and being actively involved in the community helps us in creating appropriate designs. Rural Studio has, in turn, been profoundly shaped by the architecture and landscapes of this corner of rural west Alabama and by the needs, concerns, and aspirations of its people. Rural Studio’s relationship to Hale County is what makes it different from every other design/ build architectural education program in the United States. Other activist practitioners might helicopter into a third-world country, design and build for six months, and then fly home again. I’m guessing that one of the attractions for those contemplating an assignment in a crisis-plagued land is that they get to go home when the job is done. We’ve dug ourselves in here and have completed more than 150 projects in Hale and nearby Perry, Marengo, and Dallas counties. Some of our work has been successful, some less

Learning in west alabama 15

My wife, Elena Barthel, and I live in Newbern. (Elena is our third-year studio professor.) Newbern lacks the accoutrements of civic life that many folks expect. “Downtown” consists of a small general store called Newbern Mercantile, a post office, a firehouse, a town hall, and our design studio (the Red Barn). The same is true of the neighboring towns, and even the county seat of Greensboro. There are no movie theaters or fancy bars or restaurants. Eateries serve mostly fast food. The locals who manage to get an

for tenure. When their projects ended, they disappeared. I wanted to change the game. What It’s Like Here

The reason there’s nothing else quite like Rural Studio is because teachers of architecture are unwilling to do what cofounder Sambo Mockbee did, which was, as he put it, “to wave goodbye to my wife and kids and go off to war.” “War” meaning, in this case, the middle of nowhere.

Moundville

Birmingham

Akron

Mason’s Bend newbern auburn selma

greensboro

montgomery

newbern

footwash

Newbern is in Hale County, Alabama (above right). The majority of Rural Studio projects are within a twenty-five-mile radius of home.

Rural Studio at Twenty 16

We tend to be suckers for scrappy underdogs, and in the United States the Deep South is scorned and stereotyped as racist and backward. It reminds me of the way the north of England is often characterized by Londoners, and how the south of Italy is regarded by many northern Italians. But American and Italian southerners and British northerners share an ability to laugh at themselves. We like that. We like the authenticity of this hard-bitten region, its lack of pretenses and airs. West Alabama is a land of bare-bones pragmatism. Hale County is full of can-do farmers, artists, and civil-rights foot soldiers—all ordinary folks trying to survive and make a living. What better place for a hands-on school of architecture? Hale County is a place of resilient, efficient, and beautifully built vernacular architecture. What better place to educate aspiring designers and craftspeople? We teachers, staff, and students have responded to our isolation by marinating ourselves in the local politics, architecture, landscape, arts, crafts, music, food, and rhythms of everyday life. We decided that being citizen architects means learning from Hale County and its people; our clients, advisors, and community partners; people who teach or work here full-time; and consultants from all over the world. They all help us understand our context and relate to it better. Some of our homegrown friends—who include politicians, businessmen, leaders of nonprofits, judges, educators, artists, writers, musicians, and plain folks—were born in Hale County and have lived here all their lives. Some left and then returned. Some have enough “distance” to reflect on the place and help us understand its complexity. No matter what their points of view, they are all precious helpers. We especially appreciate that they care deeply and passionately about Hale County. One of Rural Studio’s first clients, Sonny Ryan, a recently retired Hale County district court judge, has been a spirited supporter of opportunities for

education tend to leave, so those who stay are either much younger or much older than we are. So we don’t have many peers, but we do have many protective parental figures. Elena and I are not religious, but we appreciate that Sunday is not only a spiritual day but also a family day. Folks slow down. They dress up in their best. They have lunch together. Sunday is social, and respectful. It is a beautiful contrast to the globalized world of twenty-four/seven emails and text messages. Ultimately we have very different backgrounds and experiences from most of the people among whom we live. It’s no one’s fault. It is what it is. Hale County has a powerful past but a frail present. Since the demise of King Cotton, the economy has withered and become reliant on low-wage, fragile agricultural industries: catfish farming, dairy farming, logging. Twenty-six percent of the county’s residents live below the poverty line, the majority of them in trailers. Much of Alabama’s land remains in the possession of absentee landowners who use their political clout and powers of persuasion to keep taxes low and the educational system consequently poorly supported. Local education funds are divided between private and public schools, and both options are weakened because of the divided resources. If you have kids, it’s a struggle to find adequate schools. Folks in Hale County often look at me sideways and say, “What a beautiful accent you have.” It’s British, and I’m British. Elena, originally from Florence, Italy, speaks Italian-accented English. Perhaps it is our very foreignness that allows us to bridge some of the local cultural and racial boundaries. We are still the new folks in town who do not carry the historical baggage of the natives. The second question we are often asked is, “What y’all doin’ living in Hale County?” The answer is simple: we’re here for the people, the place, and the opportunity.

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local youth throughout his professional life. We value Sonny for his liberal views and his good heart. He knew Mockbee, and Sonny’s son, a graduate of the studio, helped build the first Akron Boys and Girls Club (2001). “Economic differences will always exist,” Sonny says, “but no one should be denied opportunities for advancement. Human dignity and fulfillment should be available to all.” In Newbern, whites and blacks; Mennonites, Baptists, and Presbyterians; and rich and poor all work together in the Rural Studio–built firehouse and town hall. Being new, the buildings are unburdened by ideas passed down over generations or by prior ownership. But voluntary integration tends to be the exception. Poor schools are largely to blame.

us allows us to talk to our students about building typologies, beauty, local culture, the use of indigenous materials, and tried-and-true strategies for accommodating an often unkind climate. Nature is hostile in these parts, but also extremely beautiful. This is the only place Elena and I have ever lived where the same flower blooms twice a year, announcing both the beginning of spring and the end of summer. The bloom signals a time of beautiful weather, with fresh air and sunny blue skies and many unforgettable sunsets. But our climate is also characterized by extremes: extreme heat in summer and extreme mud in winter. In April 2011, tornados and other storms killed hundreds in west Alabama and smashed houses into splinters. We feel the weather just like the locals do. At our Red Barn design studio, only the computer lab is air-conditioned. The rest of us keep cool in the summer with electric fans and warm in the winter with smelly kerosene heaters.

Architecture, Climate, and Landscape

It takes time to understand Hale County. The longer we are here, the better we appreciate it. Take the local architecture: We have learned to love its variety, the hodgepodge of modest vernacular houses with their gritty and efficient front porches that keep out the sun and rain but lure in the neighborhood storytellers. The South is full of characters who sit on front porches with a cup of sweet tea, sharing memories, dreams, and myths. We admire the frugality and sense of pride expressed in the local barns, which always seem perfectly placed in the landscape. And we appreciate Hale’s handsome historic houses. Dick Hudgens, who teaches local architectural history to our third-year students, reminds us that antebellum Greek Revival was the first American style of architecture. Dick can tell you the story of a building just by looking at the nails that hold it together or the grain of its wooden boards. He appreciates the comfort of a place cooled and heated by natural systems and built with local materials. Learning from the architecture around

Sambo Mockbee with students at Rural Studio’s first home, the president’s mansion at Old Southern University, Greensboro

Rural Studio at Twenty 18

“Silo Surveillance, Hale County, Alabama, 2011–12.” Photographs by Timothy Hursley

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of outstanding natural beauty, home to oxbow lakes, tupelo and cypress swamps, and the Cahaba River. Trucking through northwest Perry and eastern Hale counties, I’d pass thick loblolly pine forests— this is papermaking country—and rolling hills that are home to the true rednecks of Hale County. Their forebears were the protagonists of James Agee and Walker Evans’s Depression-era book Let Us Now Praise Famous Men. The hills would flatten into dairy land as I’d proceed westward, crossing Hale County’s main north-south highway into Akron, once a thriving crossroads for rail and river traffic, now a depleted hamlet. From Akron, back roads took me past catfish ponds, smallholdings, abandoned churches, and scattered woodlands to Mason’s Bend, a left-behind community of four extended black families, median income negligible. It is here that Rural Studio built its first house, the Hay Bale, in 1994. My next stop would be the Hale County seat of Greensboro, with its largely abandoned Main Street of mixed-style false fronts and smattering of antebellum manses. About twelve hours after leaving Newbern, I would return home, the sunset on my back.

There is a fragility to Hale County’s landscape. Much of it is weather-beaten and hardscrabble. One of our advisors, William Sledge, describes how “the dirt is sandy and porous, and there is the storied clay—red clay, rich orange, maroon, and so red it seems that the earth is on fire, or bleeding.” Dr. Sledge, a professor of psychiatry and the medical director of Yale’s New Haven Psychiatric Hospital, was “Mockbee’s psychiatrist” and his shoulder to cry on. He was born in Greensboro and has a wellknown family name; the Sledges own large tracts of local timberland. He returns home every year and is fiercely proud of Hale County. His spirit is infectious. John Forney, an architect and friend of Rural Studio, is a fifth-generation Alabamian descended from two signers of the Declaration of Independence. He talks about the South’s “uncertain landscape, where pride and resentment twine over the ground.” Through his lectures, discussions, and writings, John helps us understand the history and geopolitics of this region. He says that “understanding a landscape—land shaped by human presence—is a problem of imagination and scale. The native landscape of Rural Studio is enigmatic, because it is in ways still unsettled.” In 2002, the year after Mockbee died, I got to know the varied landscapes of Hale and Perry Counties extremely well. I crisscrossed the two counties almost daily, clocking about 270 miles each day on highways and dusty red-clay roads to visit student projects. Sometimes I went to build, sometimes to supervise, or deliver materials, tools, or just a message (this was before we had cell phones). Starting in Newbern, I would head east on Highway 14 along rolling hayfields and dairy farms to the Perry County seat of Marion, whose downtown has a white Greek-Revival courthouse and a clumsy modernist city hall. Heading northeast, I’d pass a series of ponds, hand dug by Depressionera WPA workers, and Perry Lakes Park, a place

Arts and Craft

This region’s art, craft, and musical cultures are marked by a search for authentic identity. They are free of romanticism, stereotypes, and condescension. Local craftspeople have collaborated on some of Rural Studio’s projects, led workshops for our students, and critiqued their projects. Artists such as Bill Dooley and Amos Paul Kennedy Jr. inspire us to keep our ambitions high without patronizing the skills of our students or the locals. Bill reminds us how important craft and frugality are to local art, which often expresses, as he puts it, “a teetering sense of joy that could collapse at any moment.” Bill is a teacher at the University of Alabama, Tuscaloosa, and has collected the art

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“Green Warehouse, Newbern, Alabama, 1978.” Photograph by William Christenberry

collection of Rural Studio posters illustrates the studio’s history. Unfortunately for us, he recently moved to Detroit. Scott Peacock, a well-known chef in Atlanta, has taught Rural Studio to enjoy Southern culinary culture. He continually inspires us with healthy, tasty ingredients and frugal, elegant ways of preparing local-style meals. Scott is a larger-than-life character. He was born in west Alabama, gained fame and fortune abroad (in Georgia!), and then returned to live in Marion. We share his belief that in a fragile region such as ours, the social, cultural, economic, and environmental impacts of food are important. He is one of the few people to envision a resilient future for Hale County. Sadly, it’s hard to find good Southern cuisine around Hale. In fact, the place is a food desert, which in turn threatens the health and well-being of the people. The scarcity of farm-grown produce and the widespread reliance on processed

of Mockbee, Evans, and William Christenberry for his university. He is a painter, sculptor, and musician, and our bridge to the local art culture. Bill has helped Greensboro’s Safe House Black History Museum—which the studio renovated in 2010— organize exhibitions of local artists. Amos is a strong-minded wordsmith with a fantastic sense of humor and a solid sense of justice. His text messages and emails sign off with: “Kennedy Prints: a Negro-owned letterpress printery.” Amos is an educator and journeyman printer who travels the globe teaching people how to print on a traditional letterpress with wood type. His work embodies his passion for stirring up strong emotions and encouraging people to think in new ways. For many years, Kennedy Prints has been based in small Alabama Black Belt towns: York, Akron, and Gordo. Amos’s workshop has become one of the favorite destinations of our teachers and students, and his

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community. Mary passed away in 2013 at the age of ninety-six. We miss her very much. You could say that a can-do attitude of cooperation is evident everywhere here: in the landscape, architecture, art, customs, economy, history, and, most importantly, the residents. We and our students benefit enormously from our immersion in this environment. As we have become part of the local community—so utterly different from anything we’ve previously experienced—Hale County changes from a nowhere place to a second home. Rural Studio is often perceived as a crusader against poverty. We’re not sure if this image was part of Mockbee’s central message or if it was created by the press. But we do not want to be perceived as ambulance chasers, and we know that neither Rural Studio nor our architecture can cure poverty. We want to be positive about west Alabama and shine a light on its strengths. We want to help realize its potential. Hence our 20K House program, which can help the region by providing better and more affordable housing and creating a small-house-building industry and the jobs that go with it. Any good we’ve done has been an outcome of our remaining in this place for twenty years and building trust—showing ourselves to be good, and permanent, neighbors. The community comes to us when they have an idea or project involving design and construction. There is so much more to this place than the reductive stereotypes by which most people define it. It is much more complex, layered, and replete with possibilities. There’s the place-specific vernacular architecture and the productive and varied landscape. There are the scrappy and tenacious politicians, the generous and gentle neighbors, and the inspired local artists, musicians, writers, chefs, historians, businesspeople, architects, and builders who are determined to improve life in the region. We are proud to count ourselves among them.

fast food prompted us to “walk the walk” and build the Rural Studio Farm. By growing and cooking our own food, we are trying to set an example of how to be more self-sustaining. Mary Ward Brown was a short-story writer and lifelong witness to west Alabama’s culture of living off the land. She grew up in the small town of Hamburg, just east of Newbern, on a farm that once owned slaves. She showed us the can-do attitude and fearlessness of small local farmers. To be invited to her home on a Sunday afternoon for tea was one of the most beautiful experiences of living in this area. She would give you directions: “Take a left at the country store. After about eight miles you will come to a place where the fences look different. Take the paved road past the pastures until you come to my soybean fields.” This remarkable woman was a connective tissue binding Rural Studio and the

Letterpress print by Amos Paul Kennedy Jr.

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Educating the Citizen Architect The Three Programs

meaningful. He believed that architects should be leaders in bringing about environmental and social change, and he called on them to place less emphasis on pleasing the rich and more on helping those who don’t have access to design services but need them. Mockbee wanted to supplant the predominantly theoretical “paper architecture” taught in most schools with hands-on teaching methods that included implementing designs on site. He believed that architectural education should include designing and building real structures for real clients in real communities. Two decades after the first group of Auburn University architecture students arrived in Hale County, Rural Studio continues to educate citizen architects through a mixture of hands-on learning and a healthy dose of social activism. How has the studio changed from the early days? We’ve learned a lot just from being in Hale County for twenty years, but also—perhaps especially—from our mistakes. The most important lesson we can teach aspiring architects is to feel accountable for their work, to assume ethical responsibility for the social, political, and environmental consequences of what they design and build. Our projects are all within a twenty-five-mile radius of Newbern. Being

Teaching and learning at Rural Studio have evolved over the years as we have matured, better defined our mission, refined our focus, and expanded our offerings. We began with a small and amorphous group of students; we now have forty-plus students a year across three well-defined programs. In the beginning, the students learned by designing and building mainly houses. As the studio has grown up and, from trial and error, figured out how to better serve the community, we have created larger and more complex public buildings and landscapes. This new direction was not planned; we simply started serving more people because they asked. Local officials began requesting help when they saw what we could do. In response to necessity, we have incorporated the expertise of valuable professional collaborators into our research, design, and building processes. Our Mission, Then and Now

Rural Studio’s defining goals have remained constant since its founding by Sambo Mockbee and D. K. Ruth in 1993. Mockbee was convinced that architecture has moral responsibilities and must have a strong ethical imperative in order to be

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it will be used, and how it will be funded. (Funding is something traditional educational models almost never cover.) These are important exercises, unique to design/build programs, as is the fact that our students talk to and collaborate with clients, funders, politicians, community leaders, and professional consultants. We’re getting better at sustainability, too, but still have a ways to go. Visitors often ask, “Why aren’t you using solar panels or composting toilets?” My answer is that solar panels entail prohibitive up-front costs, and few local people will actually know how to repair a septic system. For us, that’s sustainability with a small s, a sustainability born of necessity and frugality. To make sure we’re being sustainable, we want to use and research local building materials, especially west Alabama timber. Our hope is that our work yields ideas and methodologies that can be useful elsewhere. As our ties to rural west Alabama have strengthened, so has our commitment to the region’s wellbeing. We focus on projects that improve health, education, nutrition, and the economy while reinforcing the fragile rural fabric and peoples’ collective memory. More and more, we look for solutions that also help local businesses and boost employment. The goal of our 20K House program, for example, is to create prototypes that can be built for $20,000 in three weeks by local contractors. Similarly, the aim of our “thinnings” program, in which we build with an underutilized local wood (the result of the thinning of managed forests), is to create a small local economy. Our recently initiated Rural Studio Farm, mentioned above, is a demonstration project for small-scale local agriculture. The farm experiments with permaculture, organic cultivation, and passive energy design in agricultural buildings in an effort to test holistic growing strategies while helping jumpstart local farmers’ markets. Students at Rural Studio learn to practice in a real-world way, not as lone artists but in atelier-like

surrounded by our work, it would be unforgivable not to learn from and use its lessons. In architectural education, the emphasis is generally on exploring what we can do. But the real first question to ask is not what can we do, but what should we do, and how should we do it? I don’t believe anyone has a God-given right to build. Especially in a poor place like Hale County, building is a privilege, and what we build must be sustainable, meaning that it must be constructed with durable, locally sourced materials and low-tech strategies that conserve energy. And it should be easy to maintain and repair. At the beginning, Rural Studio’s main focus was on establishing itself by finding work opportunities, clients, materials, and students. The program was locally unknown, and until 2002 Auburn University’s financial support for the studio was limited and unpredictable. The early projects had the huge task of defining the program’s ethic and reputation. Today, our main challenge is to explore what is next: How should we proceed? From the start, Rural Studio responded not just to local contingent needs, but also to the broader question of what architectural education should be. In the early years, we took on social activism, the core of the international cultural debates of the 1960s. Today we also stress an environmental mandate, responding to the need for more resourceful architecture and healthier lifestyles. Once we shifted from what we could build to what we should build, other changes followed, including an increase in the rigor with which we draw, think, ask questions, and craft projects. Programming a building’s uses has gained far greater importance. I’m proud to say that more than 50 percent of our students’ efforts go into programming. We’ve learned that without a good longterm plan for a project’s use, it will fail. We ask our students to help guide our community partners in understanding who is going to use a project, how

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and collaborative off-site learning options have become a large part of the school’s agenda and curriculum. Auburn students spend their first two years on campus learning the basics: how to draw and think like designers. In their third year, they have the opportunity to spend one semester abroad in Italy, Turkey, or Newbern. Nowadays, our third-year students work mostly on designing and building the Rural Studio Farm. (Before 2010, the third-year program focused on designing and building a single custom house for a charity client.) Fourth-year students bring back to campus the knowledge they’ve learned elsewhere. In their fifth year, they can choose to return to Rural Studio to design and build a community project, a rare opportunity and a large responsibility for an aspiring architect. Outreach students come from a variety of colleges and universities in the United States and abroad. They bring with them different languages, cultures, backgrounds, and ways of seeing the world. Since 2005 they have developed the 20K House program. Students in each of the three programs are taught that they must ask the right questions before they can find the right solutions. And they all are tasked with the same responsibility: to design and build an appropriate legacy for Hale County, which means leaving the place better than they found it, and treading lightly as they go.

teams. Like student doctors or veterinarians in training, they practice what they will do in the professional world, but with intense supervision. They learn from one another and from the studio’s buildings and experience. There is more to architecture than designing and building structures. The infrastructure has to be in place, the community has to be on board, and the project has to be appropriate to its landscape and culture. Students learn how difficult it is to design and build with finesse and craft. It’s a huge challenge, and 99 percent of the time they are eager to accept the challenge. Our students are tough, emotionally and physically. They grow up fast here, gaining much more than architectural skills. They become physically fit from working and building, and they mature emotionally from the scale of the work. Steve Badanes, cofounder of the groundbreaking design/build group Jersey Devil and a regular visitor to Rural Studio from its earliest days, says our students get six to ten years of experience compressed into two years. They are asked to make very difficult decisions: They program, fund-raise, create multiple iterations of a design before finalizing it, build full-scale mock-ups, hand-hold clients, and construct complex projects. The British architect and academic Ben Nicholson suggests that a good architectural education should be like going to the Russian front: it asks who you are and what you are made of. Alumni of the studio feel a strong sense of comradeship. They have been through a lot together and remember their time here with affection, despite the fact that (or maybe because) the experience was probably the most challenging of their lives thus far.

The Third-Year Program

The third-year program welcomes a new group of ten to twenty Auburn students each semester. They live and work on the Morrisette property, Rural Studio’s headquarters, for four months. In the early years of the program, the students were a small, mixed-year group. In the 1997–98 academic year, the studio built the Lewis House for local resident Evelyn Lewis, and after that its annual agenda formally became to design and construct a charity

Three Teaching Programs

Rural Studio has developed three distinct design/ build programs: third year, fifth year, and outreach. Since proving itself, the studio has become a centerpiece of Auburn University’s architecture school,

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Third-year students construct Rose Lee’s House.

Because of the complexity of the process, the quality of the design and craft suffered. Often the project was not completed and ran into the following year. The most successful houses—the Bryant (Hay Bale) House (1994) and Rose Lee’s House (2009)—came out of studios run by older teachers. But much of the time, the teachers were recent Rural Studio graduates. They were talented but had little teaching experience. It was a difficult process, and having experienced leadership and clear design guidelines made a big difference.

house. At that time, the program was adapted to be specifically for second-year students. In 2009, it changed to be specifically for third-year students. From 1993 to 2009, the program worked like this: Each semester, a new crop of students would arrive at Rural Studio to create a house for a local family. The fall group spent most of its time on design and had to agree on every detail. (You can imagine what a nightmare that could be.) The students acted much as in a normal architecture practice. And most of the clients, also as in the professional world, started off having no idea what an architect really does. The students worked threedimensionally, making lots of models and interior perspectives, and consulted with the clients as they went along. The fall group generally only had time to start the foundations and some basic framing. The spring group then scrambled to complete construction by the end of the academic year.

How the Third-Year Program Evolved Until 2009 there were fundamental structural difficulties in the third-year program. How do you get twenty students to agree on a small project? How do you get them to take ownership of a project when they’re only here four months and will participate in only a fraction of the work? How do you

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students spent only four months at Rural Studio, it was close to impossible for them to establish close relationships with the client. And it was still problematic figuring out worthwhile tasks and schedules for students who stayed just one semester while their project required several semesters for completion. It was especially difficult to balance the design and build experiences among the different cohorts. Certain teams were disproportionately spending time on either design or construction, with the result that none was getting sufficiently invested in the outcome. They weren’t learning the indispensable lesson that good building requires rigorous, iterative design. Rural Studio is not about “Let’s just build it!” Many of these problems were solved when Auburn decided to fund a tenure-track position to oversee the program and give it stability, vision, and continuity. Elena Barthel joined our faculty fulltime in 2010 and has shepherded the third-year studio ever since, with John Marusich as her assistant. Elena has given the experience real cohesion, so that each new group of students really learns from previous years’ work and from Rural Studio’s entire body of accumulated knowledge. In 2009, Elena’s students designed and built Rose Lee’s expandable courtyard house in a little town called Footwash. This was the first client house that was explicitly organized to give both the fall and the spring groups a chance to design and build, collaboratively, on a clear typology: a simple platform frame structure. The fall group took ownership of the building’s core, including the front porch, and the spring students added a wing with two bedrooms and a courtyard. After completing Rose Lee’s House, we decided to take a break from custom client houses and do a fundamental restructuring. The outreach program would now focus on the 20K House program, the cornerstone of Rural Studio’s ongoing housing research, and the third-year program began its long-term

manage their experience and their expectations? It was the hardest teaching job in the business. This wasn’t the only issue, either. There was the fact that the students were starting each new project without having absorbed any of the typological, materials, and methods lessons demonstrated by previous years’ work. The rush to complete a house undermined the initial efforts and skills invested in the design phase. The projects demanded teamwork, but the students had no experience working in large teams; they mainly wanted to demonstrate their individual creativity, which is hard to do when you have no experience and little education. Rural Studio staff spent many days fixing problems caused by lack of rigor in the name of creativity. I realized, after teaching at Rural Studio for a few years myself, that it would help to leave the material experimentation to the fifth-years. The more junior students shouldn’t be expected to run before having learned to walk. We had them concentrate on understanding the basics of wood-frame construction and they started working on simpler, platform-frame houses such as Willie Bell’s House (2005) and Michelle’s House (2006). In 2006, in an effort to raise expectations and challenge preconceptions, we put the secondyear students to work on a public project: dismantling, moving, and rebuilding St. Luke’s Church, a nineteenth-century wooden building in Old Cahaba, Dallas County. The design challenge was to figure out how to take the building apart, document and tag all the pieces, move them, and rebuild. It was an extraordinary exercise in materials and methods. Taking something apart is like archaeology. You see how it was built, realize why the original builders made certain decisions, and judge whether they succeeded. The students learned a lot about woodcraft. The rebuilding took four semesters and showed us that phasing a project for the younger students could work. But some problems remained. Since the

Educating the citizen architect: the three programs 27

Another early product of the (R)evolution is Rural Studio’s recycling system, through which we now sell our aluminum cans, plastic bottles, magazines, cardboard, and the tons of white paper we accumulate to a local company. When the students started to understand how much they threw away, they began to look at trash as a responsibility— and as a resource. In the future we will take more ownership of the Rural Studio recycling system by building a recycling station in downtown Newbern, opening it up to the public, and using the money it produces to fund its ongoing operation.

focus on sustainability, especially in the realm of food sourcing. It was the Rural Studio (R)evolution. We created a strategic plan that called for the renovation of the studio’s properties to produce energy and timber for construction. This was the point when we started the Rural Studio Farm and began to produce our own food. We couldn’t understand why more local people weren’t growing their own food, given that the area was just as much a food desert as so many urban areas that are discussed in the news. So we resolved to lead by example. In 2010 the third-year students broke out into small teams of three or four and visited local farms, learned from farmers, and, in collaboration with our consultants, started designing and building one themselves. Their mandate involved thinking on every level: ethical, strategic, and architectural. For example, we now offer cooking workshops to understand the relationship between food and the local agricultural landscape and architecture. Every semester we begin by asking the students to critique their own diets and previous groups’ work in order to take the farm project to the next step. Additionally, we found that having a fluid strategic plan helped them move forward more cohesively, without getting lost in incidentals. The farm’s multiphase building process means that every student gets at least some experience with design and construction. Whoever happens to be building is usually building a design conceived by a previous group, which is a valuable lesson in respecting others’ work, and a strategic way to prevent designs from being rushed into construction before they’re fully thought through. We work on the designs until they are ready. Students learn a variety of construction techniques and come to appreciate good quality and socially responsible craft. The third-year students who return as fifth-years have something to point to with pride.

The Fifth-Year Program

Rural Studio’s fifth-year program enlists twelve students for a full academic year to design and build a community project; these have included a firehouse, a town hall, schools, museums, Boys and Girls Clubs, community centers, and parks. Students work in teams of four, negotiating with clients, raising funds, and navigating political issues in addition to designing and building. They live off-campus, usually in Greensboro. Some work in the community to help pay their living expenses. Since most public projects have become complex multiyear efforts, they are invited to stay a second year, if they so choose, to see their work through to completion. That second year is devoted to further developing details, constructing full-scale mock-ups, and actually building their projects. The “superthesis” students, or “leftovers,” as they’re also humorously called, become mentors to the incoming fifth-year students. In choosing the students for our fifth-year program, we rely heavily on GPAs, design portfolios, and professors’ recommendations, but experience has shown that some students who underperform in traditional classwork can do very well in Hale County. Having participated in the third-year program is not a prerequisite, but if they did, we weigh heavily how they performed as team members and

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citizens of the community. Above all, applicants must display a real desire to be at Rural Studio, to accept its opportunities and responsibilities, respect the community, and deal with the inevitable ups and downs. We attract highly motivated, modest, smart, and hardworking individuals. Teamwork is one of the most important learning experiences. Students realize that they can’t be good at everything, and that it’s far better to select the right person for each task. They learn to choose their battles and priorities at every stage of a project. In the early years, the students picked their own teams before they arrived, and, frequently, the self-selected teams weren’t deep or balanced enough. Really, it was ridiculous to expect students who had never been here to know what would make a good team in Newbern. When I first came to Rural Studio, design/ build was seen largely as a male arena. Today, thankfully, our students are about half male and half female, and we try to make sure all the four-person teams are mixed in terms of gender. It drives home the lesson that good design/build is not just about brawn and physical capacity. Each year I give the newly arrived fifth-years one intense month of workshops with consultants to introduce them to that year’s projects. It’s enough time for them to shed preconceptions about one another and make informed choices about which projects they want to work on and how they want to break their cohort into teams that are balanced in terms of leader, grunt worker, presenter, and so on. Proposing their teams and projects to me is their first big act of design, their first major assignment. It will drive the next year or two of their lives, and the life of the studio.

Fifth-year students with a mock-up for Lions Park Scout Hut, built on the Morrisette property

work on something more complex. The first such major building project was the Yancey Chapel (Tire Chapel, 1995), a remarkable work built with minimal resources and little institutional support. In the beginning, the fifth-year students often suggested their own projects. We soon realized that this required more maturity and experience than we should ask of most twenty-one-year-olds. Nor could we expect students to know whether a project had sufficient academic heft. And we figured out that knowing each year’s projects further in advance would be hugely advantageous from both an administrative and a funding perspective. Today, the studio makes the final project choices from a selection recommended by the community, and the arriving students select from this preapproved list. Among the criteria we use in assessing a project are its value to the community, its educational benefits for the students, and its distance from the studio’s headquarters in Newbern. (If it’s too far away, getting there involves too much time and gasoline, and the project becomes hard to manage for our small staff.) Some of the early projects that were initiated by Rural Studio rather than by the community

How the Fifth-Year Program Evolved Enthusiastic about their third-year experience, a few students started lobbying to be allowed to return to Rural Studio during their fifth year and

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with a pavilion. He took me on a tour in his four-byfour, pointing out oxbow lakes, the Cahaba River, woodlands, and broken-down picnic tables and water fountains. He seemed honest and straightforward. On our way back to Newbern, he stopped to give a man a lift to a filling station and then gave him money for gas. From my point of view, the chance to remake an entire landscape with a well-meaning client was too good to turn down. As Rural Studio has matured, one project has led to another, and each has built on the last in a natural progression. We have invested in many longlasting relationships with our community partners, and that has led, in some cases, to working on several projects for a single client. When the projects are complicated, like Lions Park (2006– ), we divide them into pieces and undertake them as multiphase, multiyear ventures.

were weak programmatically, or lacked sufficient community support, or both. Take for example the Mason’s Bend Community Center (also called the Glass Chapel), completed in 2000. It is one of our favorite projects and certainly one of the studio’s most beautiful and admired, so we want to keep it in good repair. When it’s defaced with graffiti, it reflects badly on the Mason’s Bend community; visitors think local folks don’t care about the chapel. But how often should we fix it? I believe that its poorly defined program was a problem from the start. Another problem is that the chapel’s original owner and caretaker died, and no one has taken his place. Residents are too busy working and caring for their families to look after the building. Of course, it is also possible that the building has served its purpose, and now should be reimagined. By Mockbee’s final year, 2001, projects were arriving at our doorstep. Antioch Baptist Church (2002) in Perry County, for example, came to us via Cedric Caddell, a young DJ, barber, baseball player, and member of the church’s small congregation. Impressed by our work at the Newbern Tigers Baseball Field (2001), Cedric asked us to visit his church. We saw a little, white-painted wooden structure—without restrooms, a baptismal font, or a pastor’s room—in the countryside about twenty-five miles northeast of Newbern. It was situated at the base of a hill, and its footings were being gradually washed away after each rain. The church’s members were abandoning the building because of its physical problems. I viewed the prospective rebuild as a chance to extend a 110-year-old building’s life and maintain its congregation while exposing our students to the culture of the primitive Baptist service. Perry Lakes Park (2002–5) was another project proposed by a community member, Probate Judge Donald Cook. He wanted to reopen the park, which had been closed and overgrown since the 1970s, and design and build new structures for it, beginning

The Outreach Program

Each year, we welcome mature undergraduate or graduate students from schools other than Auburn who have backgrounds in design, art, or architecture to participate in outreach, a certificate program. We have had students from other U.S. colleges and

Outreach students at a graduation Pig Roast with Frank Harris (second from left) at his 20K House, designed and built in 2006

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a lot of time and resources. You spend as much time and money, if not more, managing and teaching one person as you do a team of four. In fact, individuals require higher maintenance because, working alone, they don’t have team members to help them make decisions. They needed a full-time, on-theground teacher, and Forney, although much loved and provocative, commuted only once a week from Birmingham. So when the opportunity to design a house that cost $20,000 came up, we realized it offered a solution. At that point, we decided to teach outreach in the same studio space as the fifth-years, and that I would be a teacher for both programs with help from a junior staff member. Like fifth-year students, outreachers live off-campus and get an immersive experience in the community. So far, this model has proven to be the best.

universities as well as from schools in Italy, Sweden, Spain, England, and Mexico. The program began in 1999 under Mockbee and Ruth with support from the Jessie Ball duPont Fund. The idea was threefold: bring non-Auburn voices into the mix, bring in people with a variety of backgrounds, and, we hoped, bring in much-needed new revenue. The first year, the outreach students did a group project for a small public space and basketball court in Mason’s Bend. Each one also researched a subject of their choosing. That first year, for instance, one of them investigated and documented water management and water quality in Mason’s Bend. It soon became obvious that Rural Studio didn’t have the resources or capacity to support such crossdisciplinary work. In 2001–2 we restructured the program and our expectations under the guidance of Mockbee and Jay Sanders. They worked on Lucy’s (Carpet) House in Mason’s Bend. Interface Carpets contributed money and material, and all of the students had backgrounds in design and architecture. That worked better. They developed a group focus and had a teacher present every day. However, since we hadn’t yet renovated the Red Barn for the whole studio to work in, the outreachers were isolated from the rest of Rural Studio. Later, after Mockbee’s death, in 2003, I tried yet another approach. This time the idea was to have a small group of art/architecture students with individual research projects led by one experienced teacher and architect: John Forney. We allowed the students to find their own projects. Among the students was Richard Saxton, an artist, who worked with the Public Works Department in York, Alabama, creating bicycles for street sweepers; Lucy Begg, who converted an abandoned trailer chassis into a porch for Ola Mae, a local woman; and Cynthia Connolly, who built an organic vegetable stand. All were great and valuable undertakings, but we learned that the independent projects consumed

Outreach Takes on the 20K House Program Since 2005, the outreachers’ annual challenge has been to create a different prototype for the 20K House, a structure that can be built by local builders for $20,000—including materials and labor. The ultimate goal is to cultivate a cottage industry of house building by local workers using readily available local materials. The 20K House program is very difficult: its stringent budget leaves no wiggle room and dictates the most directed design approach of any program at Rural Studio. Each year, the new outreach students and their teachers create a new agenda for themselves. One year they investigated slab on grade; another year they decided to include a tornado shelter. Their work also became iterative, with each new group being asked to respond to the previous year’s project. Each 20K House challenge is designed to be completed in nine months, and to be self-supporting financially. In addition to its potential for Alabama’s Black Belt region, the 20K House program was a natural

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for Rural Studio. It suits our ability to research, build, and critically reflect on our own methodology. No architecture practice or developer has the time or money to research such small-budget prototypes. Unlike our client houses, which are designed to help one family at a time, the $20,000 prototypes give us the opportunity to help a much larger segment of the population. Supplemental Courses

Rural Studio offers the third-year students two courses in addition to their design studio. And the fifth-year and outreach students take an intensive hand-drawing class. These supplemental courses build skills in the artisanal arts, a much-needed counterweight to contemporary society’s obsession with all things digital.

Students receive a lesson in woodcraft with woodshop instructor Steve Long.

promote its use as a building material and encourage our students to become competent in working with it as artisans. In fall 2009 we engaged Steve Long, a Rural Studio graduate, as our woodshop teacher and all-around “wood champion.” As a fifth-year student, he was on the team that built Christine’s House (2005) in Mason’s Bend. In 2006–7 he instructed a 20K House team, and, in 2007–8, he managed the St. Luke’s rebuild. He has reimagined and retooled the woodshop, teaching students to respect the tools it contains, and he instructs a course in which students copy a well-known chair by a master of modern design. Even if we could afford it (which we can’t), you wouldn’t find a CNC router or a laser cutter in the woodshop. We think that today’s high-tech tools encourage students to view wood as a homogenous material rather than appreciating its special qualities and versatility. Since the late 1990s, the woodshop has been housed in a former store on Alabama Highway 61 in downtown Newbern. Our strategic plan for the future includes building a new, larger woodshop on the Morrisette property that will expand our woodworking capabilities. Our plans also call for students to be included in the planting, growing, and harvesting of trees for wood on the Rural Studio Farm.

History and Theory Seminar Dick Hudgens—an Auburn graduate, Alabama native, lover of local vernacular architecture, and classmate and great friend of Mockbee’s—has taught a history and theory class for Rural Studio’s third-year students since the studio’s inception. Every week, Dick takes his class on a road trip to a local historic building (there is an abundance of them around west Alabama). He gives a tour, often with help from a local expert, and then has the students explore all aspects of the house and sketch a particular feature. Over the semester, the students get better and better at rapid-fire hand sketches. Dick also asks the students to write a series of essays on what they have learned from their road trips. At the end of the course, each one makes a Beaux Arts–style watercolor painting of one of the houses visited, using layered washes. Woodshop We like wood at Rural Studio. It can be locally sourced, it is renewable, and it is sustainable. We

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Fifth-year and outreach students sharpen their drawing skills in Chantilly with Elena Barthel.

person is in a number of “drawing” media, the richer and more interesting their architectural design explorations will be. The course takes place in Chantilly, our antebellum house in downtown Newbern, in two large rooms with very good light, a perfect environment for charcoal, acrylic, pencil, and ink. To leave the Red Barn and their team projects for three hours of solo drawing explorations helps the students’ mental health! The class gives them the confidence to use tools they have not touched before, and they return to the computer lab with a deeper critical and intuitive understanding of what they are accomplishing there. They ultimately realize that designing a beautiful drawing and a beautiful building both require the same care, dedication, and vision.

Intensive Hand Drawing Each spring, Elena conducts a weekly, three-hour intensive drawing session for the fifth-year and outreach students in which they must put down their keyboards and mice and pick up a pencil and brush. For many it’s a wonderful luxury, a delight, and an eye-opener. Students bring to class a chair of their choosing and draw it skillfully and with discrimination, often at four times its actual size. They learn that drawing is a form of thinking by hand. They learn how to craft an image by adding layers and different media. Computers are not forbidden, actually; they become one of several tools in the toolkit for a mixed-media project. Photography is another tool; students have long conversations about camera types, exposure times, and depth of field. To our way of thinking, the more proficient a

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Educating the Citizen Architect Teaching Tools

Learning at Rural Studio comes from many directions and employs many resources; it is complex, richly textured, and collaborative. Students learn by researching, exploring, observing, questioning, drawing, critiquing, designing, and making. They learn from our encyclopedia of completed projects and from building sites and building codes. They learn by managing schedules and project funds. They learn by organizing and mounting exhibitions and by working in teams. Some of the more senior students learn by becoming junior teachers, and incoming fifth-year students learn from “superthesis” fifth-year students who have stayed on for an additional (sixth) year. Daily and annual schedules—we call them the “drumbeat”—serve as the framework for carrying out activities. The logistics involved in keeping all of these balls in the air are formidable. That’s the job of our teachers. The studio works as an atelier employing many voices and different types of expertise. Among our most loyal and indispensable collaborators are a group of architects, engineers, and other specialists who volunteer their teaching time and serve as team members on projects.

Learning from Consultants and Provocateurs

I was educated in the European architectural tradition, in which the client hires both the consultants and the architects at the outset of a project, and thus the consultants are involved in the entire design process. In the United States, the architects often hire the consultants, which means that consultants tend to be regarded as junior members of the design team and are rarely included in early discussions. Generally, their role is to fix mistakes that could have been prevented had they been enlisted earlier. The European method values and makes full use of the conceptual and creative abilities of consultants. Because the client hires the architect and the consultants all at the same time, there is greater equality among design team members and consultants serve not only as vitally needed specialists but also as valued outside provocateurs. Their role is proactive rather than reactive. They enhance the creative process during all phases of design. I wanted to introduce this interdisciplinary, democratic design methodology to Rural Studio. Our structural, landscape, environmental, and (most recently) agricultural and food consultants make

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could solve the problem so beautifully so late in the game. I realized that we needed to integrate engineering into the earliest stages of the design process. We are grateful now to have Anderson Inge, a London-based architect, sculptor, engineer, and teacher, who hails from Texas and first visited the studio in 2002, as a regular consultant. We struck up a friendship, and he soon started running workshops. He encouraged students toward a more intuitive and physical understanding of structures and helps us design during the conceptual stage of each project. For ensuring that buildings will stand up and for honing structural details prior to construction, we have Joe Farruggia. He has an architectural and engineering practice in Chicago that specializes in projects of a scale similar to ours. Joe is an incredibly unpretentious, generous father figure to all of us at Rural Studio. Through first principles, he demystifies structures and shows students the reasons for a particular building code. I have slowly introduced a full complement of consultant-provocateurs who lead workshops at the start of each semester. They work with us for a couple of days to a week, and provide initial insights into upcoming projects. They “get” the studio and the political complexities of what we do. They focus the students’ attention on identifying the most important issues at hand. Our projects are complicated, so it is critical to have the help of experienced outsiders with fresh ideas. In choosing the engineering consultants, I look for a balance of creativity and nutsand-bolts knowledge. For environmental help, I don’t want a one-size-fits-all formula; I want someone with a broad and creative view who believes green can be beautiful. Paul Stoller, director of Atelier Ten now in Sydney, Australia, offered his help at a lecture I gave in New York shortly after Mockbee’s death in 2001. He is a big-picture guy, an architect-turned-

our research and design processes more complete. Consultants enrich our teamwork. When I came to Rural Studio, I realized that our students needed a better understanding of the structures and tools required to take control of their projects. Structural naïveté is, I think, a universal problem among architects, and as a result architects often rely on engineers to tell them how their buildings will stand up. This gives the consulting engineer, often unwittingly, great power. Early on, our students tended to solve structural problems by shopping around among ill-informed engineers that we used on an informal basis until they found an engineer willing to give the answer they wanted. It was an after-the-fact “structure fits form” solution. Often the students didn’t understand the primary structural issues of their projects. Back in 2002 I remember Tim Macfarlane, a structural engineer from London who often helps us, post-engineering Antioch Baptist Church very late in the design/build process. The two-story north and south walls were separated from the east and west walls by beautiful glass slots. To transfer wind loads to the foundation, Tim suggested adding thin rods. The rods would connect the walls to the truss spanning the interior and supporting the roof, and would attract the eye to the roof rising toward the pulpit. Only high-level improvisation by a brilliant engineer

Fifth-year students discuss a design with landscape consultant Xavier Vendrell.

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A fifth-year and outreach class in a gallery of Polaroid pinups

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environmental-consultant who stresses fundamental principles and recognizes Rural Studio’s need for frugality. Paul has helped us tremendously in developing sensible, inexpensive, passive approaches to heating and cooling our buildings. He has visited the studio twice a year since 2002, and fields questions from the teams on site and remotely. Steve Badanes, the cofounder of one of the first design/build practices in the United States, has regularly helped the studio since the late 1990s. We have real affection and respect for Steve and have christened him “the godfather of design/build.” With his Jersey Devil partner Jim Adamson, Steve visits us twice a year and lifts everyone’s spirits. Steve and Jim are great at critiquing the scope of projects and giving good, practical advice about environmental strategies. In the realm of landscaping, I wanted someone with an architectural background who viewed the discipline in expansive terms. When we started working on Lions Park in 2006, to mention one project, the students were flummoxed, thinking they couldn’t do landscape design. The Barcelona architect and landscape specialist Xavier Vendrell showed them that landscape is not really different from architecture. It’s just larger in scale and its material palette is more extensive, requiring knowledge of plants and how they change in different seasons. I found in Xavier a kindred spirit. Aside from myself, I think he has had the most influence on Rural Studio’s design directions. Our consultants come from all over and have national and international reputations. At first, the students weren’t clear about what the consultants could offer beyond technical solutions. They had a vague notion that consultants were hired guns to help solve problems, and were surprised when they became valued teammates. After ten years, we have achieved a culture of multidisciplinary teamwork. Rural Studio is a place of many voices.

Learning from One Another, a.k.a. Teamwork

Making choices is the hardest part of teamwork, from how to schedule the group’s workweek to something as simple as when to break for lunch. In making decisions, students learn to take responsibility for organizing their time. We see these choices as deliberative design. The students have to negotiate everything they do, and that makes the process rigorous. We encourage them to work individually and then swap ideas. We move ideas around the team so that they don’t become the property of a single student. We urge teams to critique themselves and each other on their own, rather than waiting for their teachers’ advice. In every meeting, students pin up drawings on the wall to explain the choices they have made. We put the issues in front of them, and they listen and argue. It’s wonderfully intense. We try to give them enough time to work things out as a team without allowing them to go around in circles. They nearly always make appropriate decisions. Learning from Our Buildings

We begin each academic semester with a good dose of self-criticism. It takes the form of a tour of some of the studio’s completed buildings. The purpose is to learn from our successes . . . and our mistakes. I’ll ask the students, “What did we do well or appropriately here? Where did we go wrong there?” It’s about taking ownership and responsibility. I underscore that Rural Studio’s work is not Mockbee’s work, nor mine; it is the result of the best ideas of an atelier. The projects that have aged poorly make us realize that, unless we want to spend all our time fixing things, we have to design and build for longevity. Hence our use of galvanized aluminum, cedar and cypress, stainless steel screws and nails. These are not stylistic decisions. The aim is to make Rural Studio projects easy for the community to maintain, as many local residents have limited skills

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and resources. The tour of projects also allows us to learn from our clients by seeing how they live in their buildings, how they take ownership of them, what works, what they like, and what they wish was different. Learning from the Site

To reiterate: Place is very important to us, and we immerse students in every aspect of our locale—our “classroom of the community,” in Mockbee’s words. Hale County is, almost without exception, very different from the towns and cities where our students grew up and, therefore, offers invaluable learning opportunities for them. Part of the learning occurs through their relationship with the building site, a relationship that begins when they choose their projects. Students visit their sites every day. They may even camp there, and in doing so they learn to deeply understand the quality of light on the landscape and buildings at different times of day and in different seasons of the year. They get to know what the local weather patterns are; how the soil drains in the rain, and how its texture changes during a hot dry spell. They make lots of three-dimensional drawings, models, mock-ups, and details while at their sites. They present their projects to the client on site as well, describing the work as they walk around. Going to a site each day has at least two advantages: students become utterly familiar with the locale, and the drive or walk gives them a chance to ponder the day’s work.

Learning from Hale County, sketch by Rural Studio student Jennifer Bonner

you eat, your daily schedule. Every aspect of life is about design. We also teach that good design takes time, energy, dedication, rigor, passion, and patience. We don’t like the label “professor,” as it implies that one person has more to say than anyone else. We believe that good ideas can come from anywhere and anyone. Our final goal is to make the students feel secure and empowered to explore while gaining control of their projects. We like to energize them, and we encourage a can-do, self-critical attitude. Rural Studio often takes on project types that the teachers have never personally undertaken before. Our best teaching method is to help the students pose the right questions and test different answers. Learning how to ask the right questions is the biggest part of a good education. For the teacher, knowing when and how to ask is a complex and difficult challenge. It might take students until the end of a project before they know what the appropriate questions are. Our only advantage as teachers is

Learning by Designing

The design process itself is by far Rural Studio’s most important teaching tool. We goad students to broaden their thinking by instilling our conviction that all decisions are design decisions. That includes where you decide to live, what shoes to wear, what drawing tools to use, how you decide to present your project, which chair you sit in at the table, the food

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experience, so we tell students, “If this were my project, this is what I would try.” If the solution is a good one, that’s great. They can take it or leave it. Our golden rule is never to say “no” or tell students “you can’t.” We challenge them to continually reappear with more drawings and more research. We behave like a dog with a bone and won’t let go until they have asked and answered all the necessary questions. The students’ design process starts with the creation of preliminary ideas based on explorations of precedents, including our own completed projects. We expect, above all, a lively curiosity—eyes and minds that are open to a range of ideas. We ask them to integrate disciplines other than architecture into their thinking; for instance, we’ve recently incorporated agriculture and food into our design projects. Among the many ingredients that go into designing, perhaps the most important is context, by which we mean place, climate, history, culture, and people. The second task in design is to test alternative solutions. As designers, one of our main struggles is to maintain a healthy distance from our own creations. Otherwise, we risk becoming blind to viewpoints other than our own. At Rural Studio we encourage students to treat each alternative solution

with respect, critique it, compare it to their existing solution, and hopefully choose a proposal that is truly optimal. Emotionally, it isn’t easy to let go of our own designs, and creating iterations requires elbow grease. Training and practice help. It is hard for students to understand the importance of creating and testing many iterations of an idea. At schools of architecture, students reach the schematic stage and then don’t go further, so there’s often little incentive to repeatedly rethink, redraw, and revise to make sure a scheme is buildable. There is a gigantic gap between a schematic sketch and a design for a functional, durable building. The opportunity to build is a big carrot for our students and helps them negotiate the steps before the final design. It is always an instructive moment when they realize that their first design idea barely resembles the final, built design. “Iteration, iteration, iteration” is our mantra. The third task in creating a design, whether for a small raised-bed garden, a 20K House, or a large county park, is to assess the project’s impact in a number of contexts simultaneously. The challenge for students is to take into account often-conflicting situations and considerations existing at several different scales, from the macro to the micro. At the largest scale, the designer must ask: What will be the project’s social, cultural, and economic impacts on the user and on the community? Programming becomes crucially important. At a medium scale, the most critical decisions involve choosing a suitable location and structural system, appropriate proportions, and a sustainable material palette. At the smallest scale there are the construction details that ensure the building’s buildability, beauty, and longevity. Designing details with the luxury of time provided by Rural Studio allows our students to consider, for instance, how initial structural or material choices can be continued into the detailing. Can the project’s structural forces or the grain or linear

Pinup reviews in the Red Barn with Andrew Freear and supervisors Mackenzie Stagg and Cameron Acheson

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Students present a design at a City of Greensboro council meeting.

the glass or too thick to be elegant, if the flashing will serve its assigned purpose, and so on. Full-scale drawings are important tools for the reviews we conduct with our consulting structural engineers. The drawings clearly reveal (and force students to confront) issues having to do with structure, design, and buildability. We encourage the students to use a mix of media and to understand the computer as one of many possible tools. Sometimes it is the most appropriate tool, but not always. We also encourage students to lead the computer, rather than letting the computer lead their choices.

direction of a material be reflected in details? Good design is a complicated, difficult, time-consuming, nonlinear, frustrating, messy process that demands a lot of dedication. Students get to know this and to find their own ways of managing it. Learning from Handcraft

We are very deeply committed to craft, not just as an aesthetic but also as a social responsibility. Drawing by hand and making handmade objects are increasingly important at Rural Studio. Our focus on handcraft dovetails with our wish to raise the level of design in our buildings. For us, an ethic of high-quality craft needs to pervade both the design and building processes. Every detail should be drawn and constructed appropriately for its purpose. Before making fullscale mock-ups of projects we create large drawings, usually to understand and refine details. Drawing a full-scale section of a window by hand is the closest thing to actually building it. The drawing shows students if a screw is too short or too long to fit and to last, if the window frame is too shallow to hold

Learning from Presentations

Public Reviews Our weekly schedule includes reviews, always conducted in project teams with drawn pinups. These are more reviews than critiques. Students who arrive with a fear of critiques soon gain selfassurance because reviews address the work of a team, not an individual. They learn to take criticism less personally.

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students addressed the mayor, the probate judge, county commissioners, a delegate from the water authority, and a delegate from the electricity board— a cross-section of local society. Before our meeting with them, we repeatedly discussed all aspects of the presentation. Students deliberately arranged the furniture in the room close to the drawings so that clients could easily read them. They avoided overwhelming the clients and told their stories clearly. They demonstrated confidence in the project.

Our reviews are discussions about how to improve the project, and they include everyone on the team: students, teachers, consultants, clients, and visitors. For students, reviews also become opportunities to pin up their recent work, stand back for a clearer perspective, and reflect on their decisions thus far. After each review, the teachers meet with the students to reflect on what was said, and we all discuss how best to move forward. This is very different from the typical architecture school critique, which takes place across a desk and is about a hypothetical (“paper”) project. At Rural Studio, we talk about projects that will be built. Something real is at stake. Our reviews use pinups of drawings that everybody can understand. We always ask students to choose the most suitable medium to explain what they are doing. They will be critiqued on the tools they pick. Sometimes students choose computer drawings. Often they choose to draw by hand and include a lot of diagrams, collages, renderings, three-dimensional models, and, of course, full-scale details. In the end, drawings are a way of testing ideas. They may show off one’s skill, but they are expendable. I tell students, “If you make a wellcrafted drawing, your building will be well crafted. And both your drawing and building will be beautiful. But the building, not the drawing, is the final product.”

Learning by Building

At each stage of the design process, we ask, “Can we build this?” Because they will actually construct the building, students are asked to design the construction process. They start by drawing cartoons that include people and spaces to explain the time frame, sequencing, ordering and fabrication, and the equipment they will need. The students have to prove that they have arrived at their best guess for how the building process will happen, whether it calls for cranes or concrete pours. At the same time, they create one-to-one drawings of all possible building conditions, and they make full-scale mock-ups before starting construction. During the design process, we ask ourselves the important question: “what is the big hit going to be?” Meaning, where will we concentrate our time and financial resources and our emotional, physical, and intellectual energies? With small projects, it is fairly easy to identify the main design feature. From there, our students’ most essential task is to design a clear and appropriate building system—both structure and enclosure. Our exploration of rain-screen walls over the last ten years, for instance, reflects an attempt to reach a higher level of craft. The building’s appearance emerges from a system in which students separate the structure, the water barrier, and the outer screening. For the fifth-year students this layered

Public Presentations Project presentations to the community are another significant learning tool. The act of presenting is a necessary skill for architects. At Rural Studio, we practice and rehearse many times before facing the community. Students learn what kinds of drawings and illustrations are useful and to avoid jargon. I always ask them, “Would your Mum understand what you are trying to explain?” In presenting the 2003 Perry Lakes Park project, for instance, the

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code issues. Every semester we hold a code review workshop and generate a comprehensive matrix for each project currently in progress, reflecting all its relevant code issues and conclusions. In west Alabama there are currently no resources to police the building permit process at the county or the city level; no code officer looks at our drawings before we start building. Effectively, we police ourselves. Of course, this means we could choose not to strictly follow the codes, but we have to take the high road of ethical responsibility. Actually, given our professional resources, local administrations often look to us for advice and trust us in these matters. There have been exceptional circumstances when we viewed the code as more of a “social agreement,” or guide in reaching common-sense decisions. For example, at Perry Lakes Park, a strict interpretation of the code would have forced us to add a handrail to the walkway leading to the Cedar Pavilion (2002). But a handrail would have destroyed the view, and our local community partners and politicians agreed that the walking surface was wide enough for people to feel comfortable without a rail. We redeployed the handrail money toward making the restrooms in the next phase of the project.

system has become familiar, and for students with little building experience it is easy to comprehend. A clear structural and enclosure strategy helps third-year students gain control of their building’s different parts, and it allows teachers to neatly divide construction tasks across multiple semesters. One group is in charge of the structure, and then the next is in charge of the enclosure. The Solar Greenhouse (2013) at Morrisette, for example, also has two components, or layers: the barrel wall, built on site, and the roof, fabricated off site. The barrels have a single detail and a single welded connection. After the barrels were built, the prefabricated roof was brought to the site and bolted into place. Each of our students tests their project’s feasibility, durability, and craft by building a final full-scale mock-up of its most important element and exposing it to a stress test. We do not let them begin construction unless their mock-ups prove that the project can be built with the available resources, in the expected time frame, and with an appropriate level of execution. The stress test makes it clear that no one has an automatic right to build. Unless everyone is convinced, we don’t go forward. We strive to make Rural Studio a can-do environment. Like our neighbors, we are doers and makers. We don’t say, “No, we can’t build it.” We say, “How can we build that?” We figure it out, and learn by doing. Everyone gets to survey, dig, pour, lift, hammer, nail, screw, saw, weld, notch, glue, solder, scrape, and paint. It is not easy to build something well that will last and live with distinction. As Rural Studio teachers we learn as much as the students do as the projects evolve.

Learning from Project Management

Students are expected to manage their project schedules as well as each project’s financial and material resources. Every week the teams inform our bookkeeper, Brenda Wilkerson, about their financial situation. Managing Schedules Most teams pick an individual to be in charge of listing and procuring materials for the next step in their building process, so that when the team has finished one task, the materials and tools are lined up for the next one. At the beginning of a project, the students tend to grossly underestimate the time that will be

Learning from Building Codes

We follow the International Building Code as the basis for our design and construction processes. Our consultants spend considerable time explaining to the students the reasons for the major national

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on time. When it came to executing the final installation, it ran like clockwork. It gave me goose bumps to be there! Managing Finances and Donations Our students gain quite a bit of experience in the financial management of projects. From Rural Studio’s wonderful, loyal donors, we can expect about $30,000 in cash per project. That’s not a lot, but it’s enough. One hundred percent of the cash donations go to projects (none to administration), and donors love that we are able to extend contributions beyond their cash value through other donations. Students have to figure out how they will deploy their cash, as opposed to other contributions, which they calculate according to past-year donations. Typically, they are capable of soliciting enough donated materials to match the value of the cash contribution. We have been very lucky to have remarkably generous repeat corporate donations from (to mention just a few) Pella, Great Southern Wood, SFI, FSC, Mitsubishi, Interface Carpets, I.P. Callison, and, of course, our buddy Jim Turnipseed of Turnipseed International. The process of raising funds and material donations teaches our students to overcome their fears, pick up a phone or sit down to write a letter, and communicate with potential donors in ways that will make them receptive to parting with cash or goods. The students learn how to pitch an idea; how to refine their pitches (much as they develop, reshape, and refine their designs); how to describe their projects with brevity and clarity; how to use publicity to raise donations (getting their faces or projects on the front page of the local paper is always helpful); and how to design a donation package for potential sponsors. They perfect these skills through practice, by making mistakes and being persistent. The first call a student makes will probably be terrible. The fifty-ninth will be pretty damn good.

Elena Barthel and John Marusich work on the site for the Rural Studio Farm’s greenhouse in Morrisette’s front yard.

needed for each task. Staging people and equipment is a skill that needs to be learned and practiced. Making schedules even more difficult to predict, students will often have to delay construction because a final donation of money or materials is not entirely secured. It’s hard enough to ask someone for a contribution, but then to say, “Can we have it by Tuesday, please?” seems even more uncomfortably cheeky. Timelines can be thrown off while waiting for generous donors to come through. In my opinion, it’s more important that the students get their ducks in a row—meaning, have a clear sense of the necessary sequence of events—than to be completely clear about how long each part will take. That said, one of my favorite recollections is the scheduling of the crane work for the Perry Lakes Park Bridge. The use of the crane was being donated for a fixed, six-hour time slot on a Saturday morning. Prior to the installation date, the project team did a crane-less dry run with the prefabricated trusses, which meant hand-lifting the trusses onto a trailer axle and practicing moving them into place. They also had the county create a dirt mound to accommodate the crane’s counterweight truck, and coordinated all the helpers who would need to be on site,

Educating the citizen architect: teaching tools 43

The “carpet temple,” built for an exhibition of Rural Studio’s work at the Birmingham Museum of Art

known, fixed cost, in our mix of projects. In this case the cost of every nail counts, and to build the projects in three weeks is extremely important.

We are often asked how much our projects cost. I can tell you how much cash we spend per project, but the cash is a small percentage compared to all the time and materials. For example, for the community projects, there are the donations of materials and machinery such as bobcats and cranes, the labor of four fifth-year students to design and build seven days a week for two years, the costs of supervisory staff and faculty, and the time contributions from all of our consultants, advisors, and friends, many of whom, like Joe Farruggia, Paul Stoller, and Peter Gluck, are principals in practice. The list goes on and on. That’s why it’s almost impossible to talk about the real cost of projects. We can, of course, take educated guesses. In cash, the Akron Boys and Girls Club (2007) cost $75,000. But I would estimate the real cost at eight to ten times that. It would also be unfair to have people believe that others could build such a building for $75,000. Our normal budgets don’t tell half the story. That’s one advantage of the 20K House, with its

Learning from Exhibitions

Rural Studio has put together many exhibitions around the United States, and we always use them as teaching tools. Because they are built and assembled quickly, exhibitions are a fast learning exercise. At the same time, they illustrate how much effort is needed to build something that is sturdy and beautiful, conveys a clear message, and is finished to a deadline: opening night. This requirement to build to a tight deadline in a specified space makes teamwork crucial to success. Having a museum’s investment and trust confers an obligation. We try to impress on the students that building a display in a museum is a privilege and carries a huge responsibility. Building exhibitions of our work is a potent morale builder. Creating them usually takes at least a full week. By the time the students begin work, the

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Our practice of teaching teachers began when Mockbee mentored Rural Studio’s first teacher of the second-years (what is now the third-year program). The practice continued when he initiated the position of “clerk of works,” a jack-of-all-trades fixer. (The first to fill this position was Jay Sanders.) Since then, we have injected more structure into our teaching system. We have adopted a “dynamic duo” teaching framework, comprised of a senior and a junior instructor, for all three of our programs. The junior instructor is a teacher in training, mentored and supervised by Elena or myself. It is an additional responsibility for us, but the process gives a terrific rate of return on investment. The junior instructors become a link between the mature faculty (us!) and the students. They have a real affection for Rural Studio, take great pride in being a part of it, and work incredibly hard. All of the junior teachers take a hands-on role in design and instruction, engage in regular reviews of projects, and help “leftover” fifth-year students with construction during the summer months. Junior teachers learn how to manage students’ time and construction schedules, and how to deliver architectural content and ideas to the students. Together with Elena and myself, they take part in the design and construction of pro bono projects. They also help carry out such ancillary tasks as updating our website, scheduling visiting lecturers, answering press inquiries, and responding to invitations from museums, galleries, and publications. They are brilliant, selfless, highly motivated, and willing team players, and they become splendid ambassadors for Rural Studio.

staff has already shaped a conceptual design for the main features of the scheme and has scheduled the materials. The scope of the students’ work depends on the nature of the exhibition. They may design small portions of a building or undertake a complete building. Our exhibitions tend to be large-scale installations of small pavilions in interior gallery spaces, so they don’t need roofs, waterproofing, or flashing. But the detailing must be carried out meticulously. We turn the exercise into a lesson in rigorous, fun design. The exhibitions often feature recycled materials or experimentation with a single material. They tend to be interactive (that’s what curators call them), meaning that they are experiential: people can touch them and walk around them. We make spaces and rooms that are very architectonic. The 2003 exhibition of Rural Studio’s work at the Birmingham Museum of Art included a “carpet temple,” a “kissing dome” of straw bales, and a “cardboard theater,” all volumes made of stacked materials that the studio had explored before, and with which the teachers were familiar. We try to make exhibitions that don’t involve drywall, which would have to be demolished or thrown away. For the most part, the materials we select can be recycled or reused. Learning by Teaching (and Teaching Teachers)

At Rural Studio we have developed a legacy of teaching young teachers. It’s been a matter of necessity, but also a choice, because junior teachers bring energy and enthusiasm. Many of our brightest and best graduates have wanted to stay and become part of the Rural Studio team. For them, a teaching stint, after five or six years of school, is a period of decompression, a chance to reflect on their education, and an opportunity to learn how to teach. Teaching also gives them a revealing glimpse of what it takes to run Rural Studio.

Educating the citizen architect: teaching tools 45

The Drumbeat

We start each week with an 8 a.m. Monday meeting to strategize the days ahead. Over the course of the year, at least at the moment (the drumbeat is ever changing), it looks like this:

Rural Studio follows a schedule that we call the drumbeat. It orchestrates and maintains momentum in design and construction, including the work of our consultants and community partners.

Fall Semester Community Presentations

Tour of Past Projects The semester starts with a tour for the incoming students of selected Rural Studio projects. At each one we ask the students: “ What did we do well?” “How can we improve?” This exercise shows students that, among other things, past projects are not above criticism and that we should critique our own work.

For fifth-year students, community presentations happen about every six weeks throughout the semester. They start in October and continue until the project is complete. Third-year students meet with codirector Rusty Smith and myself twice every semester; we are the client.

—

—

neck-down project week

Mid-October Review

The second week of class for both fall and spring semesters is neck-down project week. Students and teachers participate in the intensive volunteer effort, taking on small projects throughout the community.

Steve Badanes of the design/build group Jersey Devil visits to review the scope of the studio’s work and generally shake up the projects.

— Halloween Review

—

We have a costume and pumpkin-carving competition with the Newbern community in conjunction with the first public review of the teams and projects. The idea is to relieve stress: The students talk very seriously about their projects while wearing ridiculous costumes. Auburn University professors and visiting architects, including Marlon Blackwell, are present to critique the students’ work. Midterm review for third-year students takes place at this time.

Workshops In September we hold approximately four weeks of workshops with landscape, engineering, code, structural, and environmental consultants as well as local chefs, artists, farmers, and agricultural experts. Projects are undertaken in charette teams, so everyone benefits from the knowledge gained. The point of the workshops is to help students get a handle on the projects and their scope and get to know one another. Consultants raise what they believe to be the big questions that need to be addressed in each project. At the end of the workshops, fifth-year students are asked to design their teams and choose their projects.

— Thanksgiving Review This review maintains the students’ focus before a break week. This is the last public review for fall semester third-year students.

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Soup Roast Review

lectures

Held in early December, this review typically features Steve Badanes and fellow design/build guru Jim Adamson, our consultants, and others critiquing fifth-year and outreach work and celebrating the culmination of the third-year fall semester projects.

Guest architects and consultants are scheduled twice a month. It’s a show and tell. They tour our work, critique the current projects in design, and then lecture at night—typically a two-day visit. It is a terrific opportunity to exchange ideas.

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Spring Semester

Summer

neck-down project week

“leftover” work

The spring semester begins with another neck-down effort during the second week of class.

The drumbeat carries on for “leftover” fifth-year students, who continue working on their projects and have weekly meetings with the junior instructors and myself.

—

—

lectures

In the fall we will start all over again!

Lectures continue throughout the spring, twice a month.

— Community Presentations Fifth-year and outreach students keep the community informed, presenting every six weeks until the project is complete.

— Bimonthly Reviews Spring semester has January and February reviews with visitors and consultants. There are usually two reviews per month. Their purpose is to develop the project trajectory for all three programs: third year, fifth year, and outreach.

— Stress Test At the end of March, fifth-year students show their work to the studio teachers, professors, and Auburn department heads before proceeding further. The exercise also illustrates to Auburn’s administration that the studio can afford to bankroll its projects and that the studio as a whole isn’t overstressed.

— Pig Roast Graduation At this May review and graduation ceremony, fifth-year and outreach students show clients, friends, and family members what they have accomplished. Third-year students show off their work on a new phase of the Rural Studio Farm.

The drumbeat 47

Becoming the Town Architect

Marfa, Texas, where the artists have taken over and changed the place forever. We’ve consciously avoided making ostentatious gestures, in terms of both our presence and our architecture. When former Mayor Paul Owens invited us to design highway signs saying, “Welcome to Newbern, Home of Rural Studio,” I said thanks but no thanks. Given that there are fewer than two hundred permanent residents, our students’ arrival expands the place by about 25 percent, and our parking lot full of cars is enough of a billboard.

In 1995 when William Morrisette, a local landowner, generously gave Rural Studio an 1890s farmhouse and the five acres on which it stood in Newbern, the fledgling group gained a permanent home. The house and property are right on Newbern’s main street, Alabama Highway 61. With a population of 186, Newbern is ideal for us. It’s small enough that we were able to quickly establish personal relationships and familiarity with the residents. It frees the students from urban and university distractions. And it offers a clear focal point on which we can concentrate our design/build efforts. To date, we’ve built two baseball fields, a few homes, and a playground for the town, and recently we had the honor of building the new firehouse and town hall. Newbern is a typical rural stop on a state highway. It has a small center with a few services. You can buy a catfish sandwich for lunch. Six days a week, you can post your mail. Rather than being a separate enclave, an ivory tower, the Rural Studio buildings are an integral part of the town fabric and community life. One of the issues I continuously question is our effect on Newbern. We don’t want it to end up like

The Supershed, a multiuse live/work space, at Morrisette House

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Morrisette House, Rural Studio’s headquarters, Newbern

To make sure Rural Studio isn’t perceived as overbearing in tiny Newbern, I admonish the students against a “pack mentality.” When the community meets with us, it usually means they interact with a small project team, which is far less intimidating than the whole student group. The students go to church in twos and threes, never as a big crew.

144-foot-long Supershed, they installed a collage of one-room residential “pods” where the third-year students still live today. In building the pods, students tested a variety of recycled building materials, including cardboard bales that Rural Studio used a few years later to build Newbern’s Little League Baseball Field (2003). During the last four years, the Morrisette property has also become home to the Rural Studio Farm.

Morrisette House

Having a home was crucial to the newly formed Rural Studio program, and the fact that it came with acres of land was a huge bonus. The backyard was a natural space to experiment with construction materials and structural solutions. And it was on the Morrisette property that some of the studio’s first projects took form. Mockbee and the students moved into Morrisette House in 1995 and, in 1997, erected the Supershed. Beneath the 16-foot-high,

Chantilly and Sub Rosa

Another agreement made with William Morrisette (with the involvement of the Alabama Historical Commission) allowed us to acquire a nearby property on the condition that we take possession of a nineteenth-century manse called Chantilly, ten miles away in Greensboro, and move it to that property. We did this, and dug a huge hole in the house’s

Becoming the town architect 49

Pig Roast graduation ceremony in the amphitheater in Chantilly’s backyard

Sub Rosa at Chantilly, built to Sambo Mockbee’s drawings by his daughter Carol (pictured, at right, with her sister Sarah Ann), who was an outreach student in 2003–4

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Spencer House and kitchen addition, Newbern

new backyard to create the Bodark Amphitheater (2001) for the town and the studio. Each spring, to help us celebrate our graduates, many local folks gather for a pig roast in the amphitheater. The students roast a pig all night long, and the staff roasts and toasts the students the next day! Beside the amphitheater is Sub Rosa, a Samuel Mockbee–designed monument to deceased colleagues that his daughter Carol, an outreach student, built in 2004. Made of poured-in-place concrete, Sub Rosa is an extraordinary effort for a young person with no building experience. It is a place for quiet contemplation and a place to tell your secrets underneath the roses—“sub rosa”—as the Romans did. Chantilly itself is undergoing repair, slowly but surely. We have converted the middle part of the building to accommodate our hand-drawing class

and are hoping for new donations to transform the whole property into a learning center, as suggested by the community. An educational orchard in the front yard is part of our long-term plans for the Rural Studio Farm. Spencer House

To house its faculty offices, Rural Studio purchased and refurbished Spencer House, which further increased the studio’s presence on Newbern’s main street. The multiyear renovation in the late 1990s was a design/build project for several different semesters of third- and fourth-year students. Its slightly eccentric new front porch attracted strong criticism. That taught us a lesson. In 1998 we replaced the wonky porch with an inconspicuous, traditional one—the work of Josh Bryant, a fifth-year student. No one complains about the porch now.

Becoming the town architect 51

renovation, our students’ work areas were scattered among Morrisette House, Chantilly, Spencer House, and another barn downtown. The new studio is large enough that we can now design, teach, and learn in one central place. The formerly abandoned Red Barn is now active at all hours with students working on design projects. With its large size and “urban presence,” the Red Barn is like a public building, but unpretentious, and welcoming to all. For that reason I feel it’s the perfect design studio and classroom for Rural Studio. The Red Barn taught us a lesson about getting along in Newbern. Before we refurbished it, the building was an abandoned mercantile store. The owner, Robert C. Walthall, had asked that we leave its pockmarked, rusted exterior exactly as it was. We not only agreed but also concurred on aesthetic grounds, and it showed the town that we respected their decisions and their architecture. It sent a clear message to the locals that we were here for the long haul, we intended to listen to them, and we completely understood that change should be introduced gradually. We also demonstrated that we could make use of old structures that no one else wanted to bother with, and that our buildings didn’t always have to look wacky!

Nor were there any objections when we added an unobtrusive new kitchen in the back in 2000. After damaging tornados hit the Tuscaloosa area in 2011, Auburn University’s emergency management folks visited Rural Studio. They were concerned that we had nowhere safe to hunker down whenever the next tornado hit. When the university said, “We can help you get a shelter for the thirtyplus students and staff,” I replied, “We are a community outreach program. Do you really expect me to turn my neighbors away during the next storm?” They listened, and helped us get a FEMA grant to build a tornado shelter next to Spencer House. Although it’s on Rural Studio property belonging to the state, it’s a FEMA-designated community shelter for all Newbern and Rural Studio residents. The Red Barn

The Red Barn, situated next to the post office and Newbern Mercantile on Highway 61, belongs to the town as much as to Rural Studio. We rented and renovated the building in 2002 for use as our main design studio and classroom. Johnny Parker, Jay Sanders, and I worked through the summer of 2002 to open up the interior and add a new fire staircase, computer lab, darkroom, and bathroom. Before the

Red Barn, on Alabama Highway 61 in Newbern. At right, fifth-year students tackle a design problem with Andrew Freear.

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Rural Studio’s woodshop on Newbern’s main street, Alabama Highway 61

extend our ability to grow vegetables and herbs through the winter months. With its large glass roof and thermal-mass wall of metal barrels, the greenhouse creates a memorable image; few people drive by on Highway 61 without giving it a second look. Yet other parts of the strategic plan will involve two additional buildings: a new woodshop at Morrisette and a recycling facility that will serve both the studio and the community. The latter will be sited in front of the Red Barn on Highway 61.

Rural Studio Farm

Our efforts to contribute to our adopted community took a leap forward with the new Rural Studio strategic plan of 2010, a product of what we call the Rural Studio (R)evolution. The plan called for refurbishing all the studio’s Newbern buildings, both owned and rented, so that they would consume less energy—or, ideally, generate energy. Another part of the plan called for the establishment of the Rural Studio Farm, an experiment in self-efficiency and a demonstration project for a region that has largely stopped growing its own organic food. Under the strategic plan, we extended Morrisette House to create a commercial kitchen, and we started to convert the front yard into a kitchen garden, which includes raised and groundlevel vegetable beds, composting facilities, a chicken coop, and a gravity-fed rainwater irrigation system. Still in progress, the Solar Greenhouse on the northeast corner of Morrisette’s front yard will

Other Projects in Newbern

Ball Fields Rural Studio’s public work in Newbern, beyond the confines of our properties, began with the renovation of the Newbern Tigers’ baseball field in 2001. The refurbishment added a chain link backstop with V-shaped supports that shade public seating during late-afternoon baseball games. In 2001 we built the Newbern playground; we finished its latest facelift

Becoming the town architect 53

A Newbern Little League game seen from under the arc of the catfish-net backstop

We learned a lot about baseball fields from doing the two fields in Newbern. They demonstrated very different ways of protecting the audience and became a practice run for the more complex Lions Park Baseball Fields (2006) in Greensboro, which has six ball fields.

in 2010. The little kids love the handcrafted, expressive metal play equipment; older children appreciate the new basketball court paid for by the town. In 2003, we carved the Newbern Little League Baseball Field out of an unused pasture that Robert C. Walthall leased to the baseball team. The students formed the backstop out of large steel hoops covered with catfish netting. The outfield wall was made of discarded wax-impregnated corrugated cardboard bales. Sadly, the Little League field was recently closed. The land was poor and constantly waterlogged by a nearby stream, and the Newbern Tigers have all but disbanded since their league no longer exists. So we recently decided to create a new park and ball field for all of Newbern, moving and reusing utilities from the Little League field to the Newbern Tigers’ field. The mastermind behind the reorganized park and ball field is Bobby Scott, a local guy who prepares the pig for our pig roast each spring and is very community minded.

Firehouse and Town Hall The Newbern Firehouse (2004) was the town’s first new public building in more than a century. House fires were needlessly burning out of control in Newbern because the nearest fire stations, in Greensboro and West Perry County, were too far away. In an effort to remedy the problem, the newly established Newbern Volunteer Fire Department obtained grants for fire trucks but needed a warm, dry place in which to keep them. They are “pumper” trucks that carry water—rural areas have few hydrants—so it was important to prevent the trucks from freezing. At early meetings with the

Rural Studio at Twenty 54

Library In 2012 one of our fifth-year teams began converting Newbern’s old bank into a new library. People felt very nostalgic about the elegant old brick structure—the only one downtown, other than Newbern Mercantile—but the bank had closed and the building was standing empty. The library is seen as providing a supplement to the local school’s offerings and as a safe and caring place to go after school as well as a resource for the community. The clients for the project are Newbern’s former postmistress, Frances Sullivan; our mail carrier, Gwen Melton; court reporter Marla Cole; retired school librarian Thelma Brown; and Louise Scott, a teacher at the local Sunshine School whose education includes library science. The group has formed a nonprofit organization. Frances feels that the library will be a huge benefit for Newbern’s community and will help put a better future within their children’s reach. We have a tacit agreement with owner Robert L. Walthall’s family (also the owner of the Red Barn) to let us use the bank building as long as we don’t change its exterior appearance. And we won’t!

community, I suggested that they build a temporary shelter for the trucks at the back of the site and the studio would work with the town to create a new civic building—a gift for putting up with us as their neighbor for what by then had been ten years. By early 2010, the fire department and the city council had outgrown their quarters in the fire station. Mayor Woody Stokes asked if we could collaborate on a town hall. When building the firehouse, we had created an adjacent courtyard, which now contains a barbecue pit and is dotted with shade trees. The public open-air space helps Newbern’s “urban” fabric, reinforcing social patterns that were strong at the beginning of the last century. We agreed that the town hall should adjoin the courtyard and be parallel to the firehouse. The result is a civic center composed of the firehouse, a central outdoor courtyard, and the town hall. The town hall, instead of competing with the tall and muscular firehouse, is a low-gabled structure that conveys a sense of solidity through horizontally stacked eight-byeight-inch cypress timbers. With its narrow elevation hard on the street and its overhanging gable, the town hall takes cues from the local vernacular architecture. Inside, the main meeting room is used for voting, large meetings, and fire department classes.

Houses Rural Studio built three houses in Newbern over a six-year period. The Domino House (2004) got its name from owner Willy “Boochie” Patrick’s favorite game. Dominoes was also the favorite pastime of the students and their client during the construction of Boochie’s house. Dinah’s House (2007) was designed for Dinah Young, a longtime Newbern resident who was then seventy-four years old and had been reduced to living under plastic tarps. The studio designed her house as a reduced-scale 20K House. It cost $5,000 and, with the help of about a dozen townspeople, the students built it in one weekend. Dave’s House (2009) was the eighth 20K House project. Dave Thorton was chosen as the recipient

A discussion with consultants Steve Badanes and Xavier Vendrell in the Old Bank building, soon to be Newbern’s library

Becoming the town architect 55

Houses in Newbern range from the Domino House for Willie “Boochie” Patrick (left) to Dave’s House, the eighth 20K House.

projects are frequently brainteasers, in that it’s necessary to keep a pretty tight rein on the students. Typically the activities involve going into a decrepitlooking building and having to quickly decide what to keep and what to tear down, and students, who lack real-world experience, are less aware of the possible consequences of their decisions. One challenge in completing any constructionrelated task in a single week is maintaining a good level of craft. This means that usually we undertake smaller projects: fixing a porch for one neighbor, a railing for another, and windows for a third. But we have also completed relatively complex neck-down projects such as the renovation of Juanita’s House in 2004. We gave the house a new roof, tore off the front porch and the side addition, and completely rebuilt the interior, including new wiring and plumbing. It would have cost less to construct a small new house for Juanita. But she had built her home with her husband some forty years earlier, and wanted to stay in her house rather than move away. We also address the needs of our own properties during neck-down week, fixing and modifying Rural Studio buildings. Because the buildings are part of

of a house because he is a much-loved member of the Newbern community. Many neighbors visit his new house and their enthusiasm has earned us loud kudos locally. Constructed on pier foundations, the building is of the shotgun type, with a big metal roof. Except for a wood-burning stove, the house is heated and cooled by passive design. Dave’s utility bills come to about $35 a month. Neck-Down Projects

Beyond the building projects, we participate in Newbern’s overall well-being. Our most important act of outreach every semester is “neck-down,” an intensive volunteer effort that engages the entire Rural Studio morning-to-night for one week. The main point of neck-down is to show we are good and helpful neighbors. Teachers participate along with the students, which communicates the clear message that everybody shares in the dirty work. The director shovels, digs, rips, hammers, and weeds along with everybody else! Mockbee named the operation “neck-down” because he thought it required a lot of effort only from the neck down. Actually, the neck-down

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to the monthly community potluck dinner at the old schoolhouse. I have tried to create situations that build bridges with Newbern officials. And we’ve slowly established relationships of mutual respect with Newbern families. I want to avoid having to mend fences; it’s not a good use of anyone’s time. Our relationship with the current mayor, Woody Stokes, has been an easy one. He is a plumber and HVAC contractor. He comes to our annual Pig Roast graduation ceremony, straddling his Harley Davidson. Last but not least, our staff members are local people. Mockbee’s prescient first act was to hire Ann Langford from the county probate office as our office manager and troubleshooter. Ann was our alter ego and our eyes and ears in the community as is Gayle Etheridge today. We want Newbern to be here long after we have gone. I hope we can help the town survive, but I’m not sure we can. Rural Studio can’t solve the deep-seated problems facing rural small towns. But, like people everywhere, our day-to-day worries tend to center on matters of the here and now. For instance when G. B. Woods, owner of G. B.’s Newbern Mercantile, retired recently, we feared that if G. B.’s disappeared, Newbern would go with it. Imagine: No more gossip or dirty jokes while buying souse meat. No more picking up a sandwich now and paying later. One less place for laughter and nods. Fortunately, a young local guy, Ashley Kaiser, bought and renovated G. B.’s and added takeout short-order food. The store is now serving breakfast and lunch. We also worry that the march of technological progress will soon close the post office. And if it closes, then what? One less place to stop and say hello to people. No more chance meetings, wisecracking, and listening to NPR while we open our mailboxes. But we’re architects, and architects are optimists. So we go to work!

Newbern and overlook its main street, keeping them in good repair shows the community that we take responsibility for the upkeep of our properties and our town. Being accountable in this way is a very important lesson for our students—one that instills pride in the studio, in who we are and what we do in Newbern. Since creating the Rural Studio Farm, neckdown efforts have also included planting, harvesting, and preserving the fruits and vegetables we grow. Students are invested in the studio’s new lifestyle. Building Bridges: The Results

We have grown to love Newbern in all its idiosyncrasies. It is an authentic place full of all the beautiful stuff and messy angst that makes the world worth living in. The town is conservative on the surface, but underneath it’s feisty. At first, the locals didn’t trust us. And like most people anywhere in the world, they resist change. We’ve worked hard to dispel the community’s concerns, and change has come slowly. People now even like the buildings we design! I would say that Newbern Town Hall has been our most positively received public building project to date. I think the locals like having our students around. They bring a lot of energy to a place where most of the educated young folks have moved away; it’s just what happens in most rural towns. Our students are catalysts for resources and ideas. They feel positive about the community and show a genuine willingness to help. After Hurricane Ivan in 2004, they provided the town with physical and emotional support and helped with cleanup and repairs. I am fairly sure the local people also appreciate our annual contribution to their economy (but I’m sure they don’t realize that we contribute up to three-quarters of a million dollars to the community each year). One measure of our acceptance is that all the students and staff have a standing invitation

Becoming the town architect 57

Client Houses

Early Houses

Rural Studio’s first completed projects were houses for needy clients in Mason’s Bend, an isolated settlement of about a hundred people, described by Sambo Mockbee as the descendants of former slaves left behind by Reconstruction. Our first project, the Bryant (Hay Bale) House (1994), was designed and built at a time when the studio was just a dozen students. Mockbee’s hands (and design expertise) were all over the building and it won the studio instant recognition. The Hay Bale, arguably, remains Rural Studio’s most sophisticated and instructive house. After completing the Hay Bale, our student body grew, we separated students into classes, and the client house became the bailiwick of the secondyear studio until 2010 (when it became the third-year studio). Mason’s Bend was a fitting place for Rural Studio to begin making its mark. The hamlet straddled a dead-end dirt road used only for entering and leaving. Many families lived in shacks without plumbing or sewage disposal when Rural Studio started building there. At first, the residents were skeptical about Mockbee truly wanting to help, but they eventually learned to trust him and his enthusiastic students. Many hallmarks of the studio’s practice had their origins in Mason’s Bend. One was close and respectful client relationships, another was the client selection process. After the Hay Bale House, the studio relied on the county’s Department of Human Resources (DHR) to provide lists of potential clients; the students would interview them and make selections. As the studio developed firm roots in Hale County, it turned to the community to assist in its choices. Today we rely on a variety of local folks: furniture delivery men, mail carriers, utility suppliers, and others to help us identify people who badly need help but aren’t getting it. Rural Studio faculty then chooses clients on the basis of instinct, experience, and appropriateness. Ultimately, the clients have to be open to engaging with a large group of students. Most are elderly or just need a helping hand. For example, our house for a single mother of four gave her the stability to pursue education and employment. Academically, Mason’s Bend offered many valuable lessons for our students. The settlement had developed without planners or architects, so the faculty called the students’ attention to the residents’ choices: Why did they choose to live in Mason’s Bend? How did they orient their houses? How did their houses

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Client houses in Mason’s Bend (clockwise from top left): Bryant (Hay Bale) House, 1994; Harris (Butterfly) House, 1996; Lucy’s (Carpet) House, 2002; Christine’s House, 2005

relate to the road and to each other? Perhaps most importantly, the hamlet exposed the program’s predominantly white, middle-class, and suburban students to a previously alien environment and to what Mockbee called “the classroom of the community.” The most successful house projects have been marked by a strong friendship between teacher, students, and client. The family’s input in the design process has always been central to the success of our houses. While many organizations build houses in poor communities by offering a standard product, Rural Studio

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designs according to the needs, wishes, and recommendations of individual clients. The process simultaneously lifts the clients’ spirits and raises their expectations. The studio has now completed half a dozen houses, several rehabs, dozens of repairs, and a community structure in Mason’s Bend. The work has drawn a steady flow of visitors from all over the world, as well as attention from the county government, resulting in a newly surfaced road. Our hope is that Rose Lee’s House (2009), the studio’s first for the settlement of Footwash, will kick off a renewal similar to that in Mason’s Bend. Among the lessons of the early Mason’s Bend houses, perhaps the most valuable was the need to review and reflect more before commencing design and then construction. The students’ tendency to overdo it in terms of ideas, materials, and forms convinced us to concentrate on grounding them in the basics of design and wood platform frame construction. In Rural Studio’s work, there will always be a tension between creative ambition and pragmatism. We soon learned that innovation for its own sake would not fly. Another early lesson was to focus not on one-off creations but on good prototypes or models, such as shotgun, porch-style, and courtyard houses. A third lesson was to seek long-term solutions for many people (20K House) instead of individual families (the client house). Finally, Mason’s Bend revealed that Rural Studio had to become a gentle steward to its clients. Most of our clients are first-time homeowners with little experience in looking after a home. The studio soon realized that in order to ensure the life span of its dwellings, it would need to help its clients take on the responsibilities of maintaining a house. The Client House Tectonic

The aesthetic of Rural Studio’s client houses is the result of learning from the region’s vernacular wooden dwellings. We asked how these buildings touch the ground, how they are ventilated, how they are protected from the elements and afflictions such as termites, and what has allowed them to survive in west Alabama all this time. Over the years, Rural Studio has developed a set of priorities for client houses. Essentially, we want to be sure the dwellings we build are long-lasting, inexpensive to maintain, and manageable at the level of everyday repairs by our clients.

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Structural System While our first client houses were mostly slab on grade, we have since shifted to raised platform frame construction. We learned from local antebellum houses on piers that this structural system is less expensive and makes for an easier building process in the region’s clay soil. Clay expands in wet weather and contracts during dry spells, a dynamic that can destroy a slab. Another drawback of a concrete slab-on-grade structure is that it traps moisture, unlike a wooden platform on piers. Slab-on-grade also allows termites to get closer to wooden walls, whereas a house on piers exposes the enemy when it is attacking. Platform frame construction also implies lighter walls. In addition, raised houses are aesthetically appealing: they have presence, they feel bigger, look more dignified, and give a greater sense of security. To complement our construction methods, we favor materials that are renewable and locally available and that the clients themselves can maintain with relative ease. We have found that in west Alabama, building on a raised wooden platform is not only far more sustainable than building on a concrete slab but also less damaging to the rural landscape because it creates a smaller environmental footprint. However, lifting a house off the ground means spending a lot of energy solving the problems that come with that decision, especially accessibility. Wood-frame construction has pedagogical benefits as well. Because it is a simple way to build, it offers a more democratic lesson for a large group of inexperienced students participating in a small construction project. Wood is flexible enough to convey many ideas at once, and mistakes made with wood are easily fixed. At the same time, building with wood allows the instructors to teach how to build with care, with good craftsmanship, and with an understanding of tolerances. Walls Selecting wall materials has always offered us opportunities to explore and recycle different, sometimes offbeat, building materials. When we used slab-ongrade construction, we experimented with “thick” wall systems, such as hay bales (Bryant [Hay Bale] House, 1994), carpet tiles (Lucy’s [Carpet] House, 2002), and even a papier-mâché-like hybrid adobe mix of local dirt and newspaper (Christine’s House, 2005). These all take advantage of the load-bearing capacity

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of the slab. These wall materials have additional advantages. Carpet tiles, for example, when stacked provide excellent insulation in addition to being flame retardant. The tiles used in Lucy’s House were remnants that had been stored in a warehouse long enough to expel gases and become safe for the intended use. Aesthetically, the seventy-two thousand hand-stacked tiles give the walls a beautiful texture and colorful appearance. In houses such as Lucy’s, the weight of the roof is shouldered by columns of concrete or steel rather than by the experimental exterior walls, ensuring that the roof remains intact if the walls fail. From its earliest days, Rural Studio has reused and recycled materials, but more recently the emphasis has turned to the use of local materials. For example, we often build rain screens over walls made from indigenous wood, as is seen at Rose Lee’s House. Also called the Cedar House, the structure is wrapped with a continuous layer of one-and-a-half inch horizontal cedar boards that both stop the rain and shade the building and its courtyard. Cedar, a resinous wood that is indigenous to Alabama, is a traditional building material in this region because it is water resistant, needs neither paint nor sealant, and ages to a beautiful gray color. Roofs and Porches Rural Studio prefers large, overhanging roofs because they extend the lifespan of houses, protect them from sun and rain, and keep them cool and dry. Big roofs are easy to maintain, need no gutters, do not collect leaves, and direct water away from the base of the building, thus preserving the foundation. Steeply pitched roofs also allow for an attic space, which provides a ventilated buffer for the house’s insulated layer. The studio has created a variety of big roofs. The roof of the Hay Bale House is translucent, a modern touch on a vernacular form. The roof of Christine’s House includes a ventilation tower that cools the building in hot weather, and it has become the house’s signature feature. The gable roof of Rose Lee’s House makes both a front and back porch possible, as on a colonial “gallery house.” Almost all of Rural Studio’s houses have a front porch, which reinforces the Southern way of life. Front porches are places to sit and tell stories and to have leisurely chats with the neighbors. Sometimes they serve as the dwelling’s main living space. Before air-conditioning, a shaded porch was likely to be the

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coolest part of the house, and helped to cool the adjacent rooms. Especially when screened, porches usually become outdoor rooms; but screened or not, porches serve as a transitional space between the public street and the private house. Many Southern houses also have back porches, most often used for storage. — The studio’s ten-year involvement in Mason’s Bend demonstrates our desire to support the community for more than a single generation. Lucy Harris, for whom we built the Carpet House in 2001–2, and Willie Bell Harris, for whom we built a house in 2005, became Mason’s Bend’s most powerful women after the death of their mother, Ora Lee Harris, for whom we built the Butterfly House in 1996– 98. In 2009, we also renovated the Hay Bale House; Alberta Bryant’s daughter, Cherie, now lives there. Sometimes helping families to update their homes is just as important as building new homes for assuring the community’s stability. Our client houses at Mason’s Bend fine-tuned our design and construction processes. The work taught us to focus on long-lasting, easily maintained construction. The studio refined these lessons in its latest client houses for Willie Bell, Christine, and Rose Lee, which are described on the pages that follow. For the time being, Rural Studio has put further work on client houses on hold. We’ve taken a time-out to concentrate the younger students’ energies and talents on redesigning our own properties and building the Rural Studio Farm. We feel that, after twenty years, it is important to reassess our own way of living in Newbern. But we miss the close relationships we developed while working in Mason’s Bend with Alberta Bryant, Ora Lee Harris, and others. Getting to know them was an important part of the students’ education. At the same time our work on the 20K House program, with its constrained budgets and dimensions, is pinpointing issues that we believe will improve our client houses in the future. If we weren’t so engaged with the 20K House, we wouldn’t feel right taking a break from the client house. We haven’t abandoned these important projects, we’ve just taken a sabbatical from them.

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Evolution of the Hay Bale House Shepard and Alberta Bryant and family, 1994–2012

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Willie Bell’s House

2005

Mason’s Bend, Hale County

We raised the house on piers to keep out the damp. A central line of piers takes load-bearing columns through the dwelling and divides the westfacing sleeping quarters from the living areas. The exterior walls have a cedar rain screen, which cools the house by shading the waterproof inner wall. We carved porches out of two corners of the dwelling; one looks out on the communal green. The other porch is more private and abuts a small garden that links Willie Bell’s House to Christine’s. In addition to extending Willie Bell’s living space, the shady porches cool the air before it is drawn into the house through windows and doors. Cedar siding extends from the exterior walls into the porch, while in principle screens keep the mosquitoes out (however they couldn’t withstand the wear and tear created by children and dogs).

In 2004, when we were looking to reinvest in Mason’s Bend, Lucy Harris, daughter of Ora Lee Harris (for whom we built the Butterfly House, 1996), introduced us to her sister, Willie Bell Harris. Willie Bell’s is a close family. Her husband, Benjamin, is a quiet man who likes to fish in the nearby Black Warrior River and repair cars in the front yard. For several years, their daughter Christine Green and her four children had been homeless, moving in with one relative or friend and then another. Rural Studio decided to build adjacent family dwellings for Willie Bell and Christine. We carved a clearing in the woods, much as clearings have been carved to define the community’s enclaves, and we tucked the houses into the rounded part of the resulting horseshoe-shaped site. The plot defines a communal green where children play and men work on their cars. The two houses are set back from Mason’s Bend Road and nestle near a thick line of trees, which provide shade during most of the day. Willie Bell’s House was an effort to gain more control over the second-year studio’s design/build methodology. We wanted to avoid artful camouflage to solve problems, as well as ostentatious experimentation. Nearby Rural Studio houses had been criticized for their “shouting-out-loud, here-I-am” dramatic roofs; the strategy with Willie Bell’s House was to not look flamboyant or extravagant. The watchword would be understatement. We simplified the material palette, working almost exclusively with cedar, and, departing from the studio’s preference for pitched gables, we topped the unadorned rectangle with a flat roof. It was an aesthetic decision and challenged the conventional wisdom that flat roofs are inappropriate, in part because they’re hard for the client to maintain.

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opposite The simple, rectangular, flat-roofed house is wrapped with cedar. above Willie Bell has enclosed the underside of her house with brick and built a bridge to the garden she shares with Christine. right Cedar continues inside the house, where Willie Bell enjoys her open kitchen.

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opposite, top Willie Bell relaxes in her living room. above A lantern at night, the house has both front and back porches. overleaf Willie Bell’s and Christine’s Houses share a communal yard.

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Christine’s House

2005

Mason’s Bend, Hale County

stones in concrete, the newspaper binds the material together to form an aggregate. The resulting hybrid adobe allowed us to design a lightweight, twelve-inchthick wall with an R-value of thirty-three. As built, the walls are not load bearing. A series of exposed concrete columns support the roof and its steel beam. One of the walls rises with the terrain to the screened front porch and into the living area, enclosing space while integrating it into the landscape. A glazed gap between the five-and-a-half-foot wall and the roof admits natural light and allows views of the outdoors. A second wall cuts through the center of the house and continues into the main rooms, including the bedrooms. Together the walls protect the house on the east and west sides, while opening the interior to light and breezes on the north and south. As they extend into the landscape, the walls frame views of the backyard and the woods beyond. The wind tower at Christine’s House rises between the hybrid-adobe walls directly over the kitchen—the heart of family activity. The wind tower’s exterior, like the roof, is clad in shiny galvanized corrugated metal, offering a visual contrast to the red-dirt bricks. The tower emerged from the students’ research into passive cooling systems. Widely used in Middle Eastern countries, wind towers are pressure driven and, with a five-mile-per-hour wind, can draw cool air into a building while forcing out the hot. However, the tower turned out to be inefficient in winter and resulted in high heating bills. We responded to this design oversight with an operable suspended ceiling, which can be lowered in winter to trap warm air and opened for ventilation in summer.

We located Christine’s House next door to Willie Bell’s and about eighty feet back from it. A raised garden stretches along the west side of the site, from Christine’s bedroom to Willie Bell’s porch, providing a place for mother and daughter to share their passion for growing flowers and vegetables. Building the houses next to each other allowed them to share an expensive new septic system, and for the studio’s two projects to share resources. Christine’s House was designed and built by two fifth-year students, Amy Bullington and Steve Long. Christine’s wish list for the flexible nine-hundredsquare-foot house included a front porch to enlarge the available living space and give her children a place to play, an area where she could entertain, a quiet bedroom where she could read and write, a childproof bathroom, plenty of storage, and private spaces for her boys when they grew older. Two features distinguish Christine’s House: the hybrid-adobe walls and a wind tower. The decision to incorporate two hybrid-adobe walls shaped the design process. There used to be a brick factory in Greensboro that utilized local clay, and we wanted to prove that our clay-laden dirt could be turned into an effective building material. The hybrid-adobe walls would rest on concrete stem walls, while Mason’s Bend’s red dirt would bind Christine’s House to the neighboring landscape. Hybrid adobe is a variation on the rammed earth we used for the Mason’s Bend Community Center (Glass Chapel) in 2000. The students tested various proportions of water to clay as well as a variety of forms for Christine’s House and decided to add shredded newspaper to the usual mixture of soil, water, and Portland cement. Acting much like

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above Christine’s House is marked by hybrid-adobe walls and a wind tower. right Christine and her son Joe sit in the living room, which is open to the kitchen and wind tower.

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To make hybrid-adobe bricks, students shred newspaper, mix it with Hale County red dirt, water, and cement, and pour the mixture into boxes that act as forms and also absorb water from the blocks. The same mix was used as mortar in laying the block wall.

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Rose Lee’s House

2009

Footwash, Marengo County

sitting in the living room gossiping with Rose. Her sons, B. J. and Jason, worked at low-wage, part-time jobs and liked to barbecue, cut firewood, and run their dog in the densely wooded backyard. Privacy was important to the family—they had covered every opening of their house with colorful homemade quilts. Watching the family spend so much time on the porch and in the backyard informed our design for the Turners’ dwelling. Its main elements were a broad front porch and a private courtyard out back. An L-shaped plan allows for a Southern-style front porch that is shaded by a wide overhang and supported by metal arms. The porch has a 180-degree view of Footwash’s main street. The courtyard draws light, breezes, and landscape into the center of the dwelling without sacrificing privacy. Both the porch and courtyard respond to the climate: the south-facing front porch shades the interior spaces; the north-facing courtyard offers a protected outdoor living area during the hot Alabama summer.

The house for Rose Lee Turner and her family provided an opportunity for Rural Studio to test the courtyard typology as a model for rural towns and villages. Families like the Turners are common in west Alabama. At age sixty-seven Rose Lee was supported by federal assistance and living with her two grown sons in a rundown house without running water. When Elena and I first met her, she was outdoors hanging laundry. We quickly learned that she is a strong, cheerful, and smart woman with a sharp sense of humor. She was always clear and emphatic about what she wanted. When selecting colors for her house, the students asked Rose what color she liked. She answered, “I am not gonna’ tell you that I do like pink; I don’t want my bedroom looking like face powder!” Rose Lee’s House is one of the last homes facing the main road in the residential area of Footwash. Eight miles south of Newbern, the quarter mile called Footwash feels more like a neighborhood than a town. The hamlet is surrounded by pastures and cypress trees and is made up of two basic areas: a low-lying residential area is lined with narrow properties marked by a variety of front porches and has a small, white-painted grocery store. Up the hill is a “downtown” consisting of a well-manicured open field, a small church, a pool hall, and a decommissioned bus turned food stall. Downtown hosts a regionally popular festival every September. Our students spent hundreds of hours with the Turners, observing their daily lives, how they related to one another, and how they inhabited their space. Rose Lee often sat on her front porch, waiting for the neighborhood kids to come home after school. We saw Rose Lee as a community leader—the “queen of Footwash,” Elena called her. Someone was always

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opposite Footwash grocery store above From her front porch Rose Lee, called the “queen of Footwash” by Elena Barthel, watches over her community. right Cedar wraps the house, becoming the enclosure for the courtyard.

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above Rose Lee rests in her new, heart pine–wrapped living room, with sons B. J. and Jason in the background. opposite Rose Lee in her previous house

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the house relies on a reclaimed fireplace, reflecting Rose Lee’s wish to burn wood from the forest behind her house. One of the wisest decisions the students made was to position the new structure in front of the existing house so that Rose Lee’s family could continue living on-site during the construction phase. Sadly, Rose Lee’s House burned down in 2011. After the fire we towed a trailer to the Turners’ lot and we are now building two adjoining 20K Houses to replace the original house. The event taught us a valuable lesson, and thereafter Rural Studio began to require clients to insure their new homes before taking possession of them.

Rose Lee’s House is a conventional wood platform frame construction with a pop-up roof supported by four trusses. These trusses were made from twoby-four-inch yellow pine, which the students salvaged from a nearby early twentieth-century barn belonging to the writer Mary Ward Brown. The same wood wraps the walls in the living areas, creating a warm environment. Because the students used local cedar for the freestanding, semi-open courtyard wall and the rain screen, the dwelling is often called the Cedar House. Mindful of testing a prototype, we designed the house to be expandable, so it could respond to the changing needs of the contemporary family and, like the traditional farmhouse, grow when the family could afford it or needed it. The 1,200-square-foot plan consists of a rectangular core and a perpendicular wing. The core contains a kitchen, living and dining rooms, a master bedroom, and a bathroom. The expandable wing houses two more bedrooms. In order to keep operating costs at a minimum, we designed the house with lots of daylight and natural ventilation. The living spaces and bedrooms have cross-ventilation and a front-facing clerestory admits natural light year-round, warming the house in winter. For heat,

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Rose Lee explains her design preferences (above). Plants collected from the site informed a design that responds to the local climate (right). The northfacing courtyard offers protected outdoor living space for the summer (sketched below).

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Students studied Aalto, Utzon, Bo Bardi, and Sert courtyard houses (modeled above). Full-scale details of the courtyard walls were developed prior to construction (left). Below, Rose Lee’s sons, B. J. and Jason, talked with the students about the design.

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Rose Lee lived in her old house (far right) while the students built her new home. The pop-up roof is supported by four trusses, which are made with pine salvaged from a nearby barn.

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Community projects

Building for Many

Of all the changes Rural Studio has made in the last fifteen years, none has been more significant than the shift in emphasis from client houses and small buildings to larger public projects that benefit the educational, recreational, and health needs of west Alabama. During its early years, flying under the radar, the studio largely confined its work to small projects on its own properties or in Mason’s Bend and Greensboro. The year of Sambo Mockbee’s death, we ambitiously took on five public projects. They were big, complicated, and supported by substantial community funds. All of a sudden, we were putting our heads “above the radar,” helping more people and more communities, but very much in the public eye. In my initial years at the studio, the design/build process was pretty hit or miss, quite undisciplined. Students would just start building and assume it would all be okay. Frequently their decisions were a response to earlier mistakes in the building process—artful camouflage. I felt we had to increase the level of design maturity and pragmatism. When people give you public funds to build large projects you suddenly get very grown up, uptight, and serious. You cannot fail. I started pushing the studio to become super responsible in its use of building materials and methods, making sure that projects were rigorously engineered, environmentally responsive, and as maintenance-free and inexpensive to operate as possible. I asked the fifth-year students to assume more control of their projects and insisted that they fully understood what they were going to build before they put a shovel into the ground. Since 2000, the pace of public projects has not let up: in Newbern, we built the Tigers Baseball Field (2001) and Little League Baseball Field (2003), the Firehouse (2004), and most recently the Town Hall (2011). In Akron, we completed the Senior Center (2002) and the Boys and Girls Club (2007). Across Hale, Perry, and Marengo counties, we built Antioch Baptist Church (2002), Perry Lakes Park (2002–5), Thomaston Rural Heritage Center (2003–4), and Pyramid Learning Center (2005), and partially restored St. Luke’s Church (2007–8). In Greensboro, we built HERO Knowledge Café (2002) and in 2006 we brought new life to the Hale County Hospital Courtyard, built the Hale County Animal Shelter, and started the first of multiple phases in Lions Park. Indeed in 2006, Rural Studio helped more people than in all our previous years put together.

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The longer we’ve designed and built large, multiyear projects, the more proficient we’ve become, learning from each experience. Every project profits from the last. We have concluded that, when tackling a complex project, it is best to do one piece at a time under the umbrella of a fluid strategic plan that evolves over time. At Lions Park, for example, we changed things as we went along. Multiphase projects force students to learn from and build on earlier phases and work with a consistent material palette. The process keeps the teams humble while motivating them to improve on earlier strategies. More ambitious projects pose more ambitious challenges for both our students and our community partners, help larger numbers of people, and, of course, cost more money. But dividing big interventions into small pieces enables the studio to proceed even with small amounts of funding and allows us to gradually win our partners’ trust. On the downside, big, complex projects require patience on everyone’s part, and they demand that I be the connective tissue binding together all aspects and phases. Reusing Old Buildings

As Rural Studio’s community projects have grown in size, one of the most important questions we have asked ourselves is: “What does it mean to be sustainable in west Alabama?” Reuse and longevity have become primary goals. The studio’s early projects, such as the Mason’s Bend Community Center (Glass Chapel, 2000) and the Yancey Chapel (Tire Chapel, 1995), were known for the provocative use of recycled materials. Nowadays, we put increasing emphasis on refurbishing or reinventing whole buildings and landscapes. We feel that in a place like Hale County where change is slow, each building and landmark is important to the collective memory, and the loss of a single structure can be significant. West Alabama’s slack economy has left the countryside, towns, and cities littered with abandoned, crumbling buildings. Strapped for funds, local governments and nonprofits often choose to rebuild existing structures rather than build new ones. We think salvaging and repurposing buildings for the twentyfirst century is the responsible solution, and recycling is an important part of Rural Studio’s ethic. As the keepers of history and memories, old buildings preserve a sense of community and as a regional signature they maintain a distinctive sense of place. Reusing old structures is also a strategy of sustainability.

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Second-year students disassembled St. Luke’s Church, hauled the materials to Old Cahaba, and rebuilt the church.

It prevents the waste of existing resources and avoids the unnecessary use of new ones. Most old structures hold enormous potential for present uses—and often they are beautiful. In the last ten years we have saved and given new life to buildings that otherwise would have been torn down or remained derelict. In addition to Antioch Baptist Church, Thomaston Rural Heritage Center, and the HERO Knowledge Café, we salvaged and revitalized a school in Marion, now the Pyramid Learning Center, as well as Newbern’s Red Barn (2002), which became Rural Studio’s principal classroom and studio. More recently, in Greensboro, we renovated the Safe House Black History Museum (2010), where Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. was sheltered for a night in 1968 shortly before he was assassinated. In 2007–8, our second-year students, working on a public project for the first time, were involved in restoring St. Luke’s Church in Old Cahaba. During the first year, the project challenged our young students to disassemble the old church bit by bit, label, inventory, and store all the pieces, and take down seven large trusses. The pieces of the church were then moved to the structure’s original location. In the second year of the project, the students rebuilt the church. Lessons Learned

Experience has taught us not to pursue community projects unless they have public support, clear ownership, and a sustainable management strategy. Mason’s

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Bend Community Center (Glass Chapel) taught us a hard lesson. We now accept work only when invited by elected officials and established local organizations, and we have worked hard to earn the trust of these groups and officials and the people they represent. The margins of victory in local elections are as small as the constituencies, so politicians are understandably reluctant to commit themselves to provocative changes. We make sure to collaborate with local government and present our designs to the public for approval: we trust in the public realm, in government’s responsibility to provide its citizens with good public services. I always have the greatest admiration for the people who risk the challenge and the responsibility of public office, and around here they almost never have enough funds to do a really good job. In a small community like ours, officials are easily accessible and not shielded or hamstrung by bureaucracy. When I call them on my cellphone, I get right through. We have collaborated on a continuing basis with a number of clients over a period of years, building a sense of mutual trust. As a result, each project has built on—and improved on—the last. Among the many positive experiences we have had with local administrators are the Pyramid Learning Center and the Hale County Animal Shelter. When Perry County Superintendent of Schools John Heard was short of funds yet required to provide a school for kids who had been expelled, County Judge Donald Cook directed Heard to Rural Studio, and together we shaped the learning center. One year later, when Hale County found itself under a legal mandate to provide an animal shelter but lacked the necessary funds, Probate Judge Leland Avery asked for our help. With the county’s collaboration, we completed the animal shelter in Greensboro in 2006. While executing increasingly complex public projects, Rural Studio has established broad and deep local ties, which have improved our credibility in the community. We teach our partners how to be good clients and they teach us how to be good consultants. Our partners have spread the word, and one project has led to another. When a client endorsed our achievement at Perry Lakes Park, for example, it led to the Lions Park project. In turn, we introduce the community to our consultants, who build our local reputation as well. Structural engineer Joe Farruggia advised the developers of the Greensboro Opera House and helped Greensboro’s mayor with the town’s drainage and water issues. Similarly,

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our landscape consultant Xavier Vendrell worked with the U.S. Forest Service and the Talladega National Forest to devise a strategic design framework for the Oakmulgee District. We attribute much of our success to staying in one place for twenty years, limiting our work to within twenty-five miles of our home in Newbern, and being active community members. During our “neck-down” volunteer week, we help our neighbors with repairs while often laying the groundwork for new projects, such as the Boys and Girls Clubs of West Alabama, Greensboro Unit (2012). In fact, our attendance at Greensboro City Council meetings and planning committee meetings for Lions Park and the farmers’ market jump-started several of the “quiet projects” undertaken by studio faculty and staff. These quiet projects have included replanning the Greensboro town hall and police department, establishing a permanent farmers’ market, and initiating a Parks and Recreation Board and discussions about the zoning ordinance. We devote a lot of time to our quiet projects, which give us visibility that leads to new relationships. Perhaps most important to our growing credibility is what we do not do. Our job is not to be architects in the commercial sense; our job is to train and teach architects. We do not offer a professional service per se; we pursue opportunities that guide our educational mission, undertaking work when it is clearly needed but neglected by others. Responding to these needs is what defines our work. We do not take work from other professionals; rather, we provide jobs by subcontracting work we cannot do ourselves. We do not abuse the absence of code enforcement; our consulting engineers make sure projects meet the codes and help students understand the reasons for the codes. We assume responsibility for following the code even when the permit process is not policed. This kind of collective participation and agreement improves projects and helps make them financially viable. Financial self-restraint furthers our credibility as well. At Lions Park, we could afford to proceed only by dividing the very large project into several smaller, less expensive projects, which we undertook one at a time as funds became available. As a state agency, we receive a crucially important annual contribution from Auburn University that covers our staff’s salaries and the studio’s overhead. We have to chase funding for projects only. In short, we understand that our role and responsibility in the community is to focus on the big picture. Our relative financial security, our relationship to the

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state government, and our educational mandate mean we have the wherewithal to stand back, take a critical look, and ask hard questions about how best to serve everyone involved. The high quality of our students’ work and of their public presentations has earned the admiration of elected officials and their constituents. The idealism, determination, and hard work of our students inspire the communities we serve, and the communities seem to take pride in helping young people learn. We have watched our students get a fantastic, stimulating education as they build good relationships with clients who face critical problems. We, in turn, support the local communities by helping to solve their problems. As in any good relationship, the evolving trust between Rural Studio and the local community is mutually beneficial. The locals respect us for taking care of the projects we design and build. You might say we take care of each other. What about the future of Rural Studio’s involvement with public projects? We are now renovating Greensboro’s old armory for a Boys and Girls Club and recreation center and creating a new library in Newbern, and parks in Uniontown and Moundville. That’s all for now. Tomorrow, we expect to keep working on projects requested by local officials, nonprofit organizations, and our neighbors. We are eager to invent, organize, design, administer, manage, and build in the service of our region’s youth, health, education, and general wellbeing. That is what our public buildings program is about now and what it will continue to be about in the future.

Community Projects 95

Newbern Firehouse

2004

Newbern, Hale County

day. A contemporary version of an old-time barnraising, the construction was a big public event for the town, the studio, and our neighbors. We heard many passersby say very positive things about their new firehouse when it was under construction. The building even had the look of a twenty-first-century barn. The interior cladding was of robust two-inch-thick wood that had seasoned for years in a barn behind the home of Newbern’s former mayor Paul Owens. In the barnraising spirit, Owens himself installed a lot of the siding, replacing one of our team members after he broke his arm. In the same spirit, the team—particularly Leia Price—raised more than $100,000 in material donations. The engineering of the firehouse was overseen by Robert McGlohn (father of Emily McGlohn, a student who worked on the Thomaston Rural Heritage Center, 2003–4). McGlohn’s very professional job convinced us to invite consulting engineers into the design of our

The siting and scale of the Newbern Firehouse account for its success as an urban civic structure. It was to be the town’s first new public building in 110 years, and we were convinced that it should fit the pattern of tightly packed, narrow-fronted buildings facing the street that people love about Newbern. We also thought it appropriate to celebrate the new facility by placing it right on the street edge, without a setback. (Why be shy!) We anticipated more resistance than we got when we presented a photo of the turnof-the-twentieth-century streetscape as a point of reference. We thought the client would need convincing to let the fire truck exit straight onto Alabama Highway 61, instead of a more suburban solution, but we were wrong. The front porch–like design probably helped our cause, since it gives the trucks a place to take shelter, pause, and get a good view of the street before exiting. The community “got it” and they encouraged us to proceed. We endowed the two-story firehouse with big shoulders to give it a civic scale. Since it would be standing alongside the wood buildings on Main Street, we thought it, too, should be wood, and originally we designed a vertical truss system of two-by-twelve-inch exposed timbers. However, the size of the building and the strength of the winds it needed to withstand exceeded the load-bearing capacity of an all-wood structure, so we supplemented the wooden truss system with steel webbing and lateral bracing. To fabricate the trusses, the student team left the building site for several months and worked on the Morrisette campus under the Supershed. Just as folks in town began to wonder where the students had gone, they returned with the steel and wooden structural components, which they erected in a single

Rural Studio at Twenty 96

opposite and above Opening-day celebrations for Newbern Firehouse right Low winter sun warms the thermal mass concrete floor that at night radiates heat into the space, preventing the fire trucks’ water-filled tanks from freezing.

Newbern Firehouse 97

projects from the earliest stages. Throughout the process, McGlohn made sure that the construction was stout and stable enough to resist 110-mile-perhour winds. Before the south wall of the building had gone up—it was the last to be closed—we were afraid that southwest winds might carry the building away like a kite. Our need to phase the construction and close the building slowly led us to overscale the structure. The overscaled structure became the building’s main aesthetic feature. The firehouse cools and heats naturally, and like a big barn is not insulated. The south wall is clad in polycarbonate, which is screened with cedar slats that provide security and shade for the building in summer.

In winter, when the sun is lower, the slats admit light that heats the concrete floor, which in turn stores and radiates warmth to prevent the pumper trucks, containing water, from freezing. In 2010 the Alabama Architectural Foundation honored the Newbern Firehouse with its Significant Building Award, which is bestowed on “a public building that makes a significant contribution to the architectural legacy of our state.” There is no annual competition for this prize; it is awarded only when the foundation deems a building worthy.

Rural Studio at Twenty 98

opposite Newbern’s first fire truck above The “big shoulders” structure marks the first public building in Newbern in 110 years.

Newbern Firehouse 99

above Fire trucks exit the firehouse during the grand opening as residents line Alabama Highway 61. opposite Detail of steel entrance frame and polycarbonate wall protected by a slatted cedar screen

Rural Studio at Twenty 100

Newbern Firehouse 101

10'

1 5

3

2

10’

4

1. firehouse  2. courtyard  3. town hall public meeting space  4. council chamber  5. barbecue pit

Rural Studio at Twenty 102

10’ 10'

A mock-up of the vertical truss, next to the Red Barn, tested the scale of the firehouse. Trusses were fabricated at Morrisette House, then the actual structure, stout enough to withstand 110-mile-per-hour winds, was raised on site.

Newbern Chapter Firehouse / Project 103

Newbern Town Hall

2011

Newbern, Hale County

but while the firehouse is two stories tall, the town hall is a low, simple, insulated square in section, topped by a gable roof with six-foot overhangs that protect the walls. The iconic shape takes cues from the local vernacular architecture even as the large glazed openings emphasize the thickness of the walls in a contemporary manner. Ultimately, the new building’s aesthetic was created by its eleven-foot-high walls of stacked cypress timbers. They stand on a low concrete grade-beam foundation, held slightly off the ground and set back to create a reveal: visually separating the timbers from the ground. Functionally, the system keeps the wood away from inevitable groundwater and termites. The gravity and weight of the material reinforces the town hall’s civic presence downtown. The project was typical of Rural Studio in that it allowed us to encourage our students to experiment rigorously with a single material—cypress. In this case, the students created a kit of (very large) parts that

The Newbern Firehouse (2004) was originally conceived as a place to also hold elections, town council sessions, and other meetings and classes. However, the folks who came for meetings didn’t remove the fire trucks as planned, so some of the civic functions were squeezed into a small leftover space on the ground floor. Although the firehouse is temperate yearround, it can get uncomfortable during long meetings at the height of summer or in the depths of winter. Additionally, the thriving Newbern Volunteer Fire Department had outgrown its new quarters. Having been awarded several grants for its training programs, it badly needed a good classroom. Eight years after the completion of the firehouse, local officials asked us to help design and build a stand-alone town hall. The hope was that this new civic building, devoid of divisive memories and history, would foster the democratic process. While the firehouse was being built, the town cleared a space to its north for an informal courtyard. We defined the courtyard further and located the town hall parallel to the firehouse, instantly creating a civic complex whose focus is the courtyard, an outdoor room facing Highway 61. Today, the courtyard’s northern edge serves as the town hall’s front door, while its southern wall opens onto the firehouse. A treeshaded barbecue pit occupies the eastern edge, and a blanket of confederate jasmine climbs the expanded metal screen walls. The courtyard has indeed become Newbern’s civic heart. Above all, we wanted to prevent the town hall from competing with the firehouse, so we gave it a stout presence and scale, while making it a worthy companion to the earlier building. Both buildings edge the street with a narrow elevation and without a setback;

Rural Studio at Twenty 104

opposite The town hall public meeting space also hosts fire department classes and training sessions. above The town hall forms the northern edge of the courtyard (the firehouse forms the southern edge). right The town council chamber offers a view of downtown.

Newbern Town Hall 105

a conference room; and a little room for the town’s archives. We supplemented the heavy, load–bearing timber walls with drywall ceilings and partitions, into which we fitted utility rooms, storage spaces, restrooms, and closets. The overhanging roof protects the building from heavy rains and sun, while the thick walls provide insulation from the elements. Exhaust fans and hand-fabricated operable windows create ventilation, and a ductless split HVAC unit (donated by LG Electronics Commercial Air Conditioning) maintains the temperature in very hot or cold weather.

only a student team would have had the time, energy, desire, or manpower to explore. After researching cypress, the project team decided on eight-by-eightinch timbers to give the building heft and allow themselves four options for the outward-facing side of the timber. Their milling specifications controlled for shrinkage, warping, and cracking; and once the milling was finished, the students cut the wood to length, squared the ends, routed the splines, labeled all the timbers, and organized them into rows. Having talked to industry experts, the expectation was that the timber wall would shrink four inches in total height when dry. The team designed all of the building’s components and details accordingly. The doors and windows are face-mounted internally and externally, respectively—all with slotted bolt connections that allow the wood to move without stressing the glass. This construction also made it possible to leave the exposed ends of the timbers untouched. Similarly, the lightweight metal roof and structure rest atop the wall, allowing it to rise and fall, expand and contract. The interior is divided into a large meeting room, used for voting, holding classes, and a variety of gatherings; a smaller council chamber resembling

Rural Studio at Twenty 106

opposite, left and right Day and night, Fire Chief Randy Wilborn cooked on the barbecue pit for the town hall opening. above Newbern’s new civic heart is made up of the town hall and firehouse on the east side of Alabama Highway 61. Newbern Mercantile is across the street.

Newbern Town Hall 107

5'

standing seam metal roof ½" O.S.B.

2" × 8 " purlins 2" × 8 " exposed joists reclaimed 2" boards for interior finish standing seam metal rolled tar paper ½" O.S.B. .

2" ×6"

3" ×3" × ¼" hollow tubing 1" ×3" cedar rain screen ¾" nut and bolt connection corrugated galvalume roofing

½" polygal

1½" steel tubing roof truss

1" × 1 " steel tubing purlins 2" × 8 " joists

soffit vent

2" × 4" blocking 2" × 8 " wood columns

R-30 batt insulation ⅝" gypsum board

10 ga. sheet steel fascia plate

compression spring asphalt gasket

1" × 2 " plywood spline

8" × 8 " × 8 ' cypress timber

½" threaded rod continuous steel angle window frame

No. 4 rebar

¾" double insulated glass termite shield

¼" steel plate column base structural grout ¾" anchor rods 6" concrete slab

continuous concrete footing 4" concrete slab

1" rigid insulation

visqueen vapor barrier

5’ 5’ Town Hall

Firehouse

Rural Studio at Twenty 110

Students dressed eightby-eight-inch cypress timbers, each cut to length, routed, named, and readied for placement. They then tested the entrance-door beam; built the metal roof structure atop cypress walls; and gave a presentation at the Pig Roast graduation celebration.

Newbern Chapter Town / Project Hall 111

Hale County Animal Shelter

2006

Greensboro, Hale County

might work: Its form of repeating diamonds is typically curved in section and made of short off-the-shelf timbers. We especially liked this idea because wood is the most locally available sustainable material for us. To create a lamella structure, all one needs to do is set up a small jig, cut a gentle curve, and drill bolt holes for the pieces. The most difficult part, once the desired roof contour is chosen, is making a scaffold or formwork to support the structure as the pieces are put in place and before the screws are tightened. In other words, one needs to build a structure to make a structure. For the animal shelter, we made a curved-timber jig at our Newbern campus, tested it on a mock-up, and then trucked it to the site in Greensboro. We decided to use a jig on wheels despite the skepticism of our fabricator, Jim Turnipseed, who nevertheless supported us and provided materials for our endeavor. The jig was about thirty-feet wide (the width of the building) and about ten-feet long. We added hydraulic feet and placed it on a wheeled platform. The theatrical construction process went like this: Position the jig and wheel it into place for the first ten-foot section. Lift the hydraulics to the correct height. Lay timber over the jig and bolt the pieces together. Lower the hydraulics. Wheel the platform ahead ten feet. Repeat. We could have gone on building until we reached the Mississippi. A bressumer beam, ending just above the level of the door lintel, normally transfers the lamella roof load through the walls to the foundation. We varied this formula for the lamella at the animal shelter. For greater elegance and ventilation, the bressumer sits on the ground, taking the form of a grade beam, and establishes clear, secure entry at both ends of the building. We emphasized the beam and the way the structure

Hale County was obligated by state law to create and administer a public animal shelter but never seemed to have sufficient funds. When stray dogs began attacking calves and lambs and threatening humans, Probate Judge Leland Avery approached Rural Studio about building a shelter. He had some money, but not enough for an architect or a contractor. When he and Walter Allen, a county commissioner, started raising funds for building materials and staffing the shelter part-time, our students helped establish a Hale County Humane Society. The building program called for twelve large pens for dogs, twenty cages for cats, an entry office, an office with a back door entrance, a receiving area for veterinary care, inside and outside dog runs, and an outside bathing area. To save money, we insisted on natural ventilation to cool shelter areas without airconditioning, and, to respect the animals’ sleep cycles, we provided natural lighting. The animal shelter was our first lamella structure. Our experiments with lamella were a response to issues that arose in the construction of Antioch Baptist Church, Perry Lakes Bridge, and the Newbern Firehouse. These buildings all involved large-scale architectural elements that had to be craned into place, which we could afford to do only because a few generous catfish companies loaned us their cranes. We realized we needed to find a system of small, fabricated wooden pieces that we could put together without a crane. We wanted to prove we could span large spaces with such a system, that large local barns could be rebuilt without importing steel, and that large structures could be assembled by hand. Our consulting engineers and friends Anderson Inge and Tim Macfarlane suggested that a lamella structure

Rural Studio at Twenty 112

above View from Alabama Highway 14 right G. B. Woods, the shelter’s current manager, attends to animals. overleaf At the shelter’s opening, the building was likened to a museum for contemporary art—not a place for rescued animals!

Hale County Animal Shelter 113

above The entrance boardwalk allows for observation of cats and dogs. left Inside the reception office opposite Axonometric, showing detail of bressumer beam, footings, and lamella structure

Rural Studio at Twenty 116

Sited parallel to the road, the building has a strong presence. At the opening ceremony, visitors said they liked the scale and proportions and the relationship between the office box and the lamella vault, remarking that the building looked like it was for exhibits of contemporary art instead of housing unwanted animals.

touches the ground by creating a series of delicate metal feet, each of which receives two lamella arms and holds the wood structure up off the ground. We tied the lamella together and sheathed it with donated ¾-inch timber flooring, which also acts as a structural diaphragm. We then covered the resulting form in corrugated galvanized aluminum, which was very difficult to put up on the slick, sloping wood surface. Skylights in the outer shell provide even daylight and reduce glare from the ends of the building. A concrete floor with radiant heating keeps the animals warm during the colder months.

Hale County Animal Shelter 117

10’

10'

5’

ALABAMA HIGHWAY 14

4

3

1

2

1. reception office  2. animal receiving area  3. dog pens  4. observation boardwalk

Rural Studio at Twenty 118

10’

10'

Stages of construction included moving the jig to the site; building on the jig; attaching the lamella structure to the bressumer beam; sheathing the structure; and building the office.

Hale Chapter County Animal / Project Shelter 119

Akron Boys and Girls Club

2007

Akron, Hale County

structures were built in India in the 1920s, as well as a source suggesting that Palladio used a flat lamellatype bypass system to frame the central two-story space of the Villa Rotonda in Vicenza, Italy. Houston’s Astrodome uses a similar system, as do the cardboard tube–based works of Shigeru Ban. We even discovered them locally at the state fairgrounds in Jackson, Mississippi. To push the exploration of the structural system forward, we had the students reuse the jig we built for the Hale County Animal Shelter (2006)—which cost a lot and was a big investment for Rural Studio. I gave them a choice: use lamella for either the building or the basketball court. They chose the latter. The lamella structure and the adjoining rectangular building are structurally symbiotic. The horizontal gutter that connects them acts as a bressumer beam and collects all the water from both structures. The gutter raises one side of the structure to create an entry space; the

During Akron’s heyday, the Southern Crescent train used to stop in town on its way from New York City to New Orleans. Today, the Southern Crescent doesn’t stop, the railroad tracks are overgrown, and Akron has no through-road. Illegal drug-use is prevalent, and high school dropout rates are off the chart. People who have jobs work in Tuscaloosa, thirty miles away, and get home late. Until 2007, when Rural Studio completed the Boys and Girls Club, Akron’s children had no safe, supervised place to play and keep busy after school. They badly needed one. The clubhouse we built there in 2001 was one of my first projects at Rural Studio. Although the Boys and Girls Clubs of America requested we site it on publicly accessible property, we built the Akron clubhouse on private property. Mockbee had made a handshake agreement with the owner to transfer the building to the city on completion, but the owner balked when the time came. The town held out as long as it could, but after five years of stasis, it was time to chalk up the failure to experience. When we undertook a Boys and Girls Club for the second time, it was with city support on city property right across from Akron’s city hall and firehouse. The empty lot next to the proposed site looked perfect for a playground. Learning from the studio’s earlier experience, our students helped create an organizational structure for the club, raised funds, and programmed the building before starting design. The clubhouse would contain a classroom/computer lab, bathrooms, a kitchenette that opened to the outdoors, and a secured outdoor basketball court. And it would be our second experiment with lamella. In the years we spent researching and testing lamella, we discovered a historical document that described how lamella

Rural Studio at Twenty 120

opposite The first Boys and Girls Club, in Akron, built by Rural Studio in 2001 above The clubhouse, on the left, appears to lift the lamella off the ground, creating a taller space for basketball and play; at night the building acts as a lantern. right The light-filled recreation area inside the clubhouse provides a safe place to play.

Akron Boys and Girls Club 121

other side touches the ground to create a safe and secure enclosed outdoor recreation space. Two low volumes penetrate the lamella space: the kitchenette and the clubhouse entrance where the kids sign in and store their school bags. In order to make a space high enough to accommodate basketball, we enlarged the jig and tensioned the lamella pieces with wire rope, attached to metal feet with turnbuckles. The clubhouse is a simple box with stud-frame walls and a slanting roof that overhangs a south-facing clerestory that brings in natural light. Inside are the air-conditioned classroom/computer space and the naturally ventilated recreation area. The recreation

area’s high ceiling allows hot air to collect at its highest point, from which an attic fan evacuates it. The concrete floor hides a radiant heating system for winter use. Adding a touch of craft and beauty, the plywood sheets are pulled apart to expose black-colored joints creating reveals for light fixtures and outlets. Blackboard walls satisfy the kids’ desire to write on things! From the street, the enclosed volume appears to push and lift the lamella structure over to one side. The resulting facade is striking in downtown Akron, especially at night when the lighted structure acts as a big lantern.

Rural Studio at Twenty 122

opposite Downtown Akron with the Boys and Girls Club, pictured at left above After school students enjoy a game, and exercise, in the lamella basketball court. right A police car, next to city hall, keeps a watchful eye on the club.

Akron Boys and Girls Club 123

1 5

4

3

2

1. basketball court  2. recreation area  3. study center  4. entrance  5. kitchen servery

Rural Studio at Twenty 124

10’

10'

The club was originally conceived as a bookend to the town square (left). Students helped organize fund-raising yard sales and designed club T-shirts. As part of the students’ community pitch, they illustrated a day in the life of a child who might attend the club after school (below).

Akron Boys and Girls Club 125

Thomaston Rural Heritage Center

2003–4

Thomaston, Marengo County

colorful folk art to take center stage. A specially constructed wall of Mama Nem’s pepper jelly jars frames the shop entrance, which glows with orange-green light at sunset. We appropriated the wall design from Marlon Blackwell’s Moore Honey House (Marlon is a friend of and advisor to the studio). Phase two expanded and renewed the ARHC with a restaurant, more gallery space, meeting rooms, offices, and a commercial kitchen. We also rebuilt the exterior envelope and designed a giant sign to make the ARHC identifiable from the nearby highway. A cedar screen wraps and camouflages the original building. In places the screen steps away to reveal portions of the old brick walls and new entrances. The student team also designed the graphic package for the ARHF, including the “Eat Pepper Jelly” slogan that now adorns the side of Thomaston’s water tower. To finish the project, we added significant landscape elements, including new parking and an outdoor stage.

The Alabama Rural Heritage Foundation (ARHF) and Center (ARHC) were the brainchildren of Dr. Mary Jolley and Thomaston’s late mayor Patsy Sumerall. The foundation, formed in 1986 and incorporated as a nonprofit in 1990, is dedicated to preserving Alabama’s history and culture and strengthening Thomaston’s economy. Throughout the year, it hosts events in support of local agriculture and community. The ARHF is housed in the ARHC, a building that goes back to the 1950s. Rural Studio got involved in renovating the former vocational school when Jolley and Gayle Etheridge (now an office manager at Rural Studio) asked us to build an outdoor pavilion for the ARHC’s annual Pepper Jelly Festival. We thought the building itself had tremendous potential. As it happened, the ARHF had received a $190,000 economic development grant from HUD to create a consignment gift shop and a state-of-the-art commercial kitchen to make pepper jelly, a regional specialty. These improvements would support the sale of handmade Alabama products, create jobs in the jelly kitchen, and produce revenue for the center. We asked ARHF if we could undertake the whole project, rather than just the pavilion; after approval from HUD, we proposed a twophase process for the renovation. The project became the studio’s first experiment in phased construction and the first of many projects aimed at economic development. Its scale (9,500 square feet) was immense, the architectural problems were complex, and the material challenges were numerous. Phase one began with demolition and cleanup, followed by the insertion of a sixteen-by-fifty-foot modernist glass-and-steel box into the building. The glazed space contains a gallery and a gift shop. The shop’s reduced material palette allows the

Rural Studio at Twenty 126

opposite The gift shop attracts visitors. above At the center’s annual Pepper Jelly Festival, the big sign becomes the stage backdrop. right The center before construction

THOMASTON RURAL HERITAGE CENTER 127

above During the Pepper Jelly Festival, the center becomes a place for fun and food. left The glass “jewelry” box within the center contains the gift shop and offices.

Rural Studio at Twenty 128

10'

1

2

3 6 8

7

4

5 10’

10’

10'

1. gallery  2. gift shop  3. pepper jelly kitchen  4. restaurant  5. meeting room  6. office  7. vegetable cleaning  8. stage

THOMASTON RURAL HERITAGE CENTER 129

Pyramid Learning Center

2005

Marion, Perry County

Our consulting environmental engineer, Paul Stoller, pointed out the building’s main comfort issue: the external walls were not thermally efficient. We needed an inner wall to insulate the structure, and we created one that does double duty. The thickened wall of two-by-four stick-frame construction provides insulation as well as storage and study cubbies. The building’s material palette of birch plywood is very simple, the details few but carefully designed and built. Given the scale of the project, we take our greatest achievement to be the quality and sophistication of the interior finishes, such as the cubbies and the rebuilt ceiling.

Pyramid Learning Center arrived on our doorstep thanks to Judge Donald Cook (of the Perry Lakes Park project). Judge Cook recommended us to the Perry County Superintendent of Schools, John Heard, who needed to convert an old Marion elementary school into a learning center for the county’s troubled kids. The building, constructed with a wood-frame roof, masonry walls, and a concrete foundation, had been damaged in an arson attack. Although the building structure had integrity, it needed a lot of work, and Heard lacked the money to hire an architect and contractor. As a first step, Heard convinced the Department of Corrections to deploy prisoners to remove the fire-damaged roof and replace it with plywood and metal. The rest of the project was then for the most part an interior fit out. We stripped out the interior load-bearing walls and replaced them with glulam beams, leaving a big open space of about five thousand square feet. Realizing how much space was now available, the student team doubled the program the client was expecting. They divided the plan into two areas: a teaching-resource section and an alternative school. Separating the two areas is an island containing a kitchen, offices, toilets, and storage. By cutting skylights into the roof, we brought natural light into the island.

Rural Studio at Twenty 130

opposite and above In the teacher resource center, children with challenges focus on their studies. right The original burned-out shell of the center

Pyramid Learning Center 131

10’ 5' 5’

1

5 4

5

3 2

1. teacher resource center  2. classroom  3. study cubbies  4. kitchen  5. offices

Rural Studio at Twenty 132

10'

above In the well-lit main classroom learning space, students pay attention to their teacher; the wall behind them contains study cubbies and storage.

Pyramid Learning Center 133

Hale County Hospital Courtyard

2006

Greensboro, Hale County

dominant element. To make its structure disappear, we used sheets of expanded metal, folded the edges for stability, and bolted them together to form a continuous screen. Today, the trellis is covered with a blanket of blooming jasmine. The student team got to know the client really well. For the duration of the project, the hospital allowed Nathan Faust, one of the team members, to live in room 130, with an up-and-down-electronic hospital bed, free TV, three square meals a day, and cleaning service. All free of charge!

Renovating Hale County Hospital’s courtyard was one of Rural Studio’s most successful but smallest and least-known projects. Funding came from both the hospital and the studio, and hospital staff members raised additional money by selling metal name plates that we affixed to new benches in the courtyard. Barren, hot, and dry when it was not flooded, the hospital’s outdoor courtyard provided neither shade nor shelter for the sidewalk connecting the two ends of the C-shaped building. As a result, patients had to be wheeled all the way around the building. Our primary goal was to add a covered walkway to connect the hospital’s two ends. We wanted, in addition, to satisfy the staff’s request for a shady garden and water feature without burdening the hospital with a lot of maintenance. Students began by laying drainage pipes to siphon building runoff that had been emptying into the courtyard. Then they configured the new outdoor space, which includes a fish pond, a canopy linking the ends of the hospital, a confederate jasmine–covered trellis, a locally propagated bamboo grove, and a small lawn (jokingly named “the putting green” for the hospital executive!). The plan’s four “rooms” are very different, and they are arranged to provide visual surprises. The walking surface is made of chipped and crushed brick, bonded with a chemical resin. Chosen for its density and its ability to dampen the noise of wall-mounted air-conditioning units, bamboo closes off the courtyard’s open side. We used two types of planters. The Cor-Ten steel planter, with cables bracing the sides, is strong enough to support the soil and prevent the bamboo from spreading. The marble planter was salvaged mostly from discarded material used for tombstones. A large trellis provided the little garden’s

Rural Studio at Twenty 134

opposite The walkway linking the hospital’s grounds is shaded and surrounded by a dense bamboo planter. above Hospital staff and visitors enjoy the new courtyard and fish pond. right The hospital courtyard before its transformation

Hale County Hospital Courtyard 135

10’

10'

4

2

1 3

1. “putting green” lawn  2. jasmine-covered trellis  3. fish pond  4. bamboo grove and canopied walkway

Rural Studio at Twenty 136

10'

Students work to figure out the courtyard drainage, cut the marble with a guillotine-like tool, and build the marble planter bed.

Hale County Chapter Hospital / Project Courtyard 137

Safe House Black History Museum

2010

Greensboro, Hale County

threatened to damage the boards beyond repair, so we applied an unobtrusive gray paint. We extended the back of both buildings to gain space and clad the additions in cypress. For visual continuity, we replaced both roofs. We marked the transition from old to new on the exterior by a slight change in the eaves, which are more delicate and modern on the additions. Inside, the new structures are distinguished by cathedral ceilings and concrete floors with subsurface heating. In refurbishing the museum, our students removed an office and rebuilt the front porch as it existed in King’s time. They replaced the flooring with reclaimed heart pine and reorganized the exhibits into chronological order for self-guidance. Mug shots of arrested protestors of the time line the walls. Also on view is a filmed interview with Burroughs. The community building next door houses administrative offices and meeting space. As in the museum, the students replaced the flooring with old heart pine

On the night of March 21, 1968, Martin Luther King Jr. sought refuge from the Ku Klux Klan inside a small shotgun-style home in Greensboro’s Depot neighborhood, a historically poor black neighborhood where little has changed since the 1960s. Rural Studio’s refurbishment of the house and its next-door neighbor for the Safe House Black History Museum celebrates the rural roots and local people involved in the Civil Rights movement of the 1950s and 1960s. One of the movement’s former foot soldiers, Theresa Burroughs, a Greensboro native, is the museum’s founder. It was her family that kept King safe on that fateful night two weeks before his assassination. The studio began with two side-by-side shotgun houses. The corner house, the one in which King spent a night, is the museum. We call its twin the community building. A delicate renovation/rehabilitation project such as this would have demanded the skills of mature architects. We needed to tread lightly and respect the integrity of the small space and the spirit of its organization; it had worked very well since 1991 without our well-meaning help. It was also important to respect the needs of the museum’s aging founder and membership. For this reason, the two buildings should require as little maintenance as possible, and the exhibit should be self-guided and self-explanatory. To simplify the management of the side-by-side buildings, we wanted a single access and control point, and we would add only as much space as was absolutely necessary. Finally, the homespun quality of the existing exhibit had to be preserved. The studio returned the two buildings as close to their original appearance as possible. We initially wanted to strip the paint to the boards to match the buildings’ appearance in old photos, but doing so

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opposite Museum founder Theresa Burroughs’s family kept Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. safe at the house shortly before his death. above The museum entrance courtyard and ramp, with the community building and gallery at left

right The two houses before reconstruction overleaf The glass walkway connecting the museum and community building features an image of the Selma to Montgomery march.

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above The front of the renovated shotgun houses, new museum (at left) and community building and art gallery extension (at right) left The original walls are carefully exposed in the community building. opposite The new gallery is devoted to local artists’ work.

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Linking the buildings is an enclosed walkway with insulated glass walls bearing a full-scale memorial image of King and his followers marching from Selma to Montgomery. The outdoor corridor creates a courtyard used for community events that opens toward the neighborhood. All visitors proceed from the parking lot, ascend an accessible entrance ramp, deliberately designed to signify a message of equality, into the museum and then through the glazed walkway and into the gallery, reaffirming the acts of the ghostly marchers.

but repurposed the original floor structure as sliding doors. In stripping the wallpaper and layers of drywall and hardboard, they discovered beautiful multicolored walls, which we were able to keep with the client’s consent. Burroughs liked the walls’ texture and dense patina. The addition to the community building houses a gallery for exhibiting local artists’ work. For the Safe House Museum’s opening, the gallery displayed art owned by African-American collector Paul R. Jones. Shortly thereafter, works by well-known Selma, Alabama, artist Charlie Lucas went on view. The idea is to tempt visitors back with a rotation of distinctive shows.

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1. museum entrance  2. safe house museum  3. walkway connector  4. gallery  5. community room  6. office

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The redesigned exhibit content allows for a selfguided tour (top right). The museum’s airy exhibition space is in contrast to the previous cramped displays (top). As shown above, the walls are lined with images of locals who were arrested in 1960s Civil Rights protests.

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Perry Lakes Park

2002–5

Marion, Perry County

We responded by giving them three unusual and innovative restrooms that celebrate the landscape. We also raised the money to build a footbridge, opening the east side of the park to the public for the first time. The birding tower was our final project for the park. Finding a common aesthetic for the four structures, built by four different student teams, was a major design challenge. To a large extent, the aesthetic emerged from the basic materials palette—galvanized metal, stainless steel, and cedar and cypress—raised off the ground on concrete and chosen to endure the region’s soaking rains and humidity. The Perry Lakes Park project was a first for Rural Studio in many ways: it was our first large-scale landscape project and our first attempt at creating a fluid strategic plan to be revisited, reevaluated, and tweaked every year. It was also the first project we built in more than two phases, a process that allowed us to proceed with limited funds by tackling one small piece at a time. After finishing our work at the park we have returned each year to check on the projects and make any needed repairs.

The Civilian Conservation Corps used mules and wagons to create the six-hundred-acre Perry Lakes Park outside Marion in the mid 1930s. It is the only publicly owned outdoor recreation space in one of Alabama’s poorest counties. Among the park’s attractions are three oxbow lakes; cypress and tupelo swamps; and the largest sandbar on the Cahaba River—a good place for swimming and picnicking. The park had been closed for decades when Probate Judge Donald Cook and other local officials became determined to reopen it to the public, and approached Rural Studio for help. Our client, the Perry Lakes Park Board, included Judge Cook; Judson College biology professor Thomas Wilson; the mayor of Marion, Ed Daniels; county commissioners Albert Turner and Johnny Flowers; and representatives from the Alabama Power Company and the Fisheries and Wildlife Commission. We started with $110,000 in public money to reopen the park with a pavilion, restrooms, trails, and roads. These projects were motivated in large part by a wish to show the public the beautiful landscape Judge Cook showed me during a magical tour of the park in his four-wheeldrive jeep. The client decided that the first project should have enough visual impact to attract good press and advertise the reopening of the park. We agreed and went to work on the pavilion. It was no easy task, though: the first group of students had to use machetes to do the exploratory work. The politicians loved the completed pavilion (Mayor Daniels even carried a picture of it in his wallet). At that point, board members told us they had $50,000 for prefabricated restrooms but that they wanted something better. They asked us to design and provide the labor for facilities that would be “unique.”

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120’

5

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1. parking  2. restrooms and walkway  3. cedar pavilion  4. covered bridge  5. birding tower and walkway  6. oxbow lakes

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Perry lakes park

Phase 1: Cedar Pavilion

2002

going so far as to align square screw heads perpendicular to each other. A few days later, I joined the students working on the deck, and one of them, Mary Beth Maness, stood behind me, observed my work, and then scolded me for not lining up the screws perpendicular to one another! The ceiling proved more difficult. First, we had to stand on scaffolding to work on it. Second, ensuring a flat, shiny surface required attaching the aluminum to a hard plywood substratum. We were not certain how the metal would look when screwed to the substrate: would it buckle when hung? But the effect made the hard, time-consuming work worth it. The indirect light reflected by the pillowed ceiling is gorgeous.

The program for the pavilion was simple: a big roof under which to celebrate weddings, family reunions, birthdays, and the like. As the first phase of a large project, however, the pavilion would establish the strategy student teams would follow in subsequent phases. Indeed, we followed the pavilion team’s recommendations for the placement of the three restrooms, the parking lot, and the walkway through the forest. Although many people wanted the pavilion sited at the water’s edge, the students decided to place it in an old picnic area, where they eventually uncovered barbecue pits, fireplaces, and benches from the 1930s. They wanted the structure to be overtly modern, yet for the materials to be “of the park,” durable, and relatively impervious to the damp. Cedar timbers, donated by the late writer Mary Ward Brown from her property, were chosen for the floor and benches, concrete for the foundation, and aluminum for the ceiling. The students cut down Ms. Brown’s trees, transported them to a mill, and chose a dimension to cut the timbers, based largely on the number of pieces the mill owner could get out of the tree. As a result, the timbers were an unconventional size. When the students saw how much lumber was wasted, they invented a use for it. They lined the formwork for the column footing with bark, creating beautifully textured footings that look extruded from the ground. The students also chipped the leftover wood into mulch and spread it under the pavilion—the odor keeps mosquitoes away. We built the pavilion as a series of layers: footings, platform, columns, roof. The students laid the platform above the hundred-year-flood level, so it doubles as a bench at its edges. One day, I jokingly told the team how one of my former Chicago colleagues treated everything he made as a piece of furniture,

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opposite and above A gathering beneath the pavilion’s roof plane, whose aluminum surface creates beautiful light reflections right The two planes: cedar deck and aluminum-clad roof

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The cedar trees were milled and the waste wood became the formwork for the textured column footings.

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Canoeing the oxbow lakes, collecting silt (above right) from the site, and figuring out the pavilion’s location for a one-hundred-year flood

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Meeting the client at the site, interviewing the bird watchers, and checking the scale and position of the pavilion roof in its new home before construction started

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Perry lakes park

Phase 2: Restrooms and Walkway

2003

Another Perry Lakes Park first was creating our own fabrication shop drawings for the project. The fabrication of the cords and the connection points was donated; so, to save the fabricator time and money, we came up with a great set of shop drawings, spelling out everything clearly and professionally. We now routinely make careful shop drawings for our fabricators.

As one might expect, the cedar walkway provides a way into and through the forest to the pavilion. It is accessible to all visitors, those in wheelchairs as well as those on foot. The idea for the restrooms was to offer something totally unconventional. We wanted the three toilets to be fun, and we wanted each to offer a unique view and experience of the landscape. The result: one toilet is a tower and frames a sky view; one is long and looks out on a single tree; and the third is wedged inside a mound. One day when I was at the park, our client, Judge Donald Cook, was there with a group of visiting probate judges from all over Alabama. They were running in and out of the restrooms flushing the toilets and giggling, totally amused by their potty humor. The toilets caught their imaginations! Like the pavilion, each little building touches the ground with textured concrete foundations. The toilets took three times longer to build than the much larger pavilion, because each was built like a piece of furniture. We used composite aluminum and wood trusses, and we put them in place without cutting down trees or using an expensive crane. The lightweight truss cords on four sides of the tower and on the long, horizontal toilet are anodized aluminum. Wood webbing attached to the cords allowed us to affix wood cladding. One of the students, Melissa Sullivan, convinced a retired sheet-metal worker to bring a metal break and do the installation on all three toilets. As a result, the restrooms feature some of the best sheet-metal work the studio has ever done. Unfortunately, the choice of stainless-steel toilets, though indestructible, proved unwise. The flush valves clog easily, and the toilets tend to flush continuously, wasting water. They are also too specialized for the local plumbers to fix easily.

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opposite The approach from the parking area to the three restrooms, showing the tower toilet (left), long toilet (center), and mound toilet (right) above The walkway leading to the pavilion

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above The long toilet reaches out to embrace a nearby tree. right The mound toilet is located closest to the parking lot.

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opposite Views from the three toilets: the mound (top), the long toilet (bottom left), and the tower (bottom right)

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Perry lakes park

Phase 3: Covered Bridge

2004

across the creek, we precast on the road and ferried over with a Bobcat, one at a time. Each block is equal to the maximum load limit of the Bobcat. This is a classic example of building methods impacting a project’s aesthetic. We covered the bridge to avoid worrying about corrosion, painting, and maintenance and sloped the roof to shed water, falling leaves, and tree branches. To minimize the visual impact of the horizontal streak the bridge would create in a vertical forest, we covered the structure with salvaged, rusted tin that camouflages the bridge and gives it the look of a longtime fixture in the environment. Starkly visible in winter, it all but disappears in summer and mimes burnt leaves in autumn, beautifully integrating into the landscape year-round.

The elegant pedestrian wooden bridge is one of the first sights a visitor sees from the park’s entry road. The bridge is meant to grab peoples’ attention and make them want to cross to the park’s east side, which was inaccessible before the bridge was built. The project marked the beginning of our collaboration with engineers Anderson Inge and Joe Farruggia, who follow the full design and construction process, consulting with the students on both conceptual design and project details. The bridge’s installation was choreographed by the student team to take six hours on a Saturday morning. The trusses that support the walking surface were built in a parking lot a half mile away. To get the trusses to the site, we had to hitch them to trailer axles and tow them, running behind the truck with ropes to keep the trusses from dragging on the ground. To position the components, Crane Works in Birmingham offered us the free use of a mammoth crane on the condition that the drivers, who happened to be transporting the equipment from New Orleans to Birmingham, were paid for their time on-site. That crane was so big it had its own eighteen-wheel truck as a counterweight, for which the county had to build a special dirt platform. We used dense cypress instead of cedar for the structure. The tension connections that bridge the span are of composite wood and metal webbing and cords. The concrete footings on each side of the stream counterbalance the cantilevered end trusses. The footings also visually define the entrance and are greatly oversized on the entry side; on the lakeside they appear much smaller. On the lakeside each tie-down is a counterweight of four concrete blocks, which, because we could not get a concrete truck

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opposite The bridge breaks through the trees and signifies the entrance to the east side of the park. above The walkway hangs from the roof structure. right The rusty tin roof protects the structure from the elements and reduces the need for maintenance.

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The student team forms the concrete entrance walls and brings the trusses to the site, lifting them into place.

Consultant Anderson Inge’s conceptual structural sketch (above) and a detail of how the roof structure meets the concrete entrance wall (right)

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Perry lakes park

Phase 4: Birding Tower and Walkway

2005

regalvanized. Dismantling the old structure revealed the brilliance of its engineering. Erected without a crane, the whole thing was bolted together, and horizontal elements gave the builders a place to stand and install braces for the next sections of the truss. Reflecting on our experience ferrying concrete blocks in a Bobcat for the covered bridge, we elected not to use a concrete foundation. The students decided that we should support the tower structure in a manner less invasive to the ecotone and the forest. The tower is secured with helical anchors that have six-to-eight-foot extensions; four anchors at each corner are corkscrewed into the ground at an angle. They are drilled to a depth of twenty-four feet into the ground, so we could position the tower close to a swamp (a feat that would have been impossible with a concrete foundation). Ideal for soft ground, helical anchors also manage the uplift and lateral wind loads on the tower. We employed a pneumatic impact wrench to replace the original bolts, and added new cypress steps. The students had raised around $20,000 by selling the original stairs and platforms and inscribing each buyer’s name on a new step. They widened the original landings to create viewing platforms and passing space for visitors on their way up or down the stairs. Also new are the railing enclosures and lateral reinforcements for the back of the stairs. Everything else was reused from the old tower, a testament to how well it was made in the 1930s.

Perry Lakes Park is on a major migratory path, and local politicians were keen to attract birding tourists who, by all accounts, spend lavishly on their sport. A birding tower would have to be a hundred feet high to create views above the tree canopy. Though understandably nervous about tourists climbing a onehundred-foot tower, commissioners and politicians were positive about the impact of birding tourism on the county. They had the courage to move ahead with the tower project and the students helped word warning signs to limit the county’s liability. The first important decision the project team made was locating the tower’s base. We used an eightyfoot scissor lift to reconcile what we wanted visitors to find at the top with the conditions we had to work with on the ground. We next had to decide on materials. Our initial instinct was to build the tower with wood from trees felled by a hurricane of the previous autumn, but wood wouldn’t let us build the tower high enough. Then John Forney, a Rural Studio advisor and previous outreach professor, suggested we reuse a decommissioned fire tower and it was settled. When we bought an old fire tower for the princely sum of $10, I realized that I had agreed to a potentially dangerous project. The solution was to get the team trained and certified to deconstruct and erect fire towers. I sent the students to find the best available teacher and told them we’d decide whether to go forward with the project once they were certified. When the time came to put the issue to a vote, the safety teacher voted yes. I left the decision to the students and they made the right one, even with two team members being terribly frightened of heights! We then took the tower down, labeled each part, and trucked the pieces to Birmingham to be

opposite Viewed from the oxbow lake the tower blends into the forest.

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The cedar walkway winds its way across the ecotone at the side of the swamp, framing a series of views of the lakes and the landscape. The walkway takes you away from the tower, so it comes as a surprise when you stumble upon it in the dense woodland. The project’s most beautiful piece of design is the continuous tubular handrail that extends from the start of the zigzag walkway to the tower’s top of the tower. Birders, or those frightened of heights, can do the whole climb without ever letting go of the rail. Like any observation tower, this birding tower’s success ultimately rests on the views, which open across Alabama’s Black Belt for miles, over oxbow lakes and tupelo swamps, and are definitely worth the climb.

above, left The platforms were enlarged from their original size to allow visitors to pause and pass each other when ascending and descending. above, right The view from the top, of the west Alabama landscape of cypress and tupelo swamps, is breathtaking. opposite The zigzag walkway dances across the ecotone.

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The tower in its original location; students training on the tower they found; students as certified tower erectors and deconstructors; and students installing the helical foundation anchors

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Lions Park

2006–today

Greensboro, Hale County

when we discussed providing parking at the front edge of the park, Hale County Probate Judge Leland Avery said he could use road-building funds to widen a road for diagonal parking if each owner deeded a slender piece of property to the county. It worked and the extra parking exists today. We outlined a flexible strategic plan with phases, as we had for Perry Lakes Park, which allowed us to make changes along the way and take advantage of unanticipated opportunities. At the outset of each phase, the team would revisit the strategic plan, sometimes to modify it, always to see how their individual project would best fit into the project landscape. The process did not always offer instant gratification, but over time it has allowed us to create a remarkable place.

In 1999, the Lions Park Committee approached Rural Studio for help in re-envisioning their Greensboro landmark. The forty-acre site, originally designated as a recreational park, had been unsuccessfully recast as an industrial park. Today, only a handful of industrial buildings remain on the site. The committee decided to reinvest in the park’s recreational designation. For Rural Studio, supporting this investment was appealing because Lions Park is one of the rare communities in Greensboro that has spontaneously integrated its black and white populations. In fact, local judge Sonny Ryan told us he considered Lions Park the studio’s most important project, if only because it united so many different communities. In 1999 we had declined the job, having no experience with large landscape projects. But by 2005 we had completed Perry Lakes Park and knew we could tackle the project if we broke it down into phases. Rehabilitating Lions Park was nonetheless a daunting task. On our first visit, we found the park marred by acres of chain link, scattered lights, and light poles. A road split the property in two—the park had no center—and the ball fields were arranged in an ad hoc fashion. This project would involve building infrastructure, moving earth, planting trees, and much more. The Lions Park Committee was made up of representatives from the park’s three owners: Hale County, the City of Greensboro, and the Lions Club. Having three clients had its disadvantages and its benefits. It could be difficult to determine who was responsible for a given aspect of the project, especially when it came to maintenance. On the other hand, we had the opportunity to work with many sectors of local society and it also meant that we could pool resources and agreements to solve many problems. For example,

below Lions Park before the multiphase restoration

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BEFORE

PHASE 1

PHASES 2–3

PHASE 4

120’

120'

Phase 1. baseball fields Phase 2. surfaces and restrooms  Phase 3. skate park and concession stand Phase 4. playground

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Lions Park

Phase 1: Baseball Fields

2006

that fly into them. The dugouts look folded or sculpted, and they give kids some privacy from their parents. For the earth moving, we hired subcontractors who were familiar with catfish pond excavation technology. They scraped off the topsoil, stockpiled it, graded to the desired level, and replaced the topsoil. When we saw the leftover topsoil pushed into mounds, we got the idea of using mounds for game-watching perches and later for area dividers. We chose a single primary color, yellow, for the signage that punctuates the special areas of the park. The Alabama Department of Transportation donated yellow 3M adhesive, which is tough and durable, and we used it for the names spelled out on the dugouts to commemorate favorites who had played ball at Lions Park in the past.

The first phase of the Lions Park project consisted of designing and installing six baseball fields and backstops, plus lighting, grading, drainage, and irrigation. At the start, we had $100,000 cash to work with as part of a $500,000 grant assembled from commitments from Baseball Tomorrow, Auburn University, students’ and consultants’ time, as well as from funds raised locally by Lions Club representatives Don Ballard and Bill Hemstreet. Our strategic plan allotted a quarter of the park to the ball fields. The place where the home plates converged would become the park’s center and main public space: Grand Central, we called it. Blessed with two ancient oak trees, Grand Central was the hub of a wheel whose spokes formed the edges of playing fields. To the north, one of the spokes splits into two access roads, one for service vehicles, the other leading to the not-so-beautiful Hale County Extension office building. We couldn’t demolish the building, so we folded its so-called pavilion into Grand Central. The best aspect of Grand Central is that from it parents can watch their kids play on different fields at the same time. Over a period of two years, our students demolished the existing tennis courts and ball fields. They phased the work to allow play to continue on two fields. They closed all vehicular access to the park, making it harder for vandals to get in and cause damage. Although we discussed tearing out the raggedy asphalt early on, we decided to enhance rather than replace it for the sake of cost. Where it bounded the ball fields, the students cut crisp edges with a concrete saw, and they carefully filled the backstop post holes to maintain clean lines. They reused chain link for the backstops, which they hung without horizontal members to eliminate eye-level railings and to cushion the balls

opposite In the backstops and angular roofed dugouts the chain link is hung vertically without horizontals that would intrude on the field of vision. overleaf The baseball fields are also used by the Pee-Wee football league, which is awaiting the completion of its field and lights at Lions Park.

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above From Grand Central a parent can see all the ball fields at once. left Dugouts bear the names of former Lions Park players.

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Students graded the fields and mocked up the backstops and dugouts after many meetings with the Lions Park committee.

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Lions Park

Phase 2: Surfaces and Restrooms

2007

The restrooms team was charged with completing four toilets and a family bathroom, hand-washing stations, a cleaning closet, an electrical closet, a performance stage, and pavilion lighting. The students began by installing upright corrugated, galvanized culvert pipes to capture water from the Grand Central pavilion roof, to be used for flushing toilets. When needed, city water supplements the water in the culverts, which are connected at their base; any surplus water flows into the bioswale. The culverts became an adjunct to a performance stage, which visitors reach via a ramp and stair wedged between the culverts and the restrooms’ concrete walls. An open-ended corridor guides visitors to the restroom stalls, providing two ways out for folks that are wary of strangers. The restrooms are made from prefabricated tilt-up concrete panels. The students erected and bolted the panels on site and topped them with wooden structures that wrap down to form heavy industrial pivot doors. When a toilet isn’t in use, the door automatically falls open, signaling that the stall is empty and allowing the toilet to dry out after cleaning. When our large handmade door locks proved too difficult for kids to use, we swapped them out for conventional snub locks that can be opened from the outside in emergencies. The sinks are heavy-duty cast concrete; the faucets, controlled by foot pedals, feature perforated bent-copper pipes. We managed to repeat our mistake (made at Perry Lakes Park) of specifying specialized stainless-steel toilets that are difficult to repair! However, the restrooms generally require little maintenance and have proven extraordinarily durable and vandal-proof.

In an effort to give the project momentum, we put two teams to work at Lions Park in 2006–7. One team built new restrooms, the other so-called surfaces team constructed new entrances, refurbished surfaces, and designed benches, trash cans, and other small-scale amenities for the park. The surfaces team created a graphic identity for the park. Concrete benches introduced a robust, durable language for the entire park’s furniture. Concrete “sticks,” which turn into benches and trash cans, run horizontally and vertically throughout the park. They camouflage utility lines while forming a “river of sticks” from the entrance to Grand Central and beyond. In dialogue with the metal gates, the sticks lend the park aesthetic continuity, furthered by the pattern of plantings throughout. The surfaces team positioned flowering trees at the front edge of the park and shade trees in the rear, and each subsequent team selected and added new vegetation. The pedestrian and car entrances to the park are marked by handmade gates of various sizes. The surfaces team welded and folded the metal gates, using concrete stanchions as supports. For the largest gates, they had the help of Joe Aplin Sr., an expert welder and the father of one of our students. Letters spelling Lions Park are sandwiched between cords and act as structural webbing. It was a significant challenge to keep the letter spacing wide enough for kids to climb through. To deter cars from entering the grounds, we dug a deep bioswale at the front edge, separating the parking lot from the park. The swale’s plants and rocks clean the rainwater before it enters the city’s groundwater system. Land-bridge walkways are edged by a lighted bench, which doubles as a nighttime wayfinding aid for pedestrians.

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above Lions Park entrance gates right Concrete “sticks” camouflage utility trenches and connections. At Grand Central, they transform into benches, tables, and even trash can holders.

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above Toilets are enclosed by tiltup, bolt-together durable concrete panels. Doors are built of cedar. opposite, top Culvert pipes catch and store water from the roof of the extension office; the water in the culverts flushes the toilets.

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Lions Park

Phase 3: Skate Park and Concession Stand

2009

They consist of concrete strips that begin at the front of the skate park and terminate in the bowl. Casting the bowl and peel ups provided another opportunity for the student team to defy expectations while developing a real feel for their materials. Instead of hiring a Shotcrete contractor, the students came up with their own technique. They fashioned the complex curves by throwing four-inch strips of stiff low-slump concrete into laser-cut plywood formwork, adding a retardant to prevent quick setting. Having shaped the terrain with soil, they laid the concrete strips over it and emphasized the edges, allowing them to visually peel up to reveal their thinness. Concrete wasn’t the only material the students learned to master. They used Cor-Ten steel for the grinding walls, eliminating the need for paint on a surface that receives rough treatment. The local kids have taken ownership of the skate park; so far, knock on wood, you’ll find no graffiti here. We warned the kids that graffiti could easily close down the park, as has happened across the South. Skaters get a bad rap. Normally, they are physically beautiful, healthy kids. They have been a good addition to the park. The concession stand is the financial lifeblood of the Greensboro Baseball Association. Its primary location is under the two old oak trees in Grand Central, but it had to be movable throughout the park. The project team put the stand on wheels and gave it a docking station with hookups for water and electricity. Visitors buy their food from the stand’s “mouth,” which can be closed and secured after hours. A motorized winch opens and closes the top of the mouth, automatically shutting off when the stand is completely open or closed. Credit for the winch idea goes

Before the skate park and concession stand teams began their respective projects, they revisited the strategic plan and found room for a second basketball court, a Pee-Wee football field, and a secondary social hub we call the Great Lawn. They enclosed the Great Lawn with earth mounds and cleaned up the existing barbecue pit to anchor the space. They created a new parking lot at the western entry to the park and edged it with mounded earth and ditches to demarcate the spaces; the additional lot means less crowding at evening ball games. The new team wanted the skate park to be a visual surprise in the larger landscape, so they camouflaged the big bowl. From a distance, one sees only an earth mound and kids flying out of it on their skateboards. The team also included practice areas for less experienced skaters. The skate park connects various areas of the larger park—kids can now skate from the bowl to the front parking lot, a path we came to call the “skate trail.” The skate park, funded by Tony Hawk Foundation, attracts skaters from Atlanta, Birmingham, Meridian, Mississippi, and elsewhere. The huge poured-in-place concrete structure was a big challenge for Rural Studio and especially for the three-person design and construction team. The entire studio helped place and pour the concrete; the skate park team did the finishing with aplomb— consulting engineer Joe Farruggia suggested the work was better than professional work he had seen in some Chicago parks. Ignoring the doubts expressed by various concrete contractors, the student team made a quick study of the craft of concrete by starting small. They mocked up the front edge of the skate trail and proceeded from there to develop a series of six-footwide trails that a team of three could construct.

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above The concrete was poured as a four-inch slab in a series of strips over dirt mounds. right The bowl is hidden within a dirt mound.

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5' 5’ 5’

flat-seam and interlocking joints for the sheathing and fixed it to the skull structure with screws and hidden clips. To meet Hale County’s Health Department standards, the team added a screen door between cooking and serving areas for use when the concession stand is docked and open for business. The serving area is raised, so volunteers who staff the stand have the best view of the ball fields; and the counter level is high enough to prevent little fingers from swiping goodies!

to Jim Crabbe, a plumber and one of my former architecture students at the University of Illinois, Chicago. The opening and closing of the mouth is a piece of theater that works well in the Lions Park landscape. Our friend, the steel supplier and contractor Jim Turnipseed, donated materials, as he did for our lamella experiments. He also allowed the team to fabricate the concession stand’s roof (“the skull”) in his shop with the help of his workers. After the students finished the tubular steel skull, they took it by trailer to Freemans, a sheet-metal fabrication shop in Tuscaloosa. Freemans fabricated the galvanizedaluminum sheathing for the structure, which the students then installed in the shop’s yard. They used

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above The concession stand’s mouth opens to let staffers see the baseball fields over the heads of customers. right Although Grand Central is the stand’s primary home, it is on wheels and can be moved. The mouth closes to secure the equipment when the games end.

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The skate park was poured in six-foot-wide concrete strips, allowing the student team to manage the scale of the pours. The strips, or trails, also became the driving aesthetic of the project.

Models exploring the shape of the stand’s mouth (left). Diagrams helped explain the winch mechanism, for opening and closing the mouth, to the client.

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The entire studio helped the skate park team place the concrete. The three-person student team executed the concrete finishing with professional competence.

The concession team moved the stand’s skull from Turnipseed’s fabrication workshop. They put the pieces together and installed the metal cladding at Freemans sheet metal shop in Tuscaloosa.

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Lions Park

Phase 4: Playground

2010

and lowered the roof into place. Welded into a single piece, the roof acts as a big hybrid space-frame truss, offering a horizontal structural diaphragm that ties the whole together. To admit light through the roof and provide views of the sky, we cut off the tops and bottoms of certain barrels; but we had to be careful about how and where we broke the diaphragm. Farruggia stepped in and figured out how many tops and bottoms we could remove without compromising the roof’s structural integrity. The system is clever because it utilizes only one material, one detail, a welder, a calibrating level, and a crane. But it was perhaps the most labor-intensive process ever undertaken by Rural Studio. To give you an idea, we used three thousand barrels and each barrel required eight welds. It was a monotonous, souldestroying building process. The project team was tough: three girls and a guy. It went like this: dig hole, cover ground with landscape fabric to kill weeds, fill hole with gravel to prevent barrels from touching the ground and eventually rotting out, tamp and level gravel, insert barrel, level barrel, check that it’s level at four weld points, take barrel out, level gravel again until barrel is level. Repeat this process 2,999 times in heat, cold, and rain. We call the playground a “playscape,” not just because of its size and spatial integration in the landscape, but also because it terminates the axis that extends from Grand Central and signals a destination. In addition, the rubberized floor beneath the welded roof undulates, forming a sunken room to the west and opening up to the drainage valley and forest to the south. Finally, a mound on the south side of the playscape offers a good perch from which parents can watch their kids and view the entire park.

Rural Studio demolished the park’s existing playground during the first phase of the project. For the new playground, we had nothing but dirt and couldn’t afford concrete, but we were envisioning large-scale mazes and tunnels as play spaces. We wanted to create something that would spark kids’ imaginations and be a one-stop mother-of-all-adventures playground. The solution to our problem arrived when Steve Badanes, our consultant on design/build matters, showed up at our annual Soup Roast Review with one of his protégés, Damon Smith of I.P. Callison. Damon offered to donate an unlimited supply of fifty-fivegallon, high-grade galvanized barrels. Smith’s barrels, manufactured in India, were filled in the United States with mint oil that is subsequently used in chewing gum and toothpaste. By giving us the barrels, Smith’s company was able to avoid crushing and recycling them, as mandated by industry standards. Individually, the barrels are ugly; when aggregated, they take on a certain beauty. We arranged them to make a maze of rooms and corridors on spongy flooring made from recycled tires. We then tested the barrels for heat retention in the sun: plastic playground furniture definitely gets hotter, but the barrels would still need to be cooled. We ruled out filling them with water or sand and settled on building a roof—I called it a “permanent cloud.” With the help of our regular consulting engineer, Joe Farruggia, we came up with a structural system of columns placed between the barrels. We anchored the columns with a collar that attaches to four adjacent barrels and welded the roof barrels together at their tangents. Once assembled on the ground, we lifted the roof with a catfish boom truck, welded a second collar on each column,

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above The playground engages with the surrounding terrain; the barrels run as a relentless horizontal plane, and spaces are created as the ground falls away. right Kids play in the mazes and tunnels created by barrels. overleaf The barrel structures also give new life to conventional play equipment.

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10'

10’

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The playground has some 24,000 welds. The roof was load tested to code and lifted into place with a catfish boom truck. The barrels were welded to a sleeve that simply slid down the structural column.

10'

10’

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Lions Park

Phase 5: Scout Hut and Park in the Park

2012

management system to eliminate the ditches where water pools and to direct water toward new stands of trees. In developing a strategic plan for irrigation, the students first pinpointed the movement of water across the park. They created rain gardens in the center of the park where water already collects and is landlocked by infrastructure. They then sought to improve the irrigation of trees and grasses by constructing large earth mounds and lowering other areas through a simple cut-and-fill process. The mounds also accommodate seating for spectators of the PeeWee football and soccer fields. On the other side of the mound is a field we lowered for water collection and planted with tall grasses. Reshaping the topography is an uncomplicated way of directing water to trees and new plants and then off the site into a natural drainage basin. Managing water distribution through natural means also reduces maintenance requirements. Lions Park is now clearly divided into regular high-maintenance /  high-mow areas and low-maintenance / low-mow areas. The final intervention was planting groves of shade trees, which further define and integrate the park’s many outdoor programs. It might be twenty-five years before these groves provide the desired shade and the original vision for Lions Park comes to fruition: any affordable landscape strategy requires patience. Our commitment to Lions Park continues. As we go to press, we are incorporating a series of exercise stations along the forest walking trail. We are also helping to facilitate the hand over of the entire property to the city of Greensboro and to negotiate the design and funding of a Parks and Recreation Board that will manage all the city parks for years to come.

During this latest phase of the Lions Park project, Rural Studio created a Scout Hut, installed new public restrooms at the west entrance, and devised a strategy for landscaping all the park’s in-between spaces. To keep up our momentum after six years of working in the park, we put two teams to work on the project. Our first task was designing a home in the park for Greensboro Scout Troop 13 and Cub Pack 13, which are based at Lions Park. The scouts had been clearing undergrowth, weed whacking, and bush hogging there for a number of years, but they had been working without an identifiable headquarters. For the Scouts, the new building would serve to increase membership and diversity. It would be a place to host meetings and celebratory events. The Scout Hut contains a kitchen, restroom, storage, and space for two towing trailers, used by the Scouts for adventure trips. In section, the simple rectangular structure’s symmetrical roof truss appears weighed down by heavy saddlebags of loblolly thinnings. The thinnings create stout walls that act as ballasts to secure the building in 110-mile-per-hour winds, as required by the hurricaneforce code. The thick walls also act as rain- and sunscreens and allow the building to rest on delicate feet. The beautiful “clerefloor” detail that lets the building touch the ground gently was conceived with consulting engineer Anderson Inge. Paradoxically, the floor-level gap makes the heavy walls appear to float. The downside of creating a large park out of a patchwork of small projects is that you’re left with a collage of interstitial spaces, localized solutions to drainage, and undefined maintenance. We put our second team to work weaving the landscape together, that is, “putting the park back in Lions Park.” The first task was to create a holistic surface water–

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The Scout Hut, with its saddlebag structure, is under construction at Lions Park (above). The section reveals the inventive use of thinnings—strategically positioned to act as ballasts to weigh down the building.

The landscape has been transformed into a 25 percent mowed park (above). The studentdesigned maintenance manual shows how swales and mounds direct runoff to trees, new plants, and drainage basins (right).

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INTO THE FUTURE

Tackling the Big Issues Facing Small Rural Locales

We have come full circle. In the first section of this book I explained how Rural Studio’s identity and development have been shaped by our engagement with our rural environment—Newbern, Hale County, and west Alabama. The longer we have been here, the clearer it has become to us that the future of Rural Studio, too, is entwined with that of our region. Increasingly, our work aims at examining, understanding, and improving the conditions of life in this rural outpost. About five years after Sambo Mockbee’s death, we became aware that our period of year-to-year scrambling to survive might be over. Rural Studio had gained strength and a modicum of stability, thanks in large part to Auburn University’s financial support and to three loyal donors: the Potrero Nuevo Fund of the San Francisco Bay Area, the Roloson Foundation of Telluride, Colorado, and an anonymous friend. It was time to plan for the future and, in the process, to more clearly define Rural Studio’s role as a twenty-first-century educational and community-oriented entity. The initial step in approaching any problem at Rural Studio is to ask questions. Often, answers take a while in coming. The first question we asked in trying to define our future was: which aspects of our academic explorations and work with the community are likely to have longterm benefits and therefore deserve greater emphasis? The answers were several, and not immediately helpful. We asked ourselves whether—or in what way—our relatively new “quiet projects” might offer a model for the future. The ideas for these projects originate in talks with the community and in our studio, but the projects themselves are the work of faculty members and consultants operating behind the scenes. The quiet projects have contributed to the studio’s Outreach supervisor Daniel Wicke working on Dave’s House, the eighth 20K House research and knowledge base while

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helping the community. In Greensboro alone, quiet projects led to a farmers’ market and a Boys and Girls Club, helped initiate a Parks and Recreation Board, and provided planning drawings for a refurbishment of the police department within the town hall. The Greensboro projects resulted from Rural Studio’s six-year collaboration with the Lions Park Committee, which put us in touch with Greensboro’s influential officials and businesspeople. A similar process led to quiet projects for the U.S. Forest Service in Talladega National Forest, and we expect projects in Uniontown and its park. But as a model for the future, quiet projects are only a partial solution. For one thing, they engage faculty only, not students, and faculty and consultants don’t have much time after teaching and running the studio, so our quiet projects must be small in scale. Secondly, they constitute a process, not a plan. However, once we developed an overarching strategic plan for Rural Studio’s future, we found quiet projects fitting into it as vital components, since they often initiate and always strengthen our relationships and partnerships with the community and local officials. In planning Rural Studio’s next steps, we realized that, in addition to rolling out client houses, community projects, and quiet projects, we needed clear goals for our future. What was missing? We agreed that the fifth-year program was doing a pretty good job with community projects focusing on education, recreation, and health. A framework for the foreseeable future emerged from the answers to these three questions: 1. How should we live in rural settings? Our response was to

address the region’s substandard housing conditions by developing the 20K House, a well-crafted, durable, sustainable dwelling that could be an alternative to the ubiquitous house trailer and could be built by local contractors for $20,000. The 20K House evolved from our client houses, a project Rural Studio has explored since 1994 in an effort to provide homes for local people in need.

2. How should we build in rural settings? During Rural Studio’s

twenty-year history we have experimented with a variety of building materials. Recently our focus has been on abundant but underutilized local timber. First, we experimented with lamella structures for long-span solutions

into the future 199

that tested a locally available, off-the-shelf alternative to metal structures. Currently, the studio is exploring construction uses for “thinnings,” the weaker trees removed from a managed forest every five years. Thinnings have, until recently, been used mainly for pulp and paper, a use threatened by the decline of newsprint and hardcopy books and magazines in favor of digital readers.

Matchstick shown in tension, compression, and bent to breaking.

3. How should we produce food and consume energy in rural settings?  Our answer to the first part of the question was based on the

cliché that “we are what we eat” and on our conviction that the best diet is rich in locally grown fresh vegetables and fruits. In 2010, we started the Rural Studio Farm on Morrisette House’s sunny front yard. We wanted to “walk the walk” by demonstrating efficient, sustainable growing strategies for a region that has ceased to produce its own food, relies on junk edibles, and is, as a result, plagued by high obesity levels and the resulting so-called lifestyle illnesses. Our own students’ food was being cooked in a Greensboro kitchen and transported ten miles to Newbern, which was nonsensical. We built ourselves a commercial kitchen and a kitchen garden, and we are currently completing a solar greenhouse to produce food all year around. And we hired a chef! In order to live more sustainably in terms of energy consumption, we included another strategy in our plan for the future. It calls for renovating and rethinking all the Rural Studio buildings in Newbern with the goal of lowering their energy consumption and even creating energy producers. We added rainwater management to our list of “to-dos” because there is no agriculture without a reliable irrigation system.

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What these strategic goals have in common is that they benefit our community as well as Rural Studio. As long-term projects, they demonstrate our wish to practice what we preach and, in the process, add to our toolbox, increase our knowledge, and convey more value to our students and our neighbors. The projects represent an opportunity to tackle the big issues facing contemporary rural areas and Local celebrity chef Scott Peacock instructs students in Morrisette House’s new commercial kitchen. to design a rural future of improved housing, building materials, farming strategies, and food availability. Of course, these are big dreams! Our programs all suggest that big changes for a better and more responsible quality of life can be achieved working at a small scale. Each of the studio’s future-oriented programs takes pointers from our experience with multiphase, multiyear projects, in which each phase of a project builds on those preceding it. We have always taken care of priorities as they emerge, and we will continue to do so. Morrisette House was first developed to offer the students living space, then fifth-year projects provided a gathering and dining area. As far forward as we can see, we’ll engage in food and energy production. The agricultural venture at Morrisette will grow alongside Rural Studio’s other architectural work: our increasingly meaningful community projects, our work with thinnings, and our 20K House program. All of Rural Studio’s plans for the future are entwined with the future of our town and county. Our fervent mission is to help ensure the well-being of this community, which has become our home. Newbern, Hale County, and west Alabama are, in the words of Mockbee, our “classroom of the community.” We daily learn from it and work with it. We are very proud to be here.

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20K House Rural Studio launched its affordable housing program in 2005. We were eager to make our work more relevant to the needs of west Alabama, the Southeast, and possibly the entire country. We looked at the omnipresent American trailer park, where homes, counterintuitively, depreciate each year they are occupied. We wanted to create an attractive small house that would appreciate in value while accommodating residents who are unable to qualify for credit. Our goal was to design a market-rate model house that could be built by a contractor for $20,000 ($12,000 for materials and $8,000 for labor and profit)—the 20K House, a house for everybody and everyone. We chose $20,000 because it would be the most expensive mortgage a person receiving today’s median Social Security check of $758 a month can realistically repay. A $108 monthly mortgage payment is doable if you consider other monthly expenditures. Our calculations are based on a single house owner, because 43 percent of below-poverty households in Hale County are made up of people living alone. That translates to a potential market of eight hundred people in our county. A contractor building 20K Houses for eight hundred people under a rural development grant would put $16 million into the local economy. Financing would come from a commercial mortgage or a USDA rural loan program. We figure that since we design 20K Houses so that they can be built in three weeks, a contractor could build sixteen houses a year. Assuming a workforce consisting of a contractor and three workers for each house. The contractor would earn $61,000 a year and the workers $22,200 (based on a wage of $11.57 per hour, well above the current minimum wage of $7.25). Our expectation is that commercial success will create a new cottage industry, bringing new economic growth to the region.

With the exception of the Bryant (Hay Bale) House (1994) and Rose Lee’s House (2009), the studio’s client houses have tended to be about experimentation and have lacked long-term big-picture goals. The 20K House program evolved out of frustration at starting from scratch each year on each client house. The new program’s current instructional model is to test typologies, rather than producing idiosyncratic individual houses, which allows us to build iteratively on previous and concurrent work. In fact, each year’s 20K House outreach team passes on a book of information for the following class, exemplifying Rural Studio’s founding premise of learning both by practice and from reflection. We consider ourselves privileged to have the resources and opportunity to develop such a project and feel a moral responsibility to do so. The 20K House program also represents our attempt to bring an interest in social housing—well-designed houses for everyone—back into the academic world. Because the annual budget for each house is precise and without wiggle room, the 20K House projects are the studio’s most difficult. We task our outreach students with these focused missions in which each team has to be especially efficient in design and use of materials, weighing priorities and deciding where the design’s “big hit” will be. Is it a dynamically angled porch? Ten-foot ceilings? After all, we still want to make compelling architecture. The most controversial aspect of the 20K House is its small size. It is a design challenge to make a small house feel big. Although many homebuyers are attracted to the reduced operating costs of small spaces, most people want “Big!” Ironically, we often found our prospective homeowners in large

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So far Rural Studio has designed twelve versions of the 20K House. The houses that we build each year are academic experiments, given away to local residents in need. We find the clients for 20K Houses the same way we do for our client houses. We hear about people in need from mail carriers, church pastors, local officials, and others. In deciding who to choose, we trust our gut. Our clients are always down on their luck and often elderly, and our homes add immensely to their quality of life. As with our client houses, the 20K House instructors maintain strong relationships with the new homeowners. In order to improve the 20K Houses each year, we observe how our clients inhabit and use their new homes. Their homes, as with client houses, carry their names.

tumbledown houses where they were hunkered down in a single room, unable to afford heat for the others. Nevertheless, living small takes getting used to. One question people often ask is what to do with all the baggage they have accumulated over the years. They also worry about where visiting family will stay. In 2014 we will be developing a two-bedroom 20K House, testing larger and expandable models. Client concerns about house size lead us to consider what is essential and important when it comes to rural housing. Experience with our client houses has dictated that all 20K Houses have a front porch for social space and nine- to ten-foot ceilings. High ceilings make the rooms more spacious and allow air to rise and be vented by a combination of ceiling fans and cross ventilation. Another essential for a house in this region is a “big hat” roof with a fully vented attic to help cool the house. Finally, the walls must be of lumber no smaller than two-by-six inches to provide insulation at R-21 and to make the house feel solid. Lessons from vernacular houses, and from the nature of local clay soil, which does not absorb heavy rains, prompted us to raise most of our 20K Houses on piers to avoid trapping moisture under the slabs. The local dirt is also very expansive and moves so much that any concrete slab has to be highly engineered. However, we realized that raising the house created accessibility problems, especially for older clients. We tested an accessible 20K House, which added a ramp to a gallery house type, and in 2013 we experimented with a slab-on-grade house. If the raised accessible residence increased the budget too much, the slab-on-grade proved to be a good way to proceed with future models.

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20K House

The First 20K House Experiments Elizabeth’s House  (#1) 2005, Newbern, Hale County ­— The first 20K House contains 735 square feet of space (including a 175-square-foot porch). At the beginning of the program, it was very important to discover just how much floor area we could achieve for the money. For Elizabeth’s House we were able to add a small second bedroom/storage room. The house’s plan, with social spaces on one side of the central entrance and more private spaces on the other, works well and reappears in MacArthur’s 20K House (2010). The house’s successful sliding porch can be positioned anywhere along the facade. Elizabeth likes her house. Most often you will find her sitting in the breezeway between the front and back doors watching the world go by. As our first 20K House, Elizabeth’s House was a breakthrough, but it looked too much like a trailer, its ceilings were low, and it had poor cross ventilation. Despite the home’s drawbacks, housing advocacy groups wanted us to start marketing it. We held out, insisting that this was just the beginning of the exploration.

the interior—a response to criticisms of too much dry wall and too many small rooms in Elizabeth’s House. Choosing curtains over walls had consequences. Frank did not understand that it was supposed to be that way. We attempted to imitate a loft, but he thought we had run out of money for drywall and that we had somehow left the house unfinished. He did not anticipate having to heat the entire house, and he can only use the toilet when there are no visitors. Despite these inconveniences, Frank loves his front porch, with its street presence and cascading stairs, but has never quite understood what to do with the oversized back porch. Truss House  (#3) 2007, Greensboro, Hale County — The Truss House has 947 square feet of space, of which 321 square feet make up the entrance dogtrot porch and stairs. As at Frank’s House, the windowless walls of the house are load bearing. Here, however, they perform a secondary spanning role. These walls are constructed of large stick-frame timber trusses that bridge six small footings. The floor is hung from the bottom chord of the truss and the roof rests on the truss. We asked the question: if we made walls out of 10-foot-high trusses, what distance could they span? We had to add an extra central foundation because we built the wall trusses in two halves in order to lift them by hand. In the end, the building extended 120 feet, with a dogtrot dividing the double unit. A little annex provides a very small galley kitchen, bed, and bath. We reworked the interior program—and increased the budget to $32,000—to expand the

Frank’s House  (#2) 2006, Greensboro, Hale County — Frank’s House is a 750-square-foot variation on the vernacular shotgun house. It contains generous front and back porches (350 square feet) and clearly reflects lessons learned at Elizabeth’s House. Frank’s House is essentially one large room, but with a gable roof that provides the “houseness” that we feel Elizabeth’s House lacks. All services are contained in a single wall, and instead of framed walls, curtains divide

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project to a duplex, which allowed two elderly brothers to live together but in separate units. Since its completion, the house has had a number of different occupants and proven itself very adaptable. One family converted the porch into an extra room, another turned it right back into a porch.

20K-1 5’

above Elizabeth’s House, though a breakthrough, was thought too trailer-like in appearance.

Elizabeth’s House

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Frank’s House

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opposite Frank’s House has a gable to connote the “houseness” that Elizabeth’s lacked, plus generous front and back porches. above Truss House is a duplex. The units are separated by a dogtrot outdoor space, created by the spanning capacity of the ten-foot-high truss walls. Truss House

5' 5’ 20K-3

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20K House

North Ward Development Houses were manufactured in nearby Tuscaloosa; this proved less expensive than using off-the-shelf lumber. For cladding, the team used second cuts of cedar, available from a nearby mill. The interior space, as in other models, is organized with the bathroom in the center of the plan to divide the living from the sleeping area.

In fall 2007, while I was on sabbatical, I left Rural Studio under the leadership of David Buege, currently the Fay Jones Chair in Architecture at the University of Arkansas. We decided that all fifth-year and outreach students would focus on the 20K House that year. Community projects were put on hold and secondyear students continued to work on St. Luke’s Church. The resulting four houses, part of the North Ward Development of Greensboro, responded in different ways to both local press criticism and our own reviews of existing 20K Houses, which identified concerns about our material choices and the utilitarian appearance of the houses. Galvanized siding, the critics said, made the houses look too much like farm buildings or too industrial. The assumption had been that we could not build with more expensive materials and still meet budget constraints without building smaller. But would smaller work? The following four houses took these issues as a challenge.

Loft House  (#5) 2008, Greensboro, Hale County — The Loft House is 410 square feet, including a 60-square-foot front entrance stoop. The project was an investigation into the cost-to-value ratio of reducing the percentage of footprint to wall surface. The Loft House is a two-story dwelling, its structure built primarily of metal materials. Entry is from the stoop and the sleeping space is stowed above the kitchen and bathroom, leaving a double volume for the living room. We wanted to use the division of space and the loft sleeping area to create the illusion of a larger living space. We also felt (or hoped) that sleeping among the site’s surrounding trees would make up for the smaller quarters our budget demanded. Although it may have seemed strange to build a metal structure in this region, the students used metal studs to test the advantages of lightweight materials and a system that allows the house to be, literally, screwed together.

Pattern Book House  (#4) 2008, Greensboro, Hale County — At 396 square feet, including 60 square feet for the stoop, the Pattern Book House is the smallest of the 20Ks. The living area is substantially tighter than in previous 20K Houses. The entrance is on a stoop, rather than a porch, and there is no back door. The Pattern Book House also has a lower roof height. Previous houses had ample space in the loft, which their owners never used. Here we employed a prefabricated scissor truss to reduce the loft or vent space and create a cathedral ceiling. The students reduced the height of the exterior wall, so the resident inhabited the space created by the roof shape. The trusses

opposite Pattern Book House (top), at 396 square feet, is the smallest 20K House. Loft House (bottom), a two-story dwelling, experimented with the footprint to wall surface ratio.

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20K-4

Pattern Book House

Loft House

5'

5' 5’ 20K-5 20K-5

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5’

above and opposite, top Roundwood House was an experiment in building the structure of a small, affordable house with locally sourced loblolly pine thinnings. opposite, bottom The structure has a beautiful but complicated joint. Roundwood House

5' 5’

20K-6

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Roundwood House  (#6) 2008, Greensboro, Hale County — The 532-square-foot Roundwood House (including a 110-square-foot porch) is, again, organized like a loft. A kitchen and small bath island divides the space into two areas, with the living area in the front and the bedroom in the back. The house explored the potential and cost-effectiveness of using locally sourced, cheap, and abundant loblolly pine thinnings as a building material for 20K Houses. We used 8-inch-diameter “left in the round” timbers to create a truss wall. To protect the logs from the elements while exposing the beauty of the structural system, we created a minimal exterior stud-framed wall that is supported by but appears held off the thinnings structure, a tactic demanding a lot of space, which is valuable in 20K Houses.

In reviewing this group of North Ward 20K Houses, we concluded that although the houses were spatially clever, they felt too small and that although we liked the refined detailing and exploratory structural systems we knew that most houses did not fit inside the $20,000 budget, because they simply took too long to build. Moreover, their reduction in scale led to an inevitable decrease in storage space, which is at an absolute premium in the 20K Houses. We also reflected on the reduced importance of the porch (inevitable when you are cutting the square footage of the houses). We regard porches as essential for the local climate and lifestyle. The most widely heard critique of the four houses was that they were too different from one another and from neighboring homes. Doubtless, the individualistic look of the houses was a response to criticism of earlier houses for looking too utilitarian. It was agreed, however, that putting more emphasis on a material palette had been a successful and provocative exploration.

Bridge House  (#7) 2008, Greensboro, Hale County — The Bridge House is a loft that extended Rural Studio’s investigation of the truss-wall system that we first explored in the Truss House. Almost half of the Bridge House’s 660 square feet is front and back porch space that sandwiches the house and extends the living area. For its construction, the team used steel studs because steel is lighter and we thought easier to erect than wood. The team site-built trusses that, although lighter than wood, had to be lifted in place with a crane. The resulting structure successfully addresses the site’s difficult terrain but made it challenging to provide conventionally framed insulation and windows.

opposite Bridge House extended the exploration of the truss wall system used in the Truss House. It replaced wood studs with steel, because it is lighter and was thought to be easier to erect.

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Bridge House 20K-7

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5’

5'

20K House

The 20K House Product Line characteristics were dictated by realities such as locally available materials. For example, the vernacular references and similarity among the houses were not planned but resulted from availability of locally sourced dimensional materials, our ability to use wood to span the chosen dimensions, and our desire to refine and reduce the number of details for ease and speed of construction. The last five 20K House clients have been absolutely lovely folks: Dave (Thornton), Mac (MacArthur Coach), Joanne (Davis), Turner (“Doc” Dansby), and Eddie (Davis). To date, Dave’s, Mac’s, and Joanne’s houses have been approved for product testing. The following chronological rundown of completed 20K Houses shows what we have learned in our search for homes for a product line.

When I returned from sabbatical in 2009 I was approached by Regions Bank, a large Southern-based bank, which was eager to push the 20K House program from a research model to a consumer product line. I decided that developing a 20K House product line would become the emphasis of the outreach program. If the 20K House was to have an impact, it would have to be tested in the “real world.” Regions Bank became involved with the project prior to the subprime crisis. The bank challenged themselves to design a loan for the houses, which would require assessing the market. Regions was genuinely interested in helping people live within their means. They wanted to test the procurement process, and, in the long run, let the market evaluate the commercial viability of the 20K Houses. Our response was to use this opportunity to increase the quality and variety of our 20K House models. In an effort to improve the line, the faculty revisited and clarified the goals for the 20K House prototypes. We decided they should be beautiful, sustainable, built with locally sourced materials, inexpensive to operate, and easily maintained and repaired. They should also be houses that everyone likes—not just architects. We started by tweaking the design process. Before 2009, every outreach student team was creating a new prototype each year. In 2009, we asked the teams to take a long look at the program’s already completed models and select one to revisit and improve, integrating the lessons learned by a thorough review of the completed houses. The result is the 20K House product line, which is based on three of the prototypes our students created between 2009 and 2013. The line’s main

Dave’s House  (#8) 2009, Newbern, Hale County — Dave’s House contains 616 square feet of space, including a 112-square-foot porch. The dwelling is derivative of Frank’s House (20K House #2). The porches are smaller and the bathroom divides the house’s living and sleeping areas. Dave’s is a rectangular shotgunstyle dwelling with an open-plan living and dining space, a single bedroom, and a bath. The entry is on a short side of the rectangular plan through a screened front porch. Most remarkably, Dave’s monthly utility bill is a mere $35 on average. Responding directly to the North Ward houses research, we chose a factoryfinished, white-painted corrugated siding and a corrugated metal roof with a natural finish. The detailing was simplified and the spaces enlarged. For affordability we decided to allow ourselves seven openings,

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above Dave’s House, a shotgun vernacular with gables over the short ends, derives from Frank’s House; monthly utility bills average $35.

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including two doors for egress. We also decided that if we were to be serious about the $20,000 site-built figure we should challenge ourselves to build it in three weeks. Hence the estimate of being able to build sixteen houses a year.

The back deck can support an additional bedroom if needed. We decided to include expandability into the house and gave the homeowner a full set of drawings for the expansion. Additionally, the owner could take a materials list to a local supplier to check the cost if they wished to confirm the builder’s estimate. As a footnote: this proved not to be a cost-effective idea; every local builder we talked to suggested this is because the room was so small we should have built it when constructing the original house. Building it later introduces expensive set-up costs. “It would cost me more money to get my men and equipment there than the project was worth,” said one builder.

MacArthur’s House  (#9) 2010, Faunsdale, Marengo County — MacArthur’s House contains 572 square feet of space, including a 98-square-foot porch. It is rectangular and about the same size as Dave’s, but rather than an open plan, MacArthur’s House is a collection of small rooms plus an alcove entry porch centered on the dwelling’s long side. The house is a modified dogtrot. Entry is through the kitchen, with social space on one side of the house and the bedroom and bath on the other. With a centered entrance, the plan is a critique of Dave’s and Frank’s Houses (the latter derived from Elizabeth’s House). MacArthur’s House has a good relationship to the street. It is always crowded with visitors. In fact, it is the neighborhood’s favorite place to socialize.

Joanne’s House  (#10) 2011, Faunsdale, Marengo County — Coming in at 735 square feet, including a 212square-foot porch, Joanne’s House is slightly larger than either MacArthur’s or Dave’s. Joanne’s House tested our hypothesis that the perimeter of a square would allow a greater area than would a rectangle. We were correct: the extra square footage afforded a larger porch. Joanne’s House has an open living room and kitchen, with a half wall dividing the space. The porch occupies a corner of the square building, pushing outward slightly to create an entry. The house can be rotated in different directions and can always have a porch on its front facade. The porch provides more or less privacy from the street and neighbors, depending on the client’s wishes and the orientation of the house. Unlike any of the other houses, Joanne’s has minimal circulation space. The kitchen, which is enclosed on three sides, is perhaps the most efficient that we have designed. It does not encroach on the living space or become confused with it (as at Frank’s and Dave’s Houses), and, thanks to the position of the front door, the living space has a diagonal view to the porch and the outdoors. Joanne’s is a very social house.

opposite MacArthur’s House, at 572 square feet, approximates the size of Dave’s. Its entrance is on the long side, dividing day (public) spaces from night (private) spaces. overleaf Brother and sister houses: Joanne’s and Eddie’s Houses are sited across the drive from each other.

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above Joanne’s corner porch entry offers privacy as well as a diagonal view through the living room to the porch and countryside beyond. JOANNE’S House

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Turner’s House  (#11) 2012, Faunsdale, Marengo County — Turner’s House has 942 square feet of space, including 382 square feet for the ramp and porch, and follows the galleried vernacular style. The dwelling has a long narrow plan, in which each space has an entry or window overlooking the shaded porch and draws cool air in from the porch, which, in turn, serves as a generous outdoor living room. Our greatest challenge was to create a fully accessible house that complied with ADA and ANSI specifications and included a ramp that was integral to the house rather than looking like an add-on. The shower in Turner’s House also doubles as a wheel-in or walk-in ADA-accessible FEMA-compliant tornado shelter. Turner’s House was a game changer. Although the storm shelter was a project requirement, it was difficult to insert into a shower. Adding the space for a wheelchair turn and a ramp raised the cost of the house way above the obligatory $20,000, but we realize that having an accessible model is extremely important.

Eddie’s 845-square-foot house is organized into three spatial bars. The rear bar houses services like kitchen and bath. In the middle bar, there are day and night living spaces and at the front is a wooden deck entry porch of 200 square feet. The bedroom closet walls are of filled concrete block in order to perform as a FEMA tornado shelter. The shelter proved much easier and cheaper to build than Turner’s, because the house sits directly on slab and the blocks were laid directly on the slab. The house has a big roof that gives it presence, and we like the diagonal open plan relationship of living room to kitchen and the views out to the backyard. The house changed our thinking: for a long time we had considered slab construction only for public buildings. Eddie’s House suggested we could deal successfully with the issues of nobility and security, as well as how the building touches the ground and the problem of termites with a slab condition. But in all likelihood, we will only use slab construction for 20K Houses on sites that don’t require grading and have no significant slope.

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Eddie’s House  (#12) 2013, Faunsdale, Marengo County — Sited across the drive from the home of Eddie’s sister Joanne, Eddie Davis’s house was the 20K House program’s first slab-on-grade attempt. To make a house accessible to all, not just those that can climb stairs or even ramps, we challenged ourselves to design a slabon-grade house that felt big, noble, and secure. The house responds to accessible building codes but has slightly more flexible space and, most importantly, more adaptable spatial requirements than an ADA wheelchair stipulation. We pursued this direction because the majority of our clients will become infirm as they age, but not necessarily wheelchair bound. The house can be modified for a wheelchair if necessary. EDDIE’S House

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above Turner’s House has a long, narrow plan, with all rooms opening onto the porch, and an ADA-compliant ramp that is intrinsic to the house. The shower space also acts as a tornado shelter. TURNER’S House

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What Is Next Finally, how can we respond to the fact that small houses don’t really belong on large lots? Building small houses on big lots tends to reduce the value of larger neighboring houses. The answer might be multiple units—perhaps forming sheltered housing for the elderly—with shared raised walkways and such shared services as laundry rooms. These solutions will require working through zoning ordinances in towns and cities and addressing the reality of the changing demographic of the country. We dedicated our twentieth anniversary year (2013–14) to the 20K House program. All our students—fifth-year, third-year, and outreach—spent the academic year experimenting with a further evolution of the 20K product line into two-bedroom versions. The search goes on and the research will continue!

In June 2011, Rural Studio hired New York–based architect Marion McElroy, a 2002 Rural Studio graduate, as the 20K House product manager. (The position is funded and sponsored by Regions Bank, the PARC Foundation, and Enterprise Community Partners.) The ultimate goal is to formulate a plan to move from 20K projects to 20K products and to figure out how to bring them to market. Most recently, a number of big future challenges have become clear to us. The first has to do with price inflation. We built three of the newest models within the framework of a 20K budget, but insurance companies valued the houses at between $40,000 and $50,000. That raises the question: why would any contractor restrict the price of a house to $20,000 if he could get twice that amount for it? The second challenge has to do with mortgage costs as a disincentive for banks. It costs the same for a bank to write a mortgage for $20,000 as one for $120,000. So what motivation would a bank have for writing a mortgage for the lower number? We have posed this dilemma as a challenge to Regions Bank. For us as architects the most important challenge is maintaining quality control and preventing client rip-offs: How does Rural Studio retain the current quality control over houses when the houses are built by a contractor? We want to somehow make sure the houses reach our intended market—the people that we want to help—and are built to quality levels specified by us.

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Thinnings finding ways to touch the timber the least. The less you manipulate them, the stronger they remain and the less you burden them with embodied costs. Academically, working with small round timbers has proved a wonderful challenge for our students. They have learned that building well with thinnings requires craft and patience, especially when connecting rough round poles to smooth manufactured finishes. The 20K Roundwood House (2008) was our first thinnings project. The students had the extraordinarily difficult task of designing an affordable house while creating its structure from thinnings. They fabricated two large trusses that span the foundations and act as structural walls. Steel joints connect the trusses’ webs and chords. The loblolly pine thinnings were harvested from the Oakmulgee District of the Talladega National Forest. We have continued to use thinnings from the district. We have completed only one other thinnings project, the Scout Hut at Lions Park (2012). The projects we designed for the Oakmulgee District have not been built yet. They reached the stage of large mock-ups and served primarily as valuable research experiments. We hope in the future that the USFS will invest in our renewed vision for its landscapes and provide stronger financial support to proceed with the projects’ construction.

In 2008, I launched a new fifth-year project to explore the use of “thinnings”—abundant, small-diameter local pine—as a building material. Thinnings are weak trees that are harvested from the forest every fifteen to twenty-five years to prevent them from competing for sun and water with bigger, more valuable trees. Most lumber companies regard thinnings as worthless for construction, but because of their abundance and affordability we viewed them as a potential resource. We began investigating whether we could achieve long spans with many pieces of thinnings and in general shape the wood into sturdy construction elements. We started our research by looking at the basic properties of wood as a building material. Wood is fibrous and therefore strong along its longitudinal axis. It performs well in tension and compression and also when bent, as long as you don’t bend it too much! Making tension connections in wood is very difficult: even with the use of metal connections. Unmilled timber is stronger, but its irregular shape makes it more difficult to join to other components than is machined wood. In addition, timber in the round needs to have its bark removed to avoid becoming food for pests. Focusing on thinnings-type wood, we found it is most often used as fence posts and firewood, chipped for manufactured board, or reduced to wood pulp for paper. Thinnings are dimensionally unstable, because they are younger and contain more sap than older, processed wood. They are also grown faster and lack density. They shrink as they dry and thus are very difficult to measure accurately. As throwaways, they are cheap, but making them into usable architectural elements is very labor intensive. Five-plus years of design explorations with thinnings have taught us that the main challenge is

opposite The students became USFS chain saw certified, felled the trees for their projects, dragged them out of the forest, and debarked them.

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Strategic Design Framework for Talladega National Forest

2008–today

Cindy Ragland, the highly committed district ranger for the forest’s Oakmulgee District. The Oakmulgee District is twenty-five miles north of Newbern and spans across six counties and 157,000 acres of forestland. Cindy invited Rural Studio and Xavier Vendrell, our landscape consultant, to provide a framework to help the Oakmulgee District facilitate the interaction and engagement of forest visitors in exploring and understanding the landscape, especially as the ecosystem was undergoing restoration. It was one of Rural Studio’s quiet projects. In addition to the strategic framework, we worked on several proposed design projects in the forest as part of the Payne Lake Recreation Area. The recreation area offers a glimpse of the beauty and ecological significance of the Oakmulgee District’s forest landscape. It is the forest’s most visited place and also serves as an educational tool. While the USFS has made great strides in their environmental ethic and in understanding the relationship of plant and animal species to local environments, they failed to adopt an equally sustainable approach to building with locally sourced natural materials. Our vision and that of our client, Cindy, was to create an environment with harvested loblolly— reclaiming wood as a building material while telling the forest’s story. We wanted to develop a local architecture in phases, including restrooms, walkways, bridges, and more, all based on the use of thinnings.

We obtained a grant from the U.S. Department of Agriculture Cooperative State Research, Education, and Extension Service for a thinnings research project titled Forestry and Community: Creating Local Markets for Local Resources. The project was the result of a multidisciplinary effort by Auburn University faculty. From the beginning of our research, the Oakmulgee District of the Talladega National Forest served as a technical resource and collaborator. Our project’s goals coincided with the USFS’s multiyear program to remove surplus loblolly pine to restore the region’s longleaf pine ecosystem. The Talladega National Forest is a hidden gem, a poor relation to better-known, more frequently visited national forests, but a place of incredible natural beauty. During the era of European settlement and the push westward, many settlers tried to farm these lands. The soils, however, eroded quickly given the primitive farming techniques of the time. During the Great Depression of the 1930s, the federal government helped relocate the settlers and established the area as a national forest. To stabilize the eroding soils, the government planted loblolly pines on sites that originally supported longleaf pines. Historically, the longleaf pine forest was the South’s largest forest. By the end of World War II, however, over 90 percent of the original ninety-million-acre forest, spanning from Virginia to Texas, was gone, along with the habitat for many wildlife species. Our partnership with the USFS emerged from the Record of Decision for the Longleaf Ecosystem Restoration Project (February 2005), whose aim was to chart a multiyear landscape restoration program and create a master plan for the Talladega region. To our good fortune, our community partner was

Phase 1: Payne Lake Pavilion (Tea House), 2009 — A pavilion was proposed at the Payne Lake Recreation Area to display informational panels describing the

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The Tea House mock-up, built at Morrisette House, was loaded with buckets of water to test for code compliance.

British engineer Richard Harris tested our local pine trees with a grid shell structure. The knotty local wood failed when put into severe bending, so the students employed a shallower bend that they called the “fishing rod” truss.

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area as a waypoint on the Alabama Black Belt Heritage and Nature Trail. Reflecting on our first thinnings project, the 20K Roundwood House, we sought to reduce the cost of our handmade steel joints by developing a more economical connection. We also wanted to understand how we might use the bending capability of our young thinnings. During this project we were lucky to have the expertise of Richard Harris, a great British wood engineer with whom we tested bending wood into lightweight gridshell structures for large roofs. What we proved in the exercise was that young, fast-growing west Alabama pine was not a match for the slower growth European soft woods. Very small dimension European woods allowed us to make significant bends; west Alabama loblolly pine had too many knots and would break when bent significantly. As a response, we formed a truss by bending pieces of timber in the round into a shallow arc, securing the ends with a thin steel cable similar to a bowstring. We called it a fishing rod truss. In an effort to create a vaulted space, we connected a series of these fishing-rod trusses with a lashing system. The research was concluded with a full-scale mock-up of a section of a pavilion that we called the “tea house.” The result was beautiful, but the inexpensive lashings didn’t create strong enough connections to ensure lateral stability.

to island, then from island to shore. The metal deck walking surface connects the two parallel trusses at their bottom chord. The trusses tilt outward and are held together by a roofed metal structure. The user would walk between the tilting trusses with good views and proximity to the water. The islands, or docks as we called them, were to be secured to the lakebed with helical anchors that would be screwed in using a bobcat mounted on a floating barge. This was the most environmentally sensitive and affordable way to build the project. The student team built a section of the bridge at Morrisette House to prove constructability and sequencing.

Perspective rendering (below) of the entrance to the walking trail bridge that would cross Payne Lake

Phase 2: Payne Lake Walking Trail Bridge, 2010 — In the second project for Payne Lake, we developed a proposal for a bridge that would connect the two sides of the lake and complete a walking trail loop. We suggested spanning the 180 feet across the water with a series of lattice trusses. The lattice truss has repetitive webbing and, taking advantage of the thinnings abundant affordability, significant built-in material redundancy. The final design consisted of three sixty-foot-long trusses. Each truss section would stretch from the shore to an island, then from island

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The 180-foot-long walking trail bridge would span the lake with three 60-footlong lattice trusses. The walking surface would hang from the trusses (right). Student-made construction documents show details of the lattice truss and walkway connections.

overleaf Full-scale mock-ups of the walking trail bridge and the bathhouses were constructed in the backyard of Morrisette.

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Phase 3: Payne Lake Bathhouses, 2011 — In 2011 the USFS asked Rural Studio for proposals for the design and construction of toilets and shower rooms at the Talladega Forest’s East Side Campground. The buildings needed to be more affordable than precast structures that already existed in the park, and they needed to be sustainable in their operations. Our design called for a sequence of towers, each housing a toilet or shower. The towers would offer views of the forest and would be connected by walkways. Visitors would venture directly onto the horizontal walkways, and as they proceeded forward, at each step, the forest floor would fall away. Gradually the visitor would experience the nearby trees at midtree-trunk level overlooking flowering trees such as dogwoods and redbuds, to finally arrive in the canopy of longleaf, shortleaf, and loblolly pines. A full forest experience! We designed the structure with lattice trusses that tested well (horizontally and vertically) as both walkway and tower components. For the walkways, we used the lattice truss to achieve the required thirty-foot spans between the supporting bathroom towers. On one edge of the walkway the truss became a handrail, on the other edge the truss moved beneath the walkway to facilitate the bearing intersection of the next walkway section, a clever and structurally explicit resolution. The studio also proposed employing thinnings to construct other structural components, including blocking, purlins, and cross-bracing to stabilize the parallel trusses. Cladding, too, was of thinnings; the students sliced logs into shingles and attached them to the webs of the tower trusses. Pervading all aspects of this project was an ethic of place-oriented design. The bathhouse would contain systems in tune with the natural setting, including composting toilets and gray-water disposal. Ultimately,

the project would provide closer experiences of the native species in the forest while being made of material sourced from the forest. We tested the construction process by building a full-scale mock-up of one tower and walkway on the Morrisette property. After harvesting the thinnings by hand, the students debarked them, sent them away to be treated against pests, and installed four helical foundation anchors to support the tower’s composite concrete floor. Then they began fabricating the trusses forming the tower and walkway. Finally, they assembled the components and tested the tower and the walkway. The mock-up gave us the confidence that such a big project can be fully and affordably built with thinnings. We are ready and eager to build it in Payne Lake Recreation Area.

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The covered walkway and towers, containing toilets or showers, would be constructed of trusses made of thinnings. Below, the construction sequence is sketched.

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Rural Studio Farm Morrisette House, Newbern, Hale County

strategies in a community that has largely abandoned farming the soil. The challenge for us is to demonstrate that if we can live off the land, perhaps others can too! The farm is located on the Morrisette House property where our students live, eat, play, build, and, now, produce their own food. Our hope is that the studio’s prototype strategies—our solar greenhouse, food forest, horticultural garden, and holistic irrigation system—can be exported and adopted elsewhere. We call this process “building inside to build outside.” We believe it is necessary for us to respond to the disappearance of locally grown food in west Alabama. The lack of a fresh food culture is one of the main sources of poverty affecting small rural towns like ours. Rural settlements have tended to become places where people retire or just sleep after commuting to work somewhere else. Americans don’t expect rural settlements to be productive anymore nor do we expect fresh food to build local economies. But ultimately everybody deserves access to good quality, fresh, and affordable food. In Hale County a cabbage often costs more than a Happy Meal and is much harder to find. Only a few small towns have a farmers’ market, and usually they are only open during the summer months. In 2011, Rural Studio faculty started to investigate, design, and build a series of prototypical mobile farm stands to help kick start the Greensboro Farmers’ Market. The stands were designed to be easily replicated regionally. Since 2008, Rural Studio has built its farm in phases. We turned to age-old organic strategies such as the cultivation of companion plants. The well-known “Three Sisters,” prevalent in Native American agriculture, is a good example. Tall corn, medium-height peas, and ground-hugging squash assist one another’s

A framework to guide the studio toward a more sustainable future gradually emerged from our soul searching about how Rural Studio should live. We call that framework the Rural Studio (R)evolution. The (R)evolution’s principal tool is the Newbern strategic plan, which embraces all the properties we own and rent in Newbern and their relationships to the town and surrounding landscape. The plan views the Rural Studio buildings and the open spaces of the town as a coherent series of rooms that open to Alabama Highway 61. The studio is thus an integral part of the community, the opposite of a self-contained college campus. The ultimate goal of the strategic plan is to make the studio as self-reliant as possible yet open to the surrounding community, county, and region. The emphasis is on thinking and acting locally with a holistic and environmentally friendly attitude. The plan’s holistic vision suggests each of our properties’ future contributions to the production of food, energy, and building materials. Under the guidance of the Newbern strategic plan, we foresee our first zero-energy project, a green wall of broadleaf vines shading the south side of the Red Barn, our main classroom and design studio. We plan on building a new woodshop behind Morrisette and converting the old one into a recycling center for Newbern. The plan also suggests turning the Chantilly front yard into an orchard, a resource for researching and helping to protect local species. We hope to transform Chantilly itself into a learning center for the town. The Newbern strategic plan’s most significant component is the Rural Studio Farm. It is our attempt to live more sustainably by producing our own organic food and to demonstrate sustainable growing

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above and right Third-year students harvest with chef Scott Peacock in the kitchen garden at Morrisette House.

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above A celebration in the Great Hall, which extends off of the commercial kitchen at Morrisette House left Chef Catherine Tabb prepares lunch.

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provide drainage; and, very importantly, to enrich our supply of fertile soil. (Soil is also called the farmer’s underground economy in these parts.) The beds are in cedar-clad containers, also raised off the ground to prevent rotting; their forty-inch width allows us to harvest while standing on either side. Tables between the twenty-four-foot-long beds provide a place for cleaning the vegetables.

growth while replenishing the soil’s nutrients. Diversified production is an important advantage of small-scale farming, an alternative to the large-scale monoculture model used by industrial farms. Pedagogically, our farm exposes students to the realities of food production: its social, cultural, economic, and environmental implications. The farm project is supported by Auburn University’s Extension Office in Greensboro, the Jones Valley Urban Farm in Birmingham, and the local Spencer Family Farm in Marion Junction. It is also working to form interdisciplinary partnerships at Auburn for research and educational purposes—the College of Architecture with the College of Agriculture and the Department of Agronomy and Soils. As a new program for the third-year studio, the farm offers a chance to participate in designing and building a multiphased project. Each semester students revisit the farm’s strategic plan and design and build the next stage of their predecessors’ work. Third-year students learn from their own efforts to raise the level of the overall project. In the learningby-doing spirit of the studio, they also get their hands dirty on our farm and in our kitchen with tasks varying from seeding to harvesting, cooking, and composting.

Phase 2: Commercial Kitchen, 2010 — The studio’s commercial kitchen allows us to cook what we produce on site. The kitchen is an extension of Morrisette House and is separated from the original house by a dogtrot. The kitchen, certified by the health department, is off-limits to students (who have their own kitchen). The addition adheres to the ageold local practice of separating the main house from the kitchen to prevent the house from catching fire. We built the commercial kitchen with two-by-six-inch frame construction on piers. The exterior cladding is planned to be burnt wood covered with wire mesh on which to grow green walls. The gabled dogtrot, framing a beautiful grove of pecans, connects the Great Hall—the studio’s main daily gathering space— to both the house and the kitchen. The tall cathedral ceiling is framed with plywood trusses. We hired a local chef to run our kitchen two meals a day, three days a week, and the third-year studio even designed a diet inspired by food writer Michael Pollan and his “flexitarian diet.” The diet is based on the slogan: “eat food, not too much, mostly plants.” About 70 percent of the food we serve is vegetables and fruits and more and more of it will be produced on our property.

Phase 1: Raised Kitchen Garden, 2008 — Third-year, fifth-year, and outreach students built this kitchen garden as a “neck-down” (studio-wide volunteer) project in the front yard of Morrisette House. Because the kitchen garden faces Highway 61 and has become the public face of Rural Studio, we see our raised beds as part of our community rather than as just a private garden. We raised the beds in order to place them at a more comfortable height for those working on them; to allow us to farm with our own mix of topsoil and compost rather than with the depleted local soil; to

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Phase 3: Morrisette House Strategic Plan, 2010–today — Farming is a full-time job. Plants and livestock need a lot of ongoing care. One trick we employ is to locate the most intensive crops at Morrisette House, our center of production. The Morrisette House strategic plan, which is currently being implemented, will reroute the main house entrance to increase the property’s arable, sunny land. The new configuration will replace the existing driveway with two new access roads. A proposed public road, along the south, will lead to Morrisette’s new entrance at the dogtrot separating the main building from the commercial kitchen. A more private northern driveway will connect to the residential pods in Morrisette’s backyard. The strategic plan also features two edible systems: a horticultural garden to feed forty students three days a week and a food forest, adding fruits and berries. The horticultural garden occupies the front yard, taking advantage of the sunniest portion of the site. The garden includes a two-thousand-square-foot solar greenhouse, a six-hundred-square-foot seed house, a washing station, and storage for tools. Raised

beds will grow tall, medium, and short plants. In addition, there are composting facilities, an herb garden, a student lounge, a chicken coop, and a series of green walls of muscadine and kiwi vines to attract bees. The food forest at the back of the property is a continuation of an existing grove of pecan trees on the southern property line. A resilient system requiring no maintenance, the forest will have seven layers of companion trees and bushes to bear fruit for the studio and our free-range livestock. Over time, we will plant new trees, from tall deciduous to bushes, that will eventually connect the horticultural garden in the front yard with existing pine trees on the west and north of Morrisette. The forest’s variety will provide the farm with diversity. If one species becomes diseased, others that thrive will help sustain the forest. Last but not least, for our students who are exploring landscape projects the forest will be a lesson in seasonal changes and existing west Alabama species. A water collection and irrigation system will tie the strategic plan together. The water system is designed to be self-sustaining even through a two-and-a-halfmonth period of drought. Water is collected from all the roofs on the property. Groundwater, meanwhile, is captured through a series of swales, gravel paths, and driveway ditches. All the groundwater is directed to and collected at the property’s western and lowest point in a natural retention pond, a backup system for dry periods. Storage for all collected water is in underground cisterns and will be distributed by pressurized columns of water (acting in a similar manner as water towers). The cisterns will supply a drip-feed irrigation system directed to individual plants. Solar pumps will run all the water collection, storage, and distribution systems. The columns of water will mark the new irrigation stations, reinforcing the demonstration role of the farm.

opposite, top The current vision for the strategic plan, to be implemented in manageable phases opposite, bottom Morrisette House’s food forest will include a variety of fruit-bearing trees, including fig, pear, plum, and apple.

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Phase 4: Solar Greenhouse, 2010–today — The greenhouse is a lesson in passive design for architecture students, a statement about living sustainably, and a manifesto of self-reliance. It produces both the warmth and rainwater needed for growing plants, thereby extending our growing season into the winter months. The south-facing greenhouse’s canted solar glass collector and fifty-five gallon galvanized blue drums have become the signpost and signature structure of the farm and Rural Studio. The structure consists of three twenty-five-by-twenty-five-foot bays, plus an extra bay containing the seed house. The bays are separated by a dogtrot that allows tractor access. The thermal wall, positioned for maximum sun exposure, consists of several rows of stacked blue barrels filled with water. (After the success of similar drums at the Lions Park playground we wanted a drum project for our home!) The barrels’ blue-painted color helps raise the water temperature and speeds the plants’ germination process. One extra barrel is buried to act as the wall’s foundation. At its rear, the thermal

mass wall has a cavity containing insulation. We built the wall by welding all the barrels together, and then bolting the roof’s prefabricated posts and beams together on site. Only a few brackets connect the barrel wall and posts. We decided on an independent roof structure of galvanized prefabricated steel in order to have maximum tolerance when building the thermal mass wall. An overgrown berm on the greenhouse’s north serves as insulation while protecting the greenhouse from winter winds and integrating it into the horticultural landscape. A glass envelope, wrapping the structure on four sides, protects the greenhouse’s interior. In summer the glazed walls can be opened to create crossventilation, transforming the greenhouse into a hoop house. The north and south walls have pivoting windows, while the east and west walls have large double doors. A demountable fabric screen hangs below the solar collector providing additional shade in summer. For aesthetic reasons the envelope has been designed as a very light diaphragm: it barely touches the barrels with a two inch flat bar. The glass appears to disappear into the ground where it is covered by gravel.

sun angles

sun shading

winter heating

ventilation

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north wind protection

Students build the thermal wall using rows of barrels that are welded together and then filled with water.

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Chapter / Project 243

Farmers’ Markets Greensboro Farmers’ Market 2011, Greensboro, Hale County — The strongest impact of Rural Studio’s farm project on our community has been on creating a local farmers’ market. In 2011, Greensboro City Councilor Steve Gentry asked Rural Studio staff to design, build, and promote his city’s first farmers’ market. In order to generate strong local support for the market, Gentry asked Rural Studio’s faculty to create a marketing team to introduce the market to the community. The team designed the market’s graphic identity, including a logo and directional signage, painted a mural, produced information pamphlets as well as postcards, T-shirts, stickers, and shopping bags, and created a website. The children of Greensboro Elementary School contributed posters. The owner of a vacant lot gave the city permission to use his property but would not allow a permanent

structure to be built there. In response, Rural Studio designed a movable stand with ample space for at least two vendors. The stand’s dimensions allowed it be loaded onto a flatbed truck and moved without a transportation permit. The studio constructed six stands for the Greensboro Farmers’ Market, five sellers’ stands and, more recently, one for the manager that includes a desk and storage. As the market expands, new units can be added. We are currently planning to design a full farmers’ market stand product line. Future research will focus on a prototype stand for cooking demonstrations to help fund the markets. Rural Studio staff assembled the stands on the Morrisette property, crafting the structure from pressure-treated lumber and plywood, the roof from tin, and the display areas from cedar. We then transported the stands to Greensboro. Constructing one stand was a four-to-five-day job for three people. The

left Opening the stall and loading and selling produce opposite, top Greensboro Farmers’ Market opened in 2011. opposite, bottom left Sliding the stands off a flatbed wrecking truck

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Jones Valley Farmers’ Market 2012, Birmingham, Jefferson County — In 2012 we collaborated with the Jones Valley Teaching Farm in Birmingham to finalize two variations of the prototypes we built for the Greensboro Farmers’ Market. The first model is an enclosed vegetable stand clad in a slatted wooden diaphragm with two sliding doors that can be personalized with signs and logos. The structure is raised twelve inches off the ground. A small ramp takes customers into the stand where they make purchases. The second stand is strictly for preparing produce and is divided into washing and prepping areas. The washing area has a stainless steel sink, while the prep area has a large table made with modular food containers. The stainless steel countertop is durable and easy to clean.

cost of materials was approximately $1,600 per stand. During its three-year existence, the market has operated in two different locations. The Greensboro Farmers’ Market opened with full support from local growers, the Alabama Cooperative Extension System / Hale County, the Alabama Department of Public Health, the Alabama Farmers Federation, the Alabama Farmers Market Authority, HERO (Hale County Empowerment and Revitalization Organization), and the community. Everyone involved in creating the market understood that its stand prototypes could serve a much broader population than Greensboro. Many small cities and towns in west Alabama would like a farmers’ market but do not own sufficient land for a permanent market structure. Providing municipalities with a more suitable infrastructure than the usual “tent and tables” entices more growers to participate in local markets, a first step to encouraging better community health.

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opposite, left Students at Greensboro Elementary School designed posters for the farmers’ market. opposite, right The shopping bag was designed by the marketing team.

above Jones Valley washing stand right The enclosed vegetable stand at Jones Valley is clad in a wooden slat diaphragm.

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Voices

A Writer’s West Alabama Childhood

and oppression. For us it was a term of respect and affection, as for a surrogate mother or grandmother. She was officially our cook. I had a succession of nurses, but Joanna was the one in charge while my mother was at work downstairs. I once wrote a description of her lap. “If my mother ever sat and held me as a child I don’t remember, but I do remember the solace of Mammy’s lap. Though she was small, light skinned, and far from the stereotype, her lap could spread and deepen to accommodate any wound. It smelled of gingham and a smoky cabin, and it rocked gently during tears. It didn’t spill me out with token consolation but was there as long as needed. It was pure heartsease.” The previous owners of the store had sold coffins. Leftover black metal caskets were stacked halfway to the ceiling on one side of an unused room upstairs. The rest of the room was empty space. “The Coffin Room,” we called it, and I liked to play in there with my dolls and doll buggy. I put my dolls to sleep in the cheap caskets lined with yellowing white satin, and sometimes got in myself and lay down. I probably took a few naps in the coffins. I don’t remember that a nurse was ever in there with me, but it was just off the big dining room, so Mammy could check on me from the kitchen. Among my memories of the store, one has to do with a white farm overseer who had a drinking problem. In the memory, he whispered to me in a corner of the store, “Sister, go back there (behind the counter) and get me a bottle of lemon extract.” I didn’t think I was supposed to do it, or to let anyone know if I did, but I remember going and giving him the bottle. He drank it for the alcohol content, I was to find out in time. One indelible store memory is of my mother, sitting at a homemade wooden table with heavy account books spread out before her. As she pulled down the lever to a large black adding machine on her right, she was silently weeping. When she looked up to see me she attempted to straighten her face, caught my small body, and hugged me fiercely to her. My mother had heavy responsibilities. Besides her work in the store, she was responsible for our living quarters upstairs and for two children, one away from home. Upstairs she had a cook and someone to clean, but she never knew who or how many would be at our table for “dinner,” as Southerners called the main meal of the day served at noon. Two rural schoolteachers lived and boarded with us. One farm overseer ate with us regularly, plus any salesman, county agent, dairy inspector, or

Mary Ward Brown advisor

The urge to write must have smoldered in my makeup from the beginning, but my childhood did not ignite it. My parents, with little formal schooling, had no interest in writing. They were doers. Born and raised in relatively poor Chilton County, Alabama, they moved in 1910 to Perry County, in the then-prosperous Black Belt. From its owner-operator, they bought a large two-story general store in the Hamburg community, nine miles of unpaved road from Marion and twentyone miles from Selma. They lived first in the top floor of the store, a building so large the upstairs hall had first been used as a skating rink. As they prospered they bought land for cotton, row crops, and timber. My mother became the storekeeper/bookkeeper, while my father looked after what came to be, besides the farm, a cotton gin, dairy, gristmill, shop, blacksmith shop, and sawmill. With roads all but impassable in wet weather, the village of Hamburg was basically self-sustaining. There were small stores other than my father’s, a post office with postmistress, and a Methodist church. The Southern Railroad ran through twice a day bringing mail and dry goods. In time, my father shipped bales of cotton from the Hamburg station. By the time I was born in 1917, my parents still lived in the top of the store. My mother ran the store with the help of one black clerk, Bob Spencer, and kept all of the books. My father, unless dealing with salesmen up front, was out on the place or back in his office, the only room in the large open space of the store. During all of my childhood, except on Sundays, both of my parents were already at work when I woke up in the morning. Black people took care of me all day. My early childhood is a blur of long directionless days, followed about by various nurses. Like Topsy in Uncle Tom’s Cabin, “I just growed.” I could go and see my mother in the store whenever I liked, but she was usually busy with a customer. Joanna Jackson, a black woman, was my mainstay during those early years. She was there before I was born and until I was grown and married. I was taught to call her Mammy as a necessary member of our family. “Mammy” is now considered demeaning, a reminder of servitude

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anyone else who happened to be in the store on business at the noon hour. In summer my mother supervised a season-long canning operation upstairs. Hundreds of jars of fruits, vegetables, pickles, and preserves were put up in our kitchen. They helped feed us in winter, were shared with my brothers, and used as gifts for friends. In winter, hogs were killed, the fresh meat cooked, and by-products made into sauce meat. Hams and sausages, packed in casings, were prepared for the smokehouse out back. My mother was running up and down the stairs all day. Feeling overwhelmed, no doubt, on the day of my memory, she must have looked up to see me and thought, “And you, my neglected baby!” Some of the happiest times of my childhood were spent with the Lee family who lived across the pasture. Mrs. Lee was a musician who gave me piano lessons. I had no talent but learned to sight-read well enough to finally play hymns for the Hamburg Church. And after lessons I could stay and play with her six children. In summer Mrs. Lee took us swimming in the Hamburg community swimming pool, and in the fall nutting in the woods for hickory nuts and chinquapins. I still remember one strong feeling about my early years. I didn’t like walking barefoot in the black prairie mud, and I didn’t want the soupy muck squishing up between my toes. I wanted to be somewhere else at the time, I remember, somewhere I thought of as nice. And later, when I began trying to write fiction, I read with great admiration the work of Katherine Anne Porter (Flowering Judas; The Leaning Tower; Pale Horse, Pale Rider). Her claims of growing up in fine houses, tall secretaries filled with leather-bound classics, made me feel deprived. I could be a better writer, I thought, if I’d grown up in such surroundings. But after Porter’s death, her biographer, Joan Givner, brought to light that she’d grown up in poverty. This impressed me even more with her accomplishment. I saw what genius can do with a given material, even deprivation and dreams. And it made me face a truth of my own. I did not have genius and, if I intended to write, would have to make do with the ability I had. I wasn’t even sure that what I had was talent, and not simply a strong desire and will to write.

1970s and became more widely known through the publication of Tongues of Flame in 1986. Mary lived on her family farm until her death on May 14, 2013, at the grand age of ninety-six. Adapted from Fanning the Spark: A Memoir by Mary Brown Ward, published by the University of Alabama Press in 2009. Used with permission.

Art in Alabama William Dooley advisor

Every region of a country has unique qualities of selfexpression that work their way into the arts. How is it that Alabamians use art as a practical way of examining this self-expression? Here one finds a frugal approach of using what you have with no desire for more. In our culture “craft” is embraced as the underpinning to most art. How a thing is made (and often made well) is appreciated by viewers. What is considered beautiful and innovative in art usually reveals invention and speaks to popular taste; it uses what is at hand to create something expressive that others recognize and want. In Alabama, there are fantastic things to be found in our artwork. Visual art is an intriguing melting pot, which is why elements unique to a rural maker of things appeal to a larger audience. Most Alabamians have had few or no experiences with public art museums or “clean white cubes.” The associations made by many non-Southerners about the South influence some of the artwork found around rural Alabama. Many people from outside the South comb the region for folk artists or grassroots artists. Much of the work that falls into this category contains a persistent use of language. Sometimes words are casually integrated with images encouraging a use of silhouette, pattern, and crude sign lettering. Less often is this artwork dark and forlorn in character. Rather, it exudes a sense of hope and happiness. A good example of this is found in the work of Jimmie Lee Sudduth (1910–2007) of Fayette, Alabama. He crudely renders a farm animal or a house in paint (with sand from his yard added for texture). His use of mostly earthen colors contrasts with his gestural, festive painting style. He paints on whatever he finds lying around. On the other hand, the unstable (fragile even) materials he uses stand in for a teetering sense of joy and innocence that could

Mary grew up in Hamburg, Alabama. Educated at Judson College, Marion, Alabama, she spent a brief spell in Auburn before returning in the 1940s to run the family farm with her husband, Charles Kirtley Brown. Mary began writing short stories in the

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year-after-year return to photograph familiar subjects along the two-lane highways captured the fleeting nature of place. Christenberry found and photographed the shells of a former existence, ghosts left behind by rural flight. Over a span of thirty years, Christenberry returned repeatedly to what became known as the green barn in Newbern. He tells of being approached during a shoot by Mr. Robert Walthall Senior who assured him that the barn always would be repainted in green, because it was that way in Christenberry’s celebrated images. I don’t think that he expected his routine as a photographer to have such an impact on local people. The barn remains green; it is an affirmation of Christenberry’s artistic role. The telling of a story lives large among many Alabama artists.

collapse at any moment. Opposing forces at work in a single place are potent.­ Incredible quilting takes place in Gee’s Bend, Alabama, whose quilters have attracted international acclaim with their fabulous designs and methods. When the late Lee Krasner, the abstract painter best known for her marriage to Jackson Pollock, visited Alabama in 1968 to attend an exhibition of her paintings, she stole away to Gee’s Bend from Tuscaloosa to meet the quilters and see their community. Poetic, lyrical, and rhythmic elements gather in their quilt designs. These Alabama quilters seem to be reaching back to Africa and forward to contemporary painting to transform fabric remnants into stunning quilts that provide nurturing warmth from the cold. Alabama native Charlie Lucas is a sculptor and painter who is, for the most part, self-taught. Lucas thinks of himself as being childlike, caught up in a make-believe world. He is a great example of an artist who uses what is at hand. His intuitive sculptural interpretations of everyday things tend to be assembled from junked materials. His subject matter is usually rural and resonates with people who seek out his work. They are attracted to the liveliness of images and forms that are assembled from salvaged materials to take on new meanings. Lucas references the figure by welding found metal elements into an assemblage in a manner that allows his audience to see the idea of the figure while looking at bits and parts, such as rakes, automotive suspension parts, and a fragment of wrought iron fencing. Lucas, who is known as the “Tin Man,” is himself a frequent subject of his art, and by extension, we are his subjects as well. The well-known Alabama native William Christenberry left his home place and struck out for New York in the early 1960s, taking with him a portfolio of his paintings and a slew of small color snapshots that he made as source material for his abstract oil paintings. He found that his small photographs drew much more attention than his paintings, and he began to pursue photography, applying to it his sensibilities as an abstract painter. This led to his engagement with memory and time. He travelled to his home place each summer, photographing the same images in Hale County and its surroundings every year. Over the years his method became more professional, and his desire to photograph and rephotograph decaying roadside locales led to a sort of memory poetry expressed in color photographs. Christenberry was acutely aware of following close behind the late Walker Evans. Yet his photography elicits memory and loss. His

William was born in Fort Totten, Queens, New York. He was raised in Florida and Japan before moving to Georgia. He received a bachelor of arts in art from Georgia Southern University, Statesboro, and a master of fine arts from the University of South Carolina, Columbia. He is now associate professor of art and director of the Sarah Moody Gallery of Art at the University of Alabama, Tuscaloosa.

Reckoning the Land John Forney advisor

Understanding a landscape—land shaped by human presence—is a problem of imagination and scale. The accumulated record across time and distance is both vast and particular, and any summing elides more than it reveals. The native landscape of Rural Studio is enigmatic, because it is, in some ways, still unsettled. This ground, the lives made here, and its situation in the world are all characterized by struggle. For architecture students, this place is a school. The region reflects the American project, and the modern program. That remaking is described in the Columbian Exchange, where people, plants, animals, and microbes intermingle in incredible and unpredictable ways after 1492. The inhabiting of this territory by successive populations—aboriginal mound builders, banished Choctaws, exiled Bonapartists, land speculators, Episcopal planters, African slaves, sharecroppers, Mennonites, and migrant workers—demonstrates how often this has been a place of dispossession, and

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smallholdings as well. Hale County recapitulates the larger geographic order of the state of Alabama. To the south and west, river and creek bottoms edge prairie fields suitable for plantation agriculture, while in the northeast the last hills of the Appalachians provide soils too lean and terrain too rough for large-scale cropping. High prices for better land forced white families without slaves to work smaller, marginal plots in the hills. Farming on this fringe was most vulnerable to the vagaries of commodity price and crop failure. Many families lost their properties and frequently became tenants, caught in a cycle of debt working the parcels of others. The gradual dissolution of the cotton system took decades, with generations descending into the isolated poverty that characterized the rural American South in the first half of the twentieth century. Both the land and its people were overworked and ill-nourished. The suffering in this social and economic landscape led to waves of out migration, driven by the “push” factors of poverty, inequity, and mechanical pickers and the “pull” factors of factory jobs, money wages, and urban amenity elsewhere. In little more than a century another epoch of occupation, climax, and dispersal played out. No ultimately stable order was nurtured, but the consequences endure. One result is a place hard to know, as much of what people tried to make of it is gone. Its wealth, and those made wealthy, did not stay. Resources were extracted— natives in the Indian removals of the 1830s, the fertility of the soil diminished in crop after crop of cotton, the timber cut away to make ground for that export. The remaking of this terrain for production resulted in little lasting evidence of its moment. Surviving Greek Revival buildings attest to the former weight of this byway place, phantoms of a country and lives long lost. The physical landscape mirrored social and economic change, as civic, transport, and settlement patterns formed and reformed. The antebellum cotton landscape was a frontier opened first through river access. Civic life was meager, with planters exercising enormous control over their property in relative seclusion. Dwellings were crude, with hewn-log slave quarters formed as dependencies adjacent to the “big house” of the master. Emancipation encouraged the rejection of this nucleated order, as sharecroppers asserted what independence they could by adjoining cabins to the patch they worked, increasing their isolation. The growth of the rail system spread weatherboard construction on dimensional lumber framing, and

even defeat. The various unstable orders that habited this land established infuriating legacies, without offering the support of a legitimate and lasting social or political tradition. The cotton era had the greatest impact. The land and its population are still shaped by that original international industrial trade. Whitney’s gin made upland cotton competitive, and by 1817 Alabama Fever, the land rush into the Old Southwest of the United States, was on. Much of the southern half of what is now Hale County was then a vast meadow of cane—a native species spread by the decline of the Indian population and agriculture after the introduction of European diseases. The Canebrake presented a forbidding tangle, but also promised fertile soils especially suited to cotton. Slaves cleared those alluvial prairies along the Black Warrior River in the 1830s. By 1860 nearly 40 percent of Britain’s exports were cotton fabric, with 75 percent of that material from the American South. Nationally, the port of Mobile trailed only New York and New Orleans in exports. Cotton represented over half of U.S. exports in the first half of the nineteenth century, capitalizing the nation and driving the Industrial Revolution. The rapid, enormous wealth of its planters positioned Canebrake society in the economic and social leadership of the new state. For its first century, most of Alabama’s governors and senators were from the Black Belt, making agricultural interests central to state politics. As important, the plantation order they fostered survived the Civil War, as land reform was not pursued in Reconstruction. Instead, large holdings were maintained as essential to boosting cotton production, vital for the recovering national economy. And from 1803 to 1937, the United States remained the world’s leading cotton exporter. The dissolution of slavery did not break the cotton system either. It was transformed through tenantry, with black and white hands caught in the crop lien system of debt bondage. Emancipation caused a labor crisis on cotton plantations, and sharecropping provided the mechanism to put newly free workers, without capital or property, back into production. Many croppers never realized a cash surplus, and the capital created through their labor did not help field hands become mobile or educated. Children were pressed into work, and the neglect of schooling set a pattern yet unbroken in rural Alabama. The aggregation of the richest acreage into major plantations on the black-soil prairies came at the cost of

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Heritage and Sense of Place in Architecture

stationed larger market centers and ginneries. But only with hard surface all-weather roads did the rural population gain wide access to towns and off-farm employment. After four decades of postwar depression, early in the twentieth-century brick buildings again were constructed in centers serving the expanded market of a more mobile rural populace. The storefronts and main streets built then endure, but often now empty, as out-migration also increased with mobility. Patterns of land use evolved as well, chiefly as wide cultivation gave way to pasture and woodland. Row cropping is now rare, as livestock and timber require limited labor and benefit from the low property tax regime that dominates rural Alabama politics. And both suit absentees, who own roughly two-thirds of Hale County. The modern crop is catfish, grain-fed in ponds formed by embanking clay soils. This factory farming echoes sharecropping, with local farmers contracted to national suppliers. Another vernacular order is less clear, as the cryptic Jim Crow landscape is barely comprehensible. With majority African American populations in most Black Belt counties, white political power constructed a physical language of careful distinctions. The plain signs of de jure segregation are disappearing, but in towns black and white residential districts remain distinct. Communities like Mason’s Bend are clearly on the least desirable lands, as African Americans still inhabit the margins of this geography. Finally, the most inscrutable element of this landscape is the Black Warrior, making Hale County’s western boundary. It granted access to land made rich by its flooding, but now sets a meandering limit. Only one bridge links the county westward, so movement tends to parallel the river north and south. Impeding access beyond, its shore is an almost unknowable, wild terrain. Its rough beauty defines a place reduced and unhurried, a country where the few who remain abide. The mystery of this landscape is magnified by those who contest each other’s remembering of it—as the site of triumphs or tribulations, achievement or injury. Pride and resentment twine over this ground.

Richard B. Hudgens Rural Studio faculty

Growing up as a young man in rural west Alabama, I did not have any preconceptions about architecture. I just experienced the buildings that I grew up around. I saw all types of local structures and began to observe which ones worked best and which ones were the most pleasant. I noticed differences between older buildings and newer buildings and began to intuitively absorb the reasons why they were different. Most of the buildings were vernacular; very few were designed by architects. I began to realize that some made a bigger impression than others and wondered why the buildings that were light, airy, comfortable, and beautiful were the ones that captured my admiration. What defines beauty? Materials that stand the test of time, good proportions, and light quality help define beauty for me. My perception is also affected by context and my Southern history and culture. Because of my strong family ties and a tradition of oral family storytelling, the buildings are a tangible link to my rich past and bygone ancestors. We are connected through our historic constructions. There are several reasons why some buildings last and others do not: many are destroyed by fires, storms, economic development, neglect, “progress”—to name a few. The buildings that survive do so because they are efficient and tell a story. My observations of surviving buildings have made me admire them and the people that built them, both free and enslaved. Alabama became a state in 1819 and by 1861 had developed into one of the wealthiest states in the Union. In a short span of forty-two years, Alabama’s built environment evolved from crude frontier settlements in virgin territory into sophisticated towns and cities, with buildings that were internationally known for their design. It seems remarkable to me that Alabama developed so rapidly in the nineteenth century when most states took several hundred years to evolve. The people that settled Alabama brought their building traditions with them and this is reflected in every type of structure in the landscape. Before the development of vast transportation networks and the Industrial Revolution, the process of building in Alabama had changed little from the time America was founded.

Educated at Dartmouth College and Princeton University, John practiced with Venturi, Scott Brown and Associates for seven years. He has taught at the University of Arkansas and Auburn University, including two years instructing outreach at Rural Studio. He is an architect in his hometown, Birmingham.

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columns, faces the morning sun. The porch and front rooms on the first floor are protected from the hot afternoon sun and have jib windows that connect the inside with the outside and allow furniture to be moved in and out easily. High ceilings dissipate the heat and large symmetrically placed windows provide good cross ventilation. Operable shutters (blinds), along with curtains, are an integral part of the house’s climate control system. During the summer, the windows were opened at night to allow the cool night air into the house, windows and shutters were closed in the mornings and opened again after the day’s main heat was over. In the winter, the wall-to-wall grass matting, which was nailed to the floor in strips for the summer, would be replaced with wool carpeting nailed down in strips. The carpeting was decorative while providing insulation from the cold crawlspace. The windows were dressed with heavy, lined curtains to keep out the draft. In winter, fireplaces heated individual rooms, though not the hallways. These houses are wonderful teaching tools for young architects. They are examples of human ingenuity in adapting to our climate. They demonstrate how to use local materials that survive the test of time and how to design for Alabama’s climate without relying on the electrical grid. They are of their time and place, but they also relate to our time and place. They show us how design can make life more comfortable, beautiful, and environmentally responsible.

Antebellum buildings were governed by constraints dictated by their time that seem particularly appropriate today. Building materials had to be sourced locally as much as possible, and only items that were not locally available, such as glass, locksets, nails, marble, and exotic woods, were imported. Since there was no electricity, buildings had to be designed with passive systems to provide comfort, a principal relevant to today’s need to conserve energy. Siting to either capture winter sunlight or shield occupants from summer sun was important, as was capturing prevailing breezes and pre-cooling breezes with large shade trees. The Greek Revival style adapted well to this climate because of its symmetrical floor plans and symmetrically aligned windows for cross ventilation and large porches for shade and outdoor living. Buildings are a three-dimensional expression of their culture and context. The antebellum Greek Revival style was so popular in the United States that it became our first national style of architecture. Greek Revival buildings functioned well as a machine for living in and expressed the owner’s hopes and desires for a refined cultural lifestyle. These early Alabama buildings reveal truths about architecture that are relevant today. Builders used locally available materials and traditional ways of building whether for modest log cabins with mud and stick chimneys and dirt floors or for brick mansions with king post timber truss roofs. Virgin Southern longleaf pine, heart cypress, and handmade bricks were the primary building materials. The wood was initially cut and hewn as logs. Later it was sawn by hand, and still later by steam or waterpower. People today seem to look at antebellum buildings as decorative but inefficient structures. What they miss is that these buildings are very sustainable and use natural systems to provide comfortable, dry, safe places to live and work. In my part of the Deep South, the hot, humid summer is the most important climate influence on building design. That is one reason nineteenth-century Southern houses typically had taller ceilings, larger rooms, larger windows, and broader roof overhangs than houses in the North. Magnolia Grove in Greensboro, Alabama, is a good example of an antebellum Greek Revival house that responds well to the local climate. Built circa 1840 as a townhouse on forty acres, it was constructed of locally made brick and milled southern longleaf pine. The front of the house, with its pedimented portico and six Tuscan

Dick was born and raised in Linden, Alabama. Educated at the School of Architecture at Auburn University in the same class as Sambo Mockbee, Dick graduated in 1975 with two degrees: a bachelor of architecture and a bachelor of science in building construction. His preservation-based practice in Selma, Alabama, celebrated its thirty-third anniversary in 2012. He has instructed at Rural Studio since its inception in 1993. He lives in Selma.

Oh, the HEAT! Amos PAUL Kennedy JR. advisor

Heat is energy transferred from one system to another by thermal interaction. Now, that is a scientific definition of HEAT. But we in Alabama know that HEAT is what makes it so damn HOT here. Our HEAT starts in mid-June and goes through midSeptember, including the infamous “dog days” of August.

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burn fuel to extract coal from the land...we race down and up superhighways in air-conditioned trucks...we create airborne and terrestrial pollutants...we toxify that which we seek to escape. Or do we seek to escape what we have toxified? Such is the epic battle of human against nature, in our times: us versus HEAT. HEAT is energy transferred from one system to another by thermal interaction, while HOT is the feeling or production of an uncomfortable sensation of HEAT. The native HEAT of Alabama is Southern. It is foreign to the descendants of the slave owners. Their discomfort is an oppressor to be overthrown, as in Judeo-ChristianIslamic mythology they must prove themselves MASTERS of all that GOD has created. They must conquer the HEAT. Is it the Alabama HEAT that creates a social system that represses the masses of the state’s citizens, while the minority enjoy the comforts of affluence? They build a false environment that sustains cool luxuries for themselves and discomforts for the masses: The luxury of living and working and driving without an uncomfortable sensation of HEAT. The discomfort of living under the most racist state constitution intheseunitedstatesofamerica. The luxury of crafting laws that increase the wealth of the wealthy. The discomfort of tax codes that penalize the poorest of its citizens. The luxury of private schools for privileged children. The discomfort of schools segregated by race and class. The discomfort of a “higher” education system that pays a football coach more than a full professor. The luxury of sky boxes at the stadium. The discomfort of humans being hunted and tracked in the twenty-first century just as humans were hunted and tracked during the great enslavement in Alabama. The luxury of living off the human labor of those people. The discomfort of HATE experienced by so many of the citizens of this state. The luxury of hating. HEAT HAET HATE Strange, is it not, that HEAT and HATE have the same letters. A simple transformation will convert one to the other.

HEAT is not the same as HOT. HEAT is a condition. HOT is a symptom. Conditions can be endured, but we seek relief from symptoms. Now, 35 degrees Celsius is a comfortable temperature. By nature, humans acquire a comfort and a tolerance that makes us at home in the HEAT. We sweat, we complain, but we can adapt. Our bodies sweat to cool us from the HEAT. We can sow and reap in the HEAT. Build pyramids. Pick cotton. In true Alabama spirit, however, we seek to overcome this HEAT. Instead of being a condition we can live with—like poverty, or disease, or disenfranchisement, or injustice—we will not tolerate HEAT. Every summer, we pour enormous energy and countless resources into the creation of comfort zones from the HEAT of Alabama. We seek to create an unnatural environment for our own comfort. We seek to cool it down. Air conditioning is one of our attempts to overcome the imperfections of nature. Of GOD. We air-condition our environment so completely that the moments we spend between the airconditioned car and the building are our entire exposure to the HEAT and the reality of our environment, alien to ourselves. And so, we lose the ability to adapt to HEAT, to adapt to the world. We become alien to the environment. My problem with HEAT is this response to it. When I am accustomed to the HEAT, air conditioning hurts. Walking into a public building is like plunging into a freezer. It is as cold as the ninth circle of Hell in Dante’s Inferno. My sinuses sting dry and my throat feels raw. I crawl with gooseflesh. I have to pee. In an air-conditioned environment, we are isolated, separated from the source of all light and life and warmth and I leave as fast as I can. It is a relief to get back into my un-air-conditioned car. Once out of the building, I begin to thaw, but the superheated air in my car is what truly revives me. I feel the HEAT permeate my body as if I were in an oven; it rises through my bones with a rush. I feel the HEAT generated by the Light. The HEAT that connects me to the universe. We should seek to use this abundance of HEAT to create a sustainable environment. Once the warm nights were spent outside on the porch connecting with family, friends, and neighbors. We created community. Now we withdraw to the cold. To isolation. The body conserves its own heat, pulling it back to the core, withdrawing it from the universe. We achieve cold at the expense of the universe around us. In order to cool ourselves, we rape Earth to generate electricity...we

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“Be careful sticking your toe in the Black Belt, there’s something about it that grabs and holds.” And, of course, she was right. Less than six months later I found myself a part-time resident of Marion, and the proud owner of a neglected house. Built in 1832, it is older than the town of Hartford, where I grew up. I am drawn to the Black Belt as much for what is lost as what remains. There are families and traditions that predate statehood. Ancestors, long dead and never met, are spoken of as if they had been to supper the night before. Customs and rituals are clung to tightly, if only through stories and memory. Lost recipes are recalled by those with personal acquaintance: lallyhoo, a summer dish of wild blackberries, sweetened and stewed, and laced with thin ribbons of dumpling; country-store tomatoes, an improvised concoction of canned tomatoes and chopped raw onion, assertively seasoned and eaten with soda crackers as an afternoon snack or companion to cold beer (particular to the community of Hamburg); and podunk, a long vanished preparation of thrift, in which leftover biscuits, saturated with molasses, are cooked in a black skillet ’til candied and chewy—a dish engineered to feed a passel of hungry children quickly. Calendar and community were once organized by food: the growing, harvesting, preservation, and preparation. Hog killing and syrup making were common rural  activities. Mayonnaise and pound cake were always made on Saturday. There are still members of my generation who remember this; we’re not so far removed from it. Although much of this tradition exists only in memory, vestiges endure in uninterrupted practice.  In Faunsdale, a great-grandmother in her eighties still churns butter each week, as she has since her childhood growing up on one of the several small dairies that once populated the west Alabama countryside. After church, she still cooks weekly Sunday dinners from scratch, using ingredients gathered from her kitchen garden, and bringing together a table of immediate and extended family, a tradition that has mostly disappeared from the landscape. Monthly covered-dish suppers—another once common, but now almost vanished tradition—are still practiced with devotion in the tiny communities of Newbern and Marion Junction. Here in west Alabama, there is growing interest in the earlier way of doing things. Along with backyard vegetable plots and chicken coops, vast parcels of land are reverting to natural methods of cultivation. Herds

We HATE what is other. In Alabama we have made HEAT the other. We HATE HEAT. HEAT is a condition. HOT is a symptom. HOT is a symptom. HATE is THE disease. So, is it the HEAT we have problems with, or the HOT? If it is the HOT, then the solutions lay within ourselves, just as the solution to inadequate housing is found with the people. We must learn to embrace the HEAT that so defines Alabama culture. What outsiders see as a liability, we must make an asset. But how? By thinking inside the box. A radical concept but we must first exhaust all the possibilities in the box before we go out of the box for a solution. Because we have new resources does not mean we will use those resources efficiently. And we must use our limited resources efficiently. Look for innovations to flow from the creative minds of the citizens of Alabama. It is here that a great social movement started. It is here that bold steps were taken to forge a more just nation. Remember we are the heart of Dixie and we shall overcome. Amos was born in Lafayette and raised in Gambling, Louisiana. He graduated from the University of Illinois at Champaign-Urbana as a systems analyst. He later fell in love with a printing press, and lived and worked in Akron and Gordo, Alabama. He recently moved to Detroit. As he would prefer to be described, Amos is “a humble negro printer” who lived in small Alabama towns before moving north.

I Have a Sense of Wonder About This Place Scott Peacock advisor

The lulling landscape, the architecture, the people, the two-hundred-year-old traditions, the distinct culture of its food: I am drawn to all of it. Born and raised in the southeastern corner of the state, this region of Alabama is new to me. It is foreign and filled with mystery, and I am drawn to all of it. Four years ago I visited the Black Belt for the first time, traveling to rural Perry County to interview the writer Mary Ward Brown, then ninety-two, as part of my documentary project recording the earliest food recollections of Alabama’s oldest citizens. Shortly before that visit, a doyenne of Montgomery society warned me,

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selected high school juniors from each of the county’s schools, including the private academy. The Comets’ goals included having students from different schools, races, and socioeconomic backgrounds discover their similarities and build lasting relationships with each other. We believe it’s important to encourage graduates to return to the county and become productive members and leaders of the community. Most visitors who come to the Black Belt are struck by the beauty of the land and the generosity and quiet unbroken spirit of so many of the people. Yet visitors may also see that while the fabric is beautiful, it has rips and tears created by division. The diversity that contributes to the beauty of our county’s land and people often divides us, making us our own worst enemy. Those divisions were created over a century ago. The Alabama Constitution, crafted in 1901 by a group of mostly wealthy planters from Alabama’s central region, known as the Black Belt, was designed to disenfranchise poor whites and all blacks and to concentrate political power in Montgomery. The constitution still requires approval by the state legislature to pass laws setting taxes. Because public schools are dependent on funding from taxes, requiring legislative approval results in inadequate funding for our public schools. In addition, a major part of local funds for schools comes from local ad valorem taxes, which must be approved by the legislature and then by a vote of the people. It is easy for powerful people to block approval of almost any proposed legislation. There are also powerful state-level interests that fund campaigns against passage of any new taxes. It is not uncommon for powerful people to work hard to prevent a relatively small increase in property taxes. Undereducated voters often do not realize they are voting against their own interests when they vote against a tax that would educate their children and grandchildren. Private schools are available in almost every small town, and private school families often feel that they are already supporting two school systems. They are usually not motivated to provide more support to public schools, leaving public education in the hands of less affluent families. Inadequate support discourages public school attendance. The result is fewer teachers and fewer course offerings. Having fewer teachers and course offerings does not necessarily correlate with a poor education but it can create challenges. At small private schools, the faculty is usually paid a lower salary and offered few benefits, so hiring the best teachers may be more difficult. Having two

of rare heritage cattle are being established and raised organically. Gardeners are saving and sharing heirloom seeds. And a generation of modern homesteaders is emerging. Prominent among these are the efforts of Chip and Laura Spencer on their family farm in Marion Junction and the Rural Studio Farm in Newbern. Both seek to create self-reliance in their production of food and in the process provide us with models of sustainability within the community and for a new generation of architects. Scott was born and raised in Hartford, Alabama. After dropping out of music school, he returned to his first love, food, and at twenty-four was chosen to run the kitchen at the Georgia Governor’s Mansion. In 1998 he became executive chef at Watershed Restaurant in Decatur, Georgia. In 2007 he was named Best Chef in the Southeast by the James Beard Foundation and was a semifinalist for Outstanding Chef in America in 2009. The coauthor of The Gift of Southern Cooking, he now lives in Marion, Alabama, and is working on a documentary about Alabamian foodways.

Mending the Fabric William A. “Sonny” Ryan advisor

Family, friends, and the countryside drew my wife and me back to Hale County in 1971, despite the county’s less-than-thriving economy. We returned after college and have raised our children here. I worked at a local bank before law school, and during my legal career, I served on the Hale County Board of Education before becoming a judge. My wife taught in the local high school and then moved to the local community college. After retirement, she was elected to the board of education. Both of us have had an attachment to our school system and remain passionate about the success of its students. In 1993 I realized that many of the people who were coming into my court were children with problems that pervaded their families. After much reflection and conversation with others, I decided that poverty was a major cause of the problems these citizens faced. To help address their needs, I worked with a group of concerned community members to form Hale Empowerment and Revitalization Organization, Inc. (HERO). One of our programs was the Hale Builders of Positive Partnerships (BOPP) Comets, a leadership-training program for

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Hale County, Past the Present and into the Future

schools in a small community reduces opportunities in both and creates a division in a community that, in fact, needs to be unified in every possible way. Underfunded school systems also contribute to the lack of career opportunities available to young people. The likelihood that a business will locate in a community often depends on the strength of the local public school system. Often, local schools must settle for less than topnotch teachers because our brightest and best are not returning to the area. However, thanks to programs like Teach for America and graduates who do return to the community for family reasons, our schools are improving. Greensboro is a good example. The Rural Studio, Horseshoe Farm, and Teach for America have brought new people into town—people who have been here long enough to understand the Black Belt and its beauty, people who have had a variety of experiences and want to share their knowledge with our people. During the last decade HERO has sponsored programs designed to show our families how to improve their lives and why they should work for a good education, both secondary and post-secondary, for their children so that they can and will return to this area to improve life here. I believe the forces that now create divisions, tearing our region apart, could become a positive force if we could learn to respect our differences in color and social and economic levels. Black Belt citizens should understand that when all our people have opportunities, we all benefit. Some of the Hale BOPP students have returned, and they are now taking active roles in west Alabama. One has been elected to public office, while others are involved in teaching, businesses, or professions. The Comets who have returned have become members of the community and have made important contributions to the county and the state. Economic differences will always exist, but no one should be denied opportunities for advancement. Human dignity and fulfillment should be available to all. Once we learn to accept and value people’s differences and recognize the worth of each human being, we can become a strong part of this state’s fabric.

William Sledge advisor

The shaping of modern Hale County and the Black Belt of Alabama was set in motion about two-hundred years ago when Alabama began to seek statehood and land claims were available to those adventurous or unsatisfied enough with their circumstances to move into this wild and mysterious place. The area had attracted many before, including the Mississippian mound builders who established a regional cultural and agricultural center more than a millennium ago and left artifacts suggestive of an advanced civilization on the northern edge of the Black Belt. If only we could better read the lessons of their achievements and decline. By the end of 1814, the War of 1812 with England was over, and with it came domination and ultimately forced migration of the Creeks and other Alabama native tribes. Into this vacuum, which replaced the beginnings of a relatively harmonious, multiracial society, poured early nineteenth-century entrepreneurs. They were especially attracted to the loamy, sticky richness of this verdant plain’s nearly black topsoil (hence Black Belt), and they brought with them their slaves and ambitions. It is noteworthy that racism and ethnic suppression has not always been the norm. Another group, the Napoleonic expatriates known as the Vine and Olive Colony, settled and named what is today Demopolis (on former Choctaw homelands) and gave us Marengo County. Their attempt to grow olives and grapes in the cane break, however, failed. They underestimated the hostility of the land and climate. Instead, the royal road to wealth was cotton—fickle, tendentious, and labor hungry. Its grand commercial success lasted only a few decades (antebellum) in Alabama, but long enough to be a major provocation for the bloody cataclysm of the Civil War and the beginning of hard times for all Black Belt inhabitants, not just those enslaved. The aftermath of the Civil War set in motion a painful renegotiation of relationships between blacks and whites and the creation of a hybrid culture with roots in white Anglo-Saxon and black African traditions that reach into almost every aspect of contemporary Alabama culture and life. This lineage combines the romantictragic (the lost cause idea) and the disenfranchised

Sonny was born and raised in Moundville, Alabama. He gained a degree in industrial engineering at the University of Alabama, where he later received a law degree in 1982. Sonny was Hale County District Judge from 1987 until his retirement on November 30, 2011. He still lives in Moundville.

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modern business of trailer homes traps people into substandard housing. And the failure to invest more generously in education creates a vicious downward cycle that traps people in a narrowly limited life. What those who stay have held onto is a celebration of the past. The future, so far, looks hazy and tainted by the outmigration of talent and ambition. One day in the mid-1970s, as a psychiatrist-intraining at a busy New Haven, Connecticut, psychiatric clinic, I was asked to see a large woman with a psychotic illness who had recently been released from a state psychiatric hospital. I was chosen to see her because I was the biggest person around; she had been responsible for the death of one of her children, and the staff were afraid of her and of their reactions to her. After telling me her story for a while, she stopped abruptly, stared at me, and uttered, “Where you from?” with the challenging directness to which people who have given up almost everything have easy access. Her question confirmed what I had sensed and I answered, “From the same place as you.” It turned out she was born and raised a few miles from my home, and across that divide of race, time, and distance, we found each other. Her response was “Thank God, somebody is going to understand what happened to me now.” She no longer felt alone in her struggle. And so for the future of the people who live in the Black Belt, we have to keep reaching across the divides that separate us from our common humanity in order to be something more than a continuation of recent history. We must continue to find ways to give young people more access to an imaginative life and material prosperity. We must continue to extend our generosity and loyalty even to those we may believe have not earned it. Surely if the Mississippian mound builders could make a success of the place, we can as well. And we should start (and end) with always being generous and forgiving of one another.

agrarian (poverty). The Civil War, Reconstruction, the Great Depression, and the modern Civil Rights Movement have all been milestones on the path of an uneasy melding of disparate cultural roots and struggles with the land and climate. The clannish nature of power relations, the tribal structure of loyalties, and the intense family orientation of commitments has produced this paradox of generous, loving, loyal fractiousness that characterizes much of the modern Black Belt and binds all of us who have lived there, especially those who started there. People are poor in Hale County. The social structure is relatively flat in terms of wealth and power; unlike much of American society, there are not vast differences between the top and bottom. The result is mixing and easy familiarity. Formerly segregated groups increasingly share their interests, humanity, and political ambitions. Transcendental Christianity is popular and there are many born-again true believers. The Civil Rights movement was nurtured and spawned in the Black Belt, but with little violence in Hale County. Searing hatefulness is rare. The Black Belt has attracted major artistic interest and attention. Among recent twentieth- and twentyfirst–century achievements are Walker Evans and James Agee’s Let Us Now Praise Famous Men and William Christenberry’s photography, both about Hale County; the Gees Bend quilting artistry in Wilcox County; the writing of Mary Ward Brown in Perry County; and the sculpture of Charlie Lucas, now from Dallas County. One has to ask, “What is the allure of this place?” Start with the land: Hale County is a complex terrain— half of its area lies within the foothills of the Appalachian ridge—hollows, hidden small valleys covered in pine trees make for isolation and solitude; “up in the valley,” we used to say. From the middle to the southern edge is the Black Belt proper; rolling prairie grassland with its famous soil. In the north, the dirt is sandy and porous and there is the storied clay—rich orange, maroon, and so red it seems that the earth is on fire, or bleeding. And there is the river, the stealthy Black Warrior snaking from the north to merge with the Tombigbee in Demopolis on its way to Mobile Bay. It is the western boundary of Hale County. When I was on the edge of leaving Hale County at age eighteen (never to come back for long), my father told me not to forget that the people of Hale were among the finest in the world. He was not wrong. But Hale County life has drawbacks; being poor is one. Inadequate shelter and education are the major sidekicks of poverty. The

William was born and raised in Greensboro, Alabama. He received his doctor of medicine from Baylor University in 1971 and went to Yale University as a resident at the School of Medicine in Psychiatry in 1975, and he has lived in New Haven ever since. He is currently George and Esther Gross Professor of Psychiatry at Yale School of Medicine.

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Impact of Rural Studio on Our Community

ongoing maintenance program and long-term community parks and recreation plan for all five parks in Greensboro, Rural Studio is working with the Lions Park Committee, the city of Greensboro, and Hale County to form a Parks and Recreation Board. I have also been involved with the Greensboro Farmers’ Market project as a private individual. The market is not just a Greensboro project—it’s been a countywide undertaking by Rural Studio staff. From the early stages of the work, Rural Studio faculty and staff fully recognized the farmers’ market’s potential as a sustainability effort and revenue source for our Hale County farmers. During our first year of operation we had two Hale County participating farmers, the next year we had twelve Hale County farmers participating in this project. It was through the farmers’ market project that I fully realized the contributions that Rural Studio has made to our community. The stands and benches were designed and built by Rural Studio staff, and they took on the difficult task of marketing the Greensboro Farmers’ Market. Together we designed and put in place a complete marketing program, an effort that included designing brochures, logos, newspaper ads and articles, and initiating art classes for local elementary students that showed the value of locally grown vegetables. The “Market Sign” and a painted advertisement in one of the most visible locations in Greensboro were done by Rural Studio staff. Rural Studio students are involved at many levels in our community. It is important to recognize that they have a sense of ownership of the projects they undertake. You mention a project, and their eyes light up and they will gladly engage in an in-depth discussion of “their” project. Because there are numerous teams performing a wide array of projects, it’s not difficult to find a student or staff member willing to engage in a productive conversation. Together with our community I actively seek the advice and participation of Rural Studio, and we welcome opportunities to work with them to further the common interests of the students, the citizens of Greensboro, and Hale County. It’s the example of leading by example that encourages our citizens to become who they can be. I have heard comments about odd-looking structures that appear out of nowhere in our county or town. Sometimes it’s a “what the heck is that?” But if you are from this part of the country, you already know these are Rural Studio structures that represent a learning experience for those perfecting a trade. In community-owned

Stephen P. Gentry community partner

Through the Greensboro City Council, I have been involved with Lions Park, the Boys and Girls Club, and Parks and Recreation and have had the opportunity to collaborate on numerous projects with Rural Studio. First, let me say it’s no walk in the park to have to work in, around, and through political organizations to accomplish specific goals. In our projects, Rural Studio worked at overcoming financial obstacles and accommodating space requirements. Thanks to their leadership we have been able to push through many obstructions. The city of Greensboro struggles with limited financial and professional resources. Rural Studio faculty and students are keenly aware of this deficit and work tirelessly to find creative ways to transform problems into opportunities and learning experiences by creating projects that fit our economic realities. The faculty takes projects back to the “think tank” to make the projects more appropriate and use more affordable and available local resources. To me, this is true leadership. At the studio they revise and replace, redo and restructure, until their design solves the problem. The real world functions with limited financial resources, so Rural Studio’s methods are powerful training tools. Many times, when I deal with a project and find the overall outlines are not clear, I have relied on Rural Studio staff to clarify the picture. Rural Studio faculty and students have this unique ability to listen, make a plan, present it, and then put their tools to work to help solve real problems in our community. I never fully understood or appreciated just how much the architecture profession can contribute to a society. I either was not looking or just never had the opportunity to interact with seasoned architects and committed students practicing their trade. No community should be without architects; they have much to offer. At Lions Park, we still have some work to do with Rural Studio. This has been a hands-on project from day one and continues today with great success. Rural Studio was one of the first to recognize the impact the park would have on Greensboro. The continued level of commitment from the studio has made this a worthwhile endeavor that affects the entire area. Recognizing the need for an

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to help retire the mortgage debt. They deeded five acres to the city of Greensboro, which used a grant to put in a basketball court, tennis courts, and a baseball field. Over time the Lions put in two more ball fields with lights, a barbecue pavilion, and a horse-riding ring with lights. They leased their property to the city of Greensboro, which, in turn, kept the grass mowed and picked up the trash. This was the Lions Park I found in 1985 when I began working at the Alabama Fish Farmer Center, which sits on the edge of Lions Park. The park’s ownership had become fragmented and its facilities disjointed. It was suffering from benign neglect and was in a pitiful condition. It was a far cry from what its original creators envisioned, but it still had wonderful potential. I was asked to join the Greensboro Lions Club about the same time as the Auburn Rural Studio was started in Hale County, and I was fascinated by the studio’s concept of education via “real world” experience that served the community. It seemed a “win-win” situation, although at the time the practicality of some of the projects escaped me! But I became very aware of the studio’s presence in the community and how creative and industrious it was. Being a former Peace Corps volunteer, commitment is a big deal to me. Nevertheless, my first experience with Rural Studio staff was not terribly positive. In the late 1990s, it became apparent that Lions Park was in danger of becoming industrialized. The Lions Park Development Committee was created in 2000, and its members asked Rural Studio to become involved in development plans to save the park. The studio staff reviewed the proposal and turned it down. I was quick to criticize them at the time, but now realize that their ideas about what constituted a good project for both the community and the students were evolving and that they weren’t yet ready for the park. However, in 2004, Andrew Freear, the studio’s new director, met with Don Ballard, the new president of the Greensboro Lions Club (who also became chairman of the Park Development Committee), and they agreed that the project be revived with Rural Studio’s participation. Since that time, many fifth-year groups, each working for two years, have wowed the Committee with one project after another. They have transformed the park through their creative architecture and fund-raising abilities. Yes, there have been some failures and shortcomings, which is to be expected in an educational project of this magnitude. I give credit to the studio staff and student teams for their long-term commitment to making

structures, I personally would rather the buildings be more in keeping with local norms. There is a “Southern charm” about Greensboro and the South in general, which I think we have a responsibility and desire to preserve. To that end, Rural Studio has been actively involved in citywide planning to preserve our treasured Downtown Historic District; it is part of our past and surely will play a part in our future of tourism. Working with and involving Rural Studio in our projects has provided long-term benefits for our city and our community. We have a deficit of willing professionals in our economically challenged area and the Auburn Rural Studio fills the gap in many cases by offering our community the involvement of its students and staff and their many distinguished guests, many from abroad. Steve was born and raised in Demopolis, Alabama. He graduated from the University of West Alabama with a bachelor of science in business administration. Before returning to west Alabama in 2004, Steve lived and worked in Louisiana for twentyfour years. He is an information-technology consultant and software developer for the healthcare industry and a part-time cattle farmer. He served as a Greensboro city councilman from 2008 to 2012, originated the Greensboro Farmers’ Market, and served on the Lions Park Committee. He lives in Greensboro.

Lions Park Bill Hemstreet community partner

The Greensboro Lions Park, where I began work in 1985, was created more than fifty years ago by a group of civicminded individuals. They were members of a newly chartered Lions Club in Greensboro, Alabama. At the time, Greensboro’s economy was vibrant and civic involvement was considered important. The idea of creating a multipurpose recreational park for the town came to be. The undertaking was huge for a civic club, even in the best of times. In the mid 1960s, the club raised funds and purchased forty acres of farmland on the southern edge of the city limits. Unfortunately, the economic malaise that now grips the Black Belt began to make itself felt in Greensboro. The Lions Club, facing declining membership and tough economic times, continued to try to make the park a reality. With only a core of its original charter members (about fifteen) still involved, the club sold twenty acres to the Hale County Commission

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Studio’s commitment to the project. But seeing the vision created by the phase one group for the park’s future and then watching the dramatic transformation they created, made me a true believer in the studio and the park’s future. I know these students all found good jobs. A little story I must recount about the phase one group that occurred some five years after they left: last fall I took my dogs for a very early morning walk along the park’s walking trail, assuming there was no one there for the dogs to bother. It was very foggy. As I walked between the ball fields and the newly created playground area, I saw a blurry figure vigorously running around the ballfield bases closest to the play area. There was another person with him standing at home plate. I thought their presence strange, as there was no ballgame at this time in the morning. I hurried the dogs along and made another round on the walking trail. When I got back to the playground, the person who had previously been running the bases was now swinging on one of the swings, as vigorously as he had been running. I heard him shout, “Bill!” I immediately recognized the voice of Dan Splaingard. He jumped off the swing and came over to give me a big bear hug. Dan was the spiritual leader of the phase one group. He had apparently come down from his job in Chicago with his girlfriend to visit with his brother in Mississippi. They were on their way back to Chicago and decided to check on the progress at Lions Park—at five o’clock in the morning. Now that’s what you call commitment!

sure the overall park development is being done well. “Amazing” is the best description for this Rural Studio Lions Park project! Seeing the Lions Park Committee concept come to life has been a source of great personal satisfaction. The concept provides for two representatives from each of the three landholding entities (city, county, and the Greensboro Lions Club) to form a core voting committee. Additional nonvoting committee members come from the park’s various user groups, like the Greensboro Baseball Association. At a time when the country is suffering from bitter political divides and gridlock, the achievements in cooperation by the Lions Park Committee stand in stark contrast. They show what can be accomplished when people from the private and public sectors communicate and cooperate. This spirit has attracted significant private sector and government grants to Lions Park. The one issue that the Lions Park Committee continues to struggle with is that of unifying ownership of the park under one entity so that adequate maintenance can be assured. The Greensboro Lions Club has given the City of Greensboro a letter of intent to deed their property over to the city provided it creates a funded parks and recreation position to take care of all of Greensboro’s parks. We hope that will soon resolve the park’s only remaining issue. Rural Studio has been the catalyst for the success of the Lions Park Committee. Prior to the studio’s involvement, the committee was stuck in neutral. The students that worked on the park projects have been outstanding. Their energy, creativeness, “can-do” spirit, and ability to find ways to fund projects have been inspirational. I witnessed many student presentations of the development plans for committee approval that were always very professional. The presentations allowed crucial committee participation and feedback in the planning and construction phases of projects. Since my office is located at the park, I was also able to watch the students work on a daily basis through inclement weather conditions and human relations obstacles. The students give me great hope for the future of this country! Although I think each succeeding student group has been as good if not better than the last. I have a special place in my heart for the first phase group made up of Dan Splaingard, Alicia Gjesvold, Mark Wise, Jeremy Sargent, and Laura Filipek. They created the strategic plan for the park’s future and set a standard of excellence that all the other groups followed. At the beginning, I doubted Rural

Bill was born in Indiana and raised in Lakeland, Florida. He has a bachelor of science from Valdosta State College, Georgia, and a master of science from Auburn University. He spent two years in the U.S. Peace Corps in Sarawak, Malaysia, and three years as a teacher. Bill, also known as Dr. Catfish, is an advisor to the Auburn University Department of Fisheries and Allied Aquacultures. He works at the Alabama Fish Farming Center in Greensboro, specializing in fish disease diagnostics and control for the west Alabama catfish-farming industry. He is married to Caroline Hemstreet, who runs the Hale County Library on Main Street, Greensboro. He is currently Greensboro Lions Club president and secretary to the Lions Park Development Committee. Bill lives in Greensboro.

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Working in the Oakmulgee District of the Talladega National Forest

In explaining the natural environment to the studio, I found myself trying to bridge two languages: one of design and architecture, which I did not understand well, and another of ecological concepts and practices. Through my struggle to communicate a discipline and a restoration plan that I claimed to understand, I began to comprehend the vast distance between the land and the people. I also began to understand that it is the design of the built environment, the place people inhabit, that helps them “get” the natural environment, the place they want to explore but whose complexity they don’t fully grasp. So the more significant job of the Rural Studio/ Oakmulgee partnership was to find a way to convey the value of design, of building with native materials, and of naturally intact lands to a community that struggled with their day-to-day existence. Over the years we have designed and made large mock-ups for significant projects in the forest: two pavilions, a 180-foot-long trail connector pedestrian bridge, and a remarkable restroom project. We have dealt with structural integrity, durability, longevity, funding, maintenance, and general sustainability; we have talked with conservation thinkers. At this point we don’t have an affordable design that meets the Forest Service’s current desire for reduced infrastructure. It’s easy to think your ideas are ahead of others and that you are too far out in front of the headlights. As a partnership, we are stepping back, moving slower, and looking at how to take existing projects and present them in the forest in a way that will be more meaningful. We are using every opportunity to encourage people to explore those lands by converting low-use roads to hiking and biking trails. We are seeing success in increasing the number of visitors from urban environments that come to our area for recreation and exploration. This has some positive effect on the local economy. In the coming year, we will complete the kiosk that began our discussion over five years ago. It will be a relatively simple design compared to our other aspirations, but it will be a tangible project. Both Andrew and I are committed to keeping a presence in each other’s programs. We will continue to collaborate on projects in city parks as a means to introduce local citizens to the natural environment and give students an opportunity to work with unmilled wood. A Rural Studio design/build project on the Oakmulgee District is something that I look forward to and I feel that in time it will happen.

Cindy Ragland community partner

In 2004, I was approaching the end of writing a planning document that would set the course of ecological restoration of the Oakmulgee District of the Talladega National Forest for the next five to ten years. Concurrently, I was signing the design plans for a major building and infrastructure restoration at the Payne Lake Recreation Area. I didn’t like the design and thought the cost was excessive. We were about to spend over $500,000 on a new bathhouse and waterline installation in an area where the average selling price of a house was less than $25,000. I felt I had no choice: The project had been in the works years before I became the district ranger, so I reluctantly signed the plans. My passion has always been ecological restoration. I seem to gravitate to the struggle of bringing an ecosystem to a condition that represents a time when the land was whole or at least more intact than anything my generation has ever known. But that’s the problem: we now have a generation of people who lack a point of reference for ecological health. They have always lived in a built environment that has limited interaction with the natural environment. So in a time when political and social relevance seems to dictate our existence, my dilemma was to explain the wonderfully complex landscape of the Oakmulgee District to a public who had lost context for understanding the native ecosystem. I had the plan, just not a way to communicate the message. I had heard of Rural Studio but had not made contact until a student, Natalie Butts, called wanting advice about securing a fire tower to convert to a birding platform for the nearby Perry Lakes Park. Natalie was the friend of a friend. During that same time frame I was working with a group of people interested in developing a market for the small-diameter loblolly pines that were overly abundant in the forest. We were conducting a pilot project to test the efficacy of using conventional logging equipment to harvest these smaller trees. Connecting these discussion threads, I was invited to join a partnership with Rural Studio on a project called “Forestry and Community: Creating Local Markets for Local Resources.”

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woodshop for the studio. Across the street, another of our previously empty buildings now houses a design studio and classrooms. A mere half block from there, plans are underway to build the children’s library. Continue a little farther and you’ll spot Spencer House, where the studio staff lives, and then you’ll see Morrisette House with its kitchen gardens, greenhouse, and ongoing mock-ups. As remarkable as those physical changes are, you have to head outside of the town itself to see the impact a Rural Studio project can have on an individual. Just a couple of miles to the west of Newbern, you’ll find Dave’s House. It is one of the first of the 20K Houses, and it is the project that has meant the most to me. Dave is a friend of mine who never had a home of his own. Where he lived, he had no running water and only a wood stove on which to cook. After a lifetime of hard work, his only income was a small social security check. Dave’s neighbors, Earnest and Marie Bryant, generously gave Dave a place to build a house, and with the great design and hard work of Rural Studio, Dave got a home of his own in just over a year’s time. There is no way that I can express with words what that home has meant to Dave’s life. Not only was he given a place to live, he also enjoyed the year of planning and watching the house being built. He took pleasure in the friendships he formed with the students. The building is so much more to Dave than just a house. It has given him a sense of pride in home and self, new friends who visit when they return to the studio, and the opportunity for a much easier old age. As the studio has evolved, the projects have become larger and more community-oriented. Their effect is often less immediate and more difficult to pinpoint. The children’s library is a good example of this. It has the potential to change many lives. The library will offer a place for programs to enhance education in Newbern. It will give us a chance to offer more than just books and computers to children. It will open doors to tutoring, mentoring, after-school programs, and summer programs—opportunities that will keep our youth off the streets and excited about learning. These advantages will not happen right away and the impact of the facility on the children may be difficult to see for many years, but it will occur. For me, Rural Studio’s impact on Newbern is ultimately described in the word “opportunity.” It is the opportunity for an individual to have a better home, for the community to have a better fire department, for the town council and mayor and citizens to have a town hall for community meetings and functions, and for our

Cindy was born into a military family and consequently raised in many different places. She is trained as a wildlife biologist, with a bachelor of science in wildlife sciences from Auburn University. She worked as the U.S. Forest Service liaison to a conservation organization focused on waterfowl habitat and wetland restoration and is experienced in developing and managing partnerships. She has served as the district ranger for the Talladega National Forest, Oakmulgee District, since 2003, and she lives adjacent to the forest in the small community of Ellards, Alabama. She serves on the Rural Studio Advisory Group and the Black Belt Heritage Area Executive Board.

Rural Studio’s Impact on Newbern Frances Sullivan community partner

Like many small rural communities, Newbern does not seek change and does not easily accept it. The small town I left in the 1970s was much the same when I returned as postmaster in 1993: downtown Newbern consisted of four vacant businesses, one general store, and the post office. Today, three of these buildings have been filled and work on the fourth has begun. In addition, we have a new award-winning firehouse and a town hall and a children’s library is in the immediate future. When Samuel Mockbee brought Rural Studio to Newbern, he brought with him a change in direction for our small town. You cannot bring 15 to 45 students and staff into a town of 250 without having an impact, but the impact on the daily life of residents is slow and subtle. Rural Studio has not changed the way we do business or the fact that we must leave town for jobs, groceries, and the like. But in a time when small towns are vanishing, Newbern has been given new opportunity. The physical changes to the community are the most obvious, with the firehouse being, perhaps, the greatest change to date. Ours was a newly formed volunteer fire department when the studio took up the cause of providing us with a base for operations. Because of the studio’s focus on the building, we were able to concentrate our limited resources on providing the equipment and training that are vital for protecting the homes, land, and lives of people in and around Newbern. Next door, to the north of the firehouse, is our recently completed town hall, and to the south, one of the old vacant buildings has become a

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When you make something yourself, you can improvise in a significantly different way than mere drawing allows. Three-dimensional reality provides inspiration and suggests solutions to problems that are elusive or simply impossible to detect at the drawing board or on the computer screen. Making things inspires the designer to dare and, at the same time, allows testing. During construction, the architect/builder becomes part of the drama that unfolds as a structure grows and comes alive. Personal involvement in the construction process results in an architecture that evolves much like a piece of sculpture or a new invention whose creator constantly reviews, reconsiders, and adjusts to respond to new insights and conditions encountered during the building experience. This process produces structures with an intensely personal character. The work reflects both the handson engagement and the decision-making process. In the end, the design/build method increases the potential for creating a more provocative and appropriate product. Technology is most meaningful when integrated into a studio context, and there is no substitute for hands-on experience. Design/build education allows students to move past schematic design. The best architects understand the logic and poetics of construction, and the best way to teach this is to build. Students often ask me whether they should work in an office or take an opportunity (usually offered by a relative or friend at low pay) to design and build a real project. I always advise them to choose the latter and to learn and grow from the experience and its responsibilities. In fact, that’s what Rural Studio projects are. They represent a fabulous opportunity to begin a career by building a community project in a small team, but with backup from the studio’s instructors and consultants.

youth to have more doors opened for their future. When Mockbee and his students arrived in Newbern in 1997, they brought with them change, but they also brought opportunity. Andrew Freear and today’s Rural Studio have found ways to broaden this opportunity to all of Newbern. It may be years from now before we can know the full impact of Rural Studio’s presence, but today we find a sense of community that includes both what the town was and what it can become. Frances was born and raised in Newbern. She went to high school at Morgan Academy in Selma and then graduated from Centre College in Danville, Kentucky. She joined the U.S. Postal Service in 1986 as a city carrier and became postmaster of Newbern in 1993. She retired from the Postal Service in October 2011 and is currently secretary of the Newbern Volunteer Fire Department, vice president of the Old Bank Library Board, president of the Hale County Animal Shelter Board, and a member of the board of the Sambo Mockbee Scholarship for the Arts. She lives just outside Newbern City limits in Whitsitt.

Making Things Steve Badanes consultant

When I went to architecture school in the late 1960s, there was no hands-on curriculum and no outreach opportunity, so some classmates and I opted out of the studios offered by the university and formed a storefront community design center. Our workshop designed housing and built playgrounds for nonprofits in New Brunswick, New Jersey. Forty years and many projects later, my reasons for building remain essentially the same, both as a practitioner and as an educator: the sheer physical and spiritual joy of it, and the belief that the future of creative work lies in the hands of those who can construct their own ideas. Building is a political act. As architects, we’re given skills and opportunities that come with political, social, and environmental responsibilities. My partners and I at the design/build firm Jersey Devil began our careers in the 1960s, and the values of that era strongly influenced our life choices. We wanted meaning in our lives and wanted it to be expressed in our work. I think it is still possible to make the same types of choices and political statements today, and the influence of Rural Studio illustrates this notion.

Steve was born in New York and raised in New Jersey. With an undergraduate bachelor of arts from Wesleyan, he received a master of architecture from Princeton University in 1971. He is a founding partner of the provocative Jersey Devil design/build practice that travels and builds. He is currently the Howard S. Wright Professor at the University of Washington, where he has directed the Neighborhood Design/Build Studio since 1988. He lives on Whidbey Island, about thirty miles north of Seattle, with his wife, artist Linda Beaumont.

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A Smitten Consulting Structural Engineer

Rather, I realize I’m making an impression on the students that may affect how they spend a long professional life. The weight of this responsibility intimidates me. But I can’t tell you how gratifying it is for me to see the students creating professional-level documentation. It’s so far removed from what I remember from school. After spending two years with a group of students, they become like a second set of children to me. What matters to me is not whether they put a beam together correctly, but their personalities and how they apply their particular nature to architecture. Their design is at the highest level of practice anywhere. Plus, they add a sense of wonder. I feel such confidence knowing that these students are our future architects.

Joe Farruggia consultant

On a Monday morning in September 2004, I got a call from Pete Landon, an architect Andrew had worked with in Chicago and who reviewed and critiqued projects at Rural Studio once a year. Pete told me Rural Studio needed input on a project from a structural engineer. Fifteen minutes after, Andrew called me. Two brief phone conversations led me to Newbern. It’s been a love affair ever since. I’m not a teacher. What I do at Rural Studio is the same thing I do in my business. I begin by asking basic questions such as: What does the structure need to do? Stand up and support load. I have the students look at the building elements at the simplest level: Each is a member that has to do what? Once we’re comfortable about our basic structural analysis, we go to the next level. I visit Newbern two or three times a semester. The way I frequently communicate with teams, after my time at the studio at the beginning of a project, is by phone. It has to be at 7:15 in the morning, because my practice keeps me very busy. Communicating long distance is a problem for me, not because it takes up my time, but because I feel it’s so important not to leave the students with unanswered questions and confusion. I try to be precise and get back with them so we don’t leave things unresolved. At a certain point in our conversation, I often put together a sketch and three minutes later it can be in the students’ hands. They commit their ideas to paper and send me PDFs. The conversation occurs as we do an analysis together. I have to convince myself that I’m going in the right direction before proceeding. The next step is full-scale models. I enjoy the luxury of building mock-ups at Rural Studio: I don’t think it exists anywhere else in the world. The students do an enormous amount of research, but there’s no data to show if we’re going in the right direction, and we can’t be certain that our paper analysis is sufficient. So we test mock-ups to see how they react, and we test them to code. They allow us to verify if what students established on paper can actually be built. When I spend time with the students, I realize I have an enormous responsibility to not make a mistake. I don’t mean in sizing a beam or designing a column.

Joe was born and raised in River Forest, Chicago, Illinois. He studied at the University of Illinois at Champaign/Urbana where he received a bachelor of architecture and then a master of science in architectural engineering. His practice, GFGR Architects and Engineers, is half structural engineering, half architecture. He still lives in River Forest and commutes to his practice in downtown Chicago.

Getting Physical with Design Anderson Inge consultant

I never use the word “engineer” in the company of architecture students. Uttering the word is a sure-fire way to get them to glaze over and turn off while waiting for some numbers guy to give them answers and tell them what’s possible for their designs. I prefer to provoke the latent scientist in them, by using words like predict, model, and test. Two fundamental aspects of Rural Studio make it my favorite place to teach. First, because the students know they are going to build their designs, they listen carefully to teaching that explains and makes understandable the struggles they will face. Second, Rural Studio students work very hard to acquire the confidence and range of tools they will need to continue testing new and revised ideas after their consultants have left Newbern. I usually go to Rural Studio twice a year. For my September trip, I work with the fifth-year studio and the physical challenges presented by the largest of the year’s projects. In January, when I return, I work with four students that have taken on the largest physical project.

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prediction, testing, and, ultimately, knowing. The core of my task, then, is to teach them how to test their ideas so thoroughly that they can recognize what’s possible, as quickly and as often as their ideas grow and change.

At this point we must be sure that the quantitative modeling accurately reflects the structural behavior and load requirements of the students’ emerging designs. By the time I finish, I need everyone, particularly myself, to feel confident that the team will be able to repeat the full range of modeling analyses on their own after I have gone. This is a big challenge, and it requires constant testing on many levels, including testing their understanding of testing. There was an important moment midway through my structures study at MIT when it hit me, with great relief, that engineering required far more than the derivation of solutions. It required the application of judgment. Handling the complexity of what happens to structures in the real world of push-and-pull forces exceeds the power of numbers alone. To achieve safety with elegance, the designer needs to have the judgment to discern the best idealized model, or collection of models, that demonstrate the behavior of the design under extreme situations. At Rural Studio I constantly develop students’ judgment for identifying and manipulating the best conceptual models of fundamental structural behavior. Architecture students do not normally crush their models—but it is a great habit to develop. My structures workshops invariably involve testing-to-destruction, because students only understand the real capacity of their structures when they go beyond the limits to carry additional load. Simply breaking things does not reveal a great deal, but when done thoughtfully, in relation to specific performance criteria, to-the-limit load tests can effectively show if a design is up to the job. The workshops usually take the students through two stages of modeling. Initial modeling is intended to identify general inadequacies and potentially dangerous behavior, usually resulting from instability and buckling. The vulnerability of a design to these potentially catastrophic failures shows up in testing as the model collapses early, thereby telling a great deal in advance of building. The failures are almost always a surprise to the students, but they are always remembered. The second, much more sophisticated modeling stage is accompanied by load predictions that are determined by proportional similarity to the real structure and its loading conditions. In addition to simply demonstrating behavior, these models are quantitative tests, against the known load. Students usually advance their structures by what I affectionately dub progressive guessing. I use every tool in the box to get them to replace this guessing with

Anderson was born and raised on a farm in north Dallas, Texas. At the University of Texas at Austin he received a bachelor of architecture. In 1982, he received both a master of science in civil engineering (structures) and a master of science in architecture. In 1996 he received a bachelor of fine arts in sculpture from Central Saint Martin’s College of Art and Design, London. Based in London, he weaves together a life of architectural practice and teaching for architecture and art degree programs in the U.S. and the U.K.

We Have Met the Institution and It Is Us Rusty Smith Rural Studio associate director

As Rural Studio gained recognition and notoriety, many popular legends and myths sprang up about the program. Typically, the studio was portrayed as a band of outlaw cowboys who, unshackled from the oversight of the academy, could creatively exercise their freedom in the wild west of the Alabama Black Belt. As with most legends, this line of thinking did have a seed of truth. Today, however, this narrative is far from the truth and is counterproductive to the development of the program. The conundrum reminds me of the closing scenes of John Ford’s The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance, in which the aging senator Ransom Stoddard (played by Jimmy Stewart) admits to a reporter that the act that propelled him to a successful public career was a complete fabrication. Upon hearing this revelation the reporter shook his head and burned his notes, explaining, “This is the West, sir. When the legend becomes fact, print the legend.” Rural Studio is part of the five-year undergraduate architecture program at Auburn University. The program has enjoyed a long history of teaching design through making and building. As a land-grant institution, Auburn was also deeply rooted since the beginning in the ethos of outreach, extension, and learning through service. The genius of Mockbee and Ruth was to weave these threads into a single structure that capitalized on the authentic DNA of the school. With its polytechnic beginnings, the architecture program has always straddled the divide separating knowledge and know-how. Following the

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The Environmental Education of Citizen Architects

paradigm of industrialization, the twentieth-century university increasingly broke education into smaller and smaller parts that became largely disconnected from any holistic idea of learning. In an effort to put this Humpty Dumpty back together again, Auburn’s architecture program simultaneously founded sister programs: one urban, the other rural. By tackling real-world client-driven problems both programs require a close working relationship with both professional consultants and like-minded community partners. The demands of such work quickly expose the students to the twenty-four/seven nature of being both an architect and neighbor in a place. This model has proven so successful that it quickly pushed back on the campus learning environment and curriculum in remarkable and profound ways. Placebased immersion, service learning, client-driven design/ build instruction, and community-based activism have become the primary components through which we deliver much of our content both on campus and off. From their very first semester on campus as freshmen to their last year as seniors participating in Rural Studio, our students are challenged by a series of complex projects in which they learn to negotiate the needs of a real client, the demands of a construction schedule, and the realities of a budget, as well as how to collaborate with professional consultants. Coupled with a deep understanding of construction technologies, environmental and structural systems, and the context of place, Auburn students become uniquely empowered to produce an architecture that is simultaneously performative, sustainable, and socially relevant.

Paul Stoller consultant

During my first visit in 2002, Andrew challenged me to develop environmental design principles with the studio to help student designers respond intelligently, sensitively, and more sustainably to the opportunities and challenges of the West Alabama climate and landscape. The goal was to help the students learn to capture free heating and cooling from the climate, take daylight from the southern skies, touch down lightly on the rich earth of the Black Belt, respect regional construction materials and practices, and critically complement local customs of building operation and maintenance. Equally as important was helping the studio learn how an environmentally considered design could further enrich the materially inventive, playful, and beautiful architecture that had become its hallmark. The addition of environmentally responsive design to an already complex curriculum risked stretching the studio designers past breaking point. Instead, the studio embraced high-performance design, absorbing the technical discipline into its design approach and culture. As I came to realize, this embrace of sustainability is an expression of the studio’s deeper commitment to social justice. Higher performing studio projects help studio clients work and live more affordably and comfortably as well as more nobly. This more holistic sustainability is central to Rural Studio’s mission, and a critical aspect of educating its citizen architects. Its technically driven work method has also allowed the studio to successfully tackle other aspects of sustainable design, such as accessibility, affordability, localness, and, more recently, what they term “self-efficiency.” This inclusiveness and comprehensive commitment to all aspects of sustainability makes the studio and its work the exemplar against which sustainable design should be measured. The paradox of the studio’s success at the end of its first decade was that while its services were in demand across the region and conserved resources on each project, the studio itself was becoming an ever less sustainable operation. Its fuel bills and carbon footprint were soaring. Recognizing this, the studio has refocused its efforts on local projects—many right in Greensboro and

Rusty was born and raised in Trussville, Alabama, with family in Uniontown and Demopolis. He was educated at Auburn University School of Architecture and the Art Institute of Chicago. He is the associate chair of the Auburn University’s program of architecture and Rural Studio’s associate director. Rusty is an artist whose work has been exhibited internationally and collected by private benefactors as well as public museums and galleries. He makes robots, none of which ever work. He resides in Atlanta and commutes to Auburn and Rural Studio.

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asked if I wanted to help with Lions Park in Greensboro, I felt I could contribute more deeply, as I was starting to better understand the place, the local culture, the people, and Rural Studio. This process of gaining knowledge and familiarity with Hale County has been very important for me, because this is how I work as an architect. Most of my projects start with the place—and they develop around it. You cannot understand Rural Studio’s projects in an isolated way. When you merely participate in reviews, you don’t really know the projects. You need to understand the process in full and the circumstances and development of projects and their clients and users. Also, all the projects are connected to the studio’s agenda, history, and evolution. For me, teaching at Rural Studio is like practicing. My main role at the studio is to share my experience as a practicing architect: my eye and tools, my way of working and my appreciation of the place, with a clear understanding that we are designing for users. I don’t make a distinction between practice, teaching, and research, and I like to understand teaching as the transmission of knowledge, experience, and beliefs. For me these are different aspects of the same discipline, and they complement each other. As a professional, I understand the studio setting as a place where you prepare designers to deal with real design situations—so, in a way, at Rural Studio I feel that I am practicing. It is like giving instructions to a team of young chefs or even like cooking with them. One of the most important parts of teaching is the exchange of ideas between students and professors. Students cannot learn unless the professor does too. At Rural Studio we all learn because the questions posed are very complex. I ask students the kind of questions I would ask myself as an architect. I encourage students to test their design decisions against questions that I think are important. Design process is about doubting, questioning, and testing; trying to find the appropriate answer that makes sense for the place at all levels of the project, from conceptual ideas to materials and details. During the last ten years, I have helped the studio become more comfortable with designing landscapes in the same way as they are comfortable designing buildings. Parks and landscapes, like buildings, need organizational ideas. Different spaces need to be defined in terms of limits and thresholds. The challenge for the students is scale. They also need to understand vegetation as a construction material: landscape design is as much about space as architecture, but it changes and matures over

some on the campus of Rural Studio itself—and toward a more holistic sustainability. It replaced a fleet of large gas-guzzling trucks with mostly small, fuel-efficient cars, insulated its buildings to reduce heating and cooling bills, and began implementing an ambitious plan to feed itself with food grown on campus. These improvements might suggest a future where the studio settles into its own cozy green cocoon, and it prompts the question: why, with the worldwide audience it commands, should the studio focus so tightly on west Alabama needs? Among the many possible responses to this challenge, two resonate in particular with me. First, the rigorous design process embraced by the studio applies to designers and civic activists anywhere: begin with a clear statement of design and performance principles, and then continuously improve a project’s design by testing against those principles. Second, it is as important for a successful building or landscape to respect local opportunities, limitations, and customs as it is to challenge them. Rather than fearing a future of institutional middleaged introversion, I am excited by Rural Studio’s third decade. Using itself as a subject, the addition of this new, long-term research program into striking a better balance between global and local resources promises to create an even more influential generation of citizen architects. Paul was born and raised in Beloit, Wisconsin. He received a bachelor of science in English, history, and art history and a master of art in art history from the University of Wisconsin– Madison in 1995, plus a master of architecture from Yale School of Architecture in 1998. He started working with environment consultants Atelier Ten in London in 1998, established and led their practice in New York City from 2001 through 2013, and is now a director in their Sydney, Australia office. He has taught core courses in environmental design and building services at Yale School of Architecture and at the architecture school of the University of Technology, Sydney.

Teaching at Rural Studio: It’s Like Practicing Xavier Vendrell consultant

I first visited Rural Studio in 2002. Since then, my visits have become more and more frequent and my involvement with the studio has evolved. In 2005, when Andrew

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twelve-foot gooseneck attached; having handled nothing larger than an electric drill, I was soon happily felling trees with a chain saw. Knowing we not only had to design but also build a house meant our conversations and critiques were always grounded in pragmatism, while each project’s long research phase and iterative design process ensured a conceptual rigor. It was the overlap of these two ways of thinking that I found satisfying, and it was what I missed most when I continued my studies at the Architectural Association (AA) back in London. As in other architecture schools, the AA encourages students to enjoy the freedom of theoretical projects, the implication being that the real world is full of restrictions and practicalities that hinder creative and intellectual freedom. What I realized during my time at Rural Studio was that architecture gets exciting precisely when you’re dealing with the complexities of real people and places. Admittedly, the range of conversations at the AA, the quality and variety of approaches to representing architectural thought, the luxury of great facilities and resources, and the internationalism of the school’s community, were all incredibly stimulating after the relative insularity of Newbern. The ambition fostered by the AA, and its ability to support independent ventures, led me to cofound the Community Cluster—a group that acts as a platform for people interested in socially engaged and environmentally responsible architecture. It was through the Cluster’s activities that I met the two people with whom I now run a studio called WORKSHOP architecture. Because I had felt so fulfilled during my time at Rural Studio and believed so strongly in its philosophy and approach, I was determined to get my tool belt on again and design buildings that are really needed. The idea behind WORKSHOP was to establish a nonprofit studio that would enable us to work on shortterm, community-based design/build projects while we completed our professional qualifications. Project costs are funded by sponsors—mainly architecture firms and institutions such as the British Council. At the time of writing, we are constructing a new school building for an educational charity in Dehradun, Uttarakhand. As Europeans working in India, the process is inevitably one of exchange, with us learning as much about local building crafts and techniques as we contribute with ideas and approaches. Spending a year in Greensboro taught me the importance of living in the community we were serving; simply

time. This was true for Lions Park, the Hale County Hospital Courtyard, and, more recently, the Rural Studio Farm. For me, the main goals for Rural Studio students is to develop architecture for that particular place; to look at the context through contemporary eyes, keeping in mind that they are creating architecture for everyday life; and to recognize that architecture becomes architecture when users take over. Xavier was born and raised in Barcelona. He studied at the Escuela Tecnica Superior de Arquitectura (ETSAB) at Universidad Politecnica in Barcelona. In 1998 he moved his successful architecture practice, which works in a range of scales including landscape architecture, urban design, public buildings, houses, and interior design, from Barcelona to Chicago. Xavier currently lives and works in Chicago and is a professor at the University of Illinois at Chicago School of Architecture.

A Way of Life Clementine Blakemore alumna 2010

The work I did at Rural Studio was so connected to the experience of living in Alabama that it is hard to differentiate the two. In a sense this reflects the studio’s holistic approach: the idea that, as designers, where you live and how you live is as much a part of the architecture as what it’s made of and how it looks. When I arrived at Rural Studio, I had a niggling feeling that someone was bound to discover my lack of credentials and send me packing, but there was little time to be self-conscious or anxious about what I didn’t know. The collaborative nature of the work and the strength of the studio culture—arriving at the Red Barn at eight every morning and working alongside each other all day—meant I was able to learn fast. We didn’t have many books, but we did have a wealth of built precedents to learn from: we studied details firsthand on site, crawling between joists and clambering onto roofs, and we could tell which design decisions had been successful (and which had not) simply by knocking on doors and looking at how buildings were being used. It was incredibly empowering to be able to apply what I was learning in a tangible way. Having driven nothing larger than a Renault Clio in narrow London streets, I found myself cruising to Tuscaloosa in a truck with a

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I went to Rural Studio with a decent amount of construction experience. But what the building process at the studio gave me was the confidence to push design and construction methods. It was trial and error, but Mockbee never discouraged us from trying something new and doing it with our own hands. When we started out on our journey of building the Yancey Chapel, we had no idea what our budget would be, how we would get our materials, or how we would get the money to build. We salvaged materials, fished slate out of riverbeds, and found donated building materials, and with each new find came inspiration. Rural Studio taught us to be inspired by our clients, our materials, and our surroundings. The projects and budgets were a little different in 1994–95 than they are now. Not all of the design and construction methods we used at Rural Studio could translate into our future professional work. But we learned that when you put your heart and soul into something, great things happen. I like the approach of today’s Rural Studio, which teaches future architects to focus on long-term community projects and affordable housing that can be cloned. It’s probably a more practical approach and one that students can take with them to their future jobs. I think the newer students are in a more realistic role as architects and in learning to convey their ideas to different trades. Before I started my fifth-year year at Rural Studio, Auburn’s School of Architecture had done an excellent job instilling a passion for architecture and design. Rural Studio took that to the next level. Mockbee knew how beneficial it would be for students to see their projects come to fruition. I can’t imagine my life without the influence of Mockbee. He had such a gift for inspiring his students. It was amazing to see the world become interested in our small studio in rural Alabama. His vision and dedication is something that will be with me my entire life. While working for a firm in Nashville, after leaving Rural Studio, I teamed up with two other Auburn Architecture alumni to build a house for an impoverished family through a program with Nashville’s Metropolitan Development and Housing Agency (MDHA). MDHA was one of three U.S. housing agencies selected to implement a demonstration program for Section 8 homeownership. Under this program, the family paid between 30 to 40 percent of their adjusted income or a minimum of $50 per month for rent and utilities. MDHA paid the difference to the lender. Both owner and renter benefited. The owner

by being temporary residents and neighbors we learned about the attitudes, concerns, and desires of the local people. Our position as outsiders in WORKSHOP allows us to cut through local preconceptions and prejudices, but there are obvious drawbacks to working short-term in a number of different countries: the depth of our understanding about culture and place is limited, and we usually don’t see how our buildings are used once they’re completed. One of the things I admire most about Rural Studio is its commitment to Hale County, and the responsibility it takes for what it has built there. We’re keen to adopt this level of accountability into WORKSHOP’s practice. My time at Rural Studio instilled in me the notion that ideas and materials, drawings and buildings, and people and places are all interconnected. I’m still at the beginning of my career and don’t know whether I’ll be able to carry on working outside of the conventional architectural industry, but I hope to find a way of maintaining a hands-on practice that enables me to engage with the people I am designing for. It’s not only that I believe the design/build approach creates more thoughtful and sensitive buildings, but that the process is so fulfilling. My time in Alabama was extraordinary; while I know it can never be replicated, I’m trying to shape a similar way of life. Clementine was born and raised in London. She has a degree in fine art from Oxford University. After a brief stint working for Cabinet magazine in New York, she returned to London to work for the filmmaker Michael Winterbottom. As a Rural Studio outreach student in 2009–10 she worked on the tenth 20K House for MacArthur Coach. After Rural Studio, she continued her architectural studies at the Architectural Association (London), where she cofounded the nonprofit design/build studio WORKSHOP architecture, currently based in India.

Green-Bo Steve Durden alumnus 1995

My experience at Rural Studio was a unique opportunity that had a huge impact on my vision and future as an architect. I learned that people of all classes and backgrounds deserve good design. It doesn’t matter about the square footage or how rich the material is; what’s important is creating a space that someone can experience and enjoy.

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received fair market rent for his or her property, and the renting family got a decent, affordable place to live. We were given a 50-by-100-foot urban lot and a budget of $75,000 for our house. We pushed the design with this small budget and we made it work. The family never dreamed of living in a house like the one we gave them. Three of us built it on weekends and after work. The stair tower was the coolest part of the house. We made the stair treads from two-by-four-foot pieces of pine and redwood turned on their sides to look like butcher block. The treads looked like piano keys. We had a flying vaulted ceiling with three collar ties made of redwood scraps. It was the best part of the house, but it also took up a great volume of space. I worried that we got too carried away with our design. But when the house was nearly done, I walked into it one afternoon to find neighborhood kids congregating on the steps of the stair tower, playing, talking, and having fun. I stopped worrying about the “wasted space” and realized how much the family would enjoy this part of the house. None of us was paid for our work; we just wanted to be a part of something inspirational. The heart and soul that I put into that project came from my experience at Rural Studio. Rural Studio gives young designers the confidence and compassion to thrive in their future careers as architects. As the owner of my own firm, I often feel overwhelmed by small budgets or lack of time for schematic design. When I’m feeling limited by time constraints or small budgets, Rural Studio and Mockbee’s influence keeps me from designing what is expected and instead pushing what I know can be done. We created something incredible out of nothing at Rural Studio, and I know I did a lot more there with a lot less than I have today. Having had the experience of working in that type of environment, I can see materials in a different way and recognize their possibilities beyond obvious use. Rural Studio helped me to always push an idea in which I firmly believe. “Proceed and be bold,” Mockbee said. He taught us to work with unusual materials, to reuse or recreate them in new ways. It’s the craftsmanship and innovation I learned from Rural Studio that gives me the confidence to walk onto my job sites and create more with less when necessary. That motto has taught me to push beyond the acceptable norm. It’s important to have that confidence.

architect and has been practicing as Durden Architecture in Nashville for fifteen years.

Rural Studio as Preparation for Practice Paul Kardous alumnus 2004

After leaving Rural Studio, I thought I needed a change from the hectic but slow-paced life of Newbern, and London fit the bill. It would give me an opportunity to pair global experience with the local work I did at Rural Studio. Being around the incredible wealth of design firms and higher education institutions, and their vast numbers of lectures, discussions, and exhibitions, made London an incredible place to grow as an architect. Initially, I thought I would be gone for a year and ended up staying for almost seven, but when you take a risk you never know how things will turn out. London was a risk, but I learned to take big ones at Rural Studio. The Rural Heritage Center, my fifth-year project, was a very ambitious project, and we knew it would be difficult. Throughout the project we remained positive, kept the client happy, and made sure the project was completed. It turned out fantastically well and is a great asset to Thomaston. If we had not been willing to risk—including making the center’s giant sign—it would not have been as successful. During my interviews in London, I found that impressions of Rural Studio ranged from a summer camp–like program to a full-blown commercial design office. Many people were surprised that Rural Studio was an integral part of our education and our thesis project. After spending three years putting a building together, I brought experience that many of my peers did not have, which resulted in giving me more responsibility at work from the beginning. At my first job with Hopkins Architects, I was on a team designing a new complex for Nottingham Trent University in the U.K. In 2007, I moved to Grimshaw Architects. Among the projects I worked on were a new terminal at London Heathrow Airport, a successful competition entry for the new Pulkovo Airport in St. Petersburg, Russia, and a mixed-use development in Venice, Italy. A small group of us in the office did pro bono predevelopment work for the Southwark affiliate

Steve was born in St. Louis and raised in Anniston, Alabama. He entered the School of Architecture at Auburn as an undergraduate in summer 1991. As a fifth-year student at Rural Studio in 1994–95, he worked on the Yancey Chapel. He is a registered

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always try again if you fail, and most likely there will be missteps. But you will get there, and you will be damn proud of what you did. The studio gave me the confidence and knowledge to design things so that they could be built. I learned that a limited budget and a limited palette of materials make you think and struggle harder, which usually leads to a more honest design. When I left Newbern, I took along some of Mockbee’s spirit of trying to bring architecture to those who had no access to it. In London, I helped with architecture education organizations like Architecture in Schools, or Open House, but it has been frustrating not to be able to get my hands dirty and help make a difference in the same way my team did at Rural Studio. It seemed that making a difference requires traveling to a developing country. Partly because my experience at Rural Studio was so incredible, I keep waiting for things to measure up. When it comes to creating, doing, and helping, I’ve found it very difficult to do things here as satisfyingly as in west Alabama.

of Habitat for Humanity. In March 2012, I joined PLP/ Architecture, where I have been working on an office development opposite Victoria Station. I have also spent time volunteering with Architecture in Schools, Open House London, and was a Games Maker for the London 2012 Olympic Games. Being at Rural Studio prepared me to have the attitude and confidence of a principal in my own small firm, able to promote my vision to a client. The experience enabled me to understand my leaders at Hopkins and their decision-making process, and to envision what I wanted to achieve. The studio taught me a lot about dealing with clients. The Rural Heritage Foundation was a very engaged client. Their office was one hundred meters from the site, so if we needed an immediate executive decision, they were next door. We had to cultivate a trusting relationship with the organization’s board. We were five college students using their federal grant money, which many clients might consider risky. We very rapidly gained the client’s trust, to the point of being told, “Do what you think is best, we trust you.” This is a situation you strive for in practice. Aided by the confidence I had gained at Rural Studio, I learned how to gain trust in the wider world, which has become incredibly useful in dealing with a client spending $20 million, not $200,000, on a project. At the Rural Heritage Center, we tried to be more than just the architects of a building. We created a new brand identity for the center, and kept our eye out for opportunities for the organization to make a difference, and for using our expertise to help them. A sign on the Thomaston water tower reading “Eat Pepper Jelly” was part of our work. I learned a lot from teamwork at Rural Studio that helped me in professional practice, among the lessons: always stay calm, sort out the problem, and listen to everyone involved, because coming to a mutually agreeable outcome always works out for the better. Try and learn what everyone wants from the experience or the relationship and try to align everyone’s goals. Being polite, open, and honest will tend to open doors and help decisions get made. Most importantly, work as hard as you possibly can and show your commitment, and you will be amazed what you can accomplish. Remain levelheaded—there is no point in getting worked up over something that did not go my way or that started to go wrong. I think the major thing I carry with me from Rural Studio is to take risks and get on with them. You can

Paul was born and raised in Charlotte, North Carolina. He entered architecture school at Auburn University in 2000. At Rural Studio, as a second-year student in 2000–1, he worked on the Sanders Dudley House; as a 2003–4 fifth-year student, he participated in the second phase of the Rural Heritage Center. After graduating, he went to London and worked for Hopkins Architects, then spent five years at Grimshaw Architects and until recently worked on large commercial developments at PLP/Architecture.

Super-Thesis12 bruce lanier alumnus 2000

I am a forty-year-old, reasonably successful young architect as measured by built work and general recognition. Instead of following a career in an established practice, I chose to start my own office. Our firm’s projects receive favorable attention from local media, we have many repeat clients, and our clients refer us to their friends. Our projects reflect our clients’ wishes and aspirations, and they are executed with exceptional craft. This is the kindling of a lasting practice, the product of long nights and modest paychecks. This is the practice of architecture as I experience it. I write my own check, and I write the checks of people I respect and with whom I enjoy working.

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include salaries and bonuses, which my staff needs and cares about deeply. So its nights-and-weekends work for those of us who care and want to give back. If, however, our nights and weekends fill with family obligations, then we make value judgments: be a good citizen, a good father, a good architect, a good employer? I imagine trying to explain this to a twenty-two-year old—it sounds like an excuse, an apology even. Maybe so, but for me these conditions impact the way I approach my career at the moment. The lessons of Rural Studio have become inwardly motivating. Our work may not express the same values, but it has guided me personally nonetheless. That’s where I rest today: I am a forty-year-old, reasonably successful young architect as measured by built work and general recognition. But the tension created between what I believe I should be able to achieve professionally and creatively and what I know are my obligations to my family, my clients, and my coworkers leave me a very restless young architect. That tension is an asset. It will work itself out in time, I believe, because I have experienced something deeply satisfying on a personal, social, and intellectual level at Rural Studio that I trust can be repeated in whole or in part at some point in this life. It may or may not be in this practice, but I believe those lessons will resurface if I will them to. It may just take time.

I do not enjoy my job as deeply as I believe I should. This is a difficult statement to make openly. I am proud of our success in growing a practice and of the work that we have done, and I am proud to have endured, without excess and with dignity, a cycle of high and low times since I graduated. But practicing the business of architecture is frustrating on many more levels than can be described here. Every couple of years I travel to see Rural Studio’s new work. I judge it based on its honesty, artistic aspiration, execution, and durability. I look at it with respect, and I return to my desk on Monday and continue drawing elegant floor plans and delicate, thoughtful soffit details. I try to imagine giving a presentation of what we do in our practice to students I meet at the studio. I ask myself what impact it would have on them to see that I, a cheerleader for Rural Studio, have spent twelve years pursuing traditionally inspired custom residential work delivered through conventional design-bid-build processes to wealthy clients in exclusive neighborhoods, work that seems contrary to the values instilled in us in Newbern. I can hear the crickets already. I would try to justify myself to them, part of me feeling I have failed my mentors and another part knowing that I’ve responded to circumstance as faithfully as I am able, and that I’m nevertheless building a practice I am proud of. Late in the summer of 1998, I was riding around Canton, Mississippi with Sambo. I was helping him prepare a large canvas at his home and that evening we drove to his son Julius’s Pee-Wee football game. As we were driving he pointed to a post office. “I did that,” he said. It was a small structure, red brick, classical, conservative. “What’s with the columns, Sambo?” I asked sarcastically. With wise eyes and that smile curling underneath his moustache, he said, “You just wait until you have a wife and kids. You’ll do what you need to do.” He was right; I’m doing what I need to do as well as I can. Since starting our practice we have spent the last seven years learning how to listen and how to turn what we hear into something that our clients love. To create successful projects we have learned to work closely with our contractors and clients in relationships that are collaborative, equitable, and constructive. We have taken on pro bono projects, particularly in the golden years before the sky collapsed in 2008, but not as often as I imagined we would when we launched the firm. But, non-billable time that gets out of hand can lead to unpayable bills, and unpayable bills would

Bruce was born in New York City and raised in Lanett, Alabama. He entered Auburn University School of Architecture in 1995. He worked on the Dorothy Wilson House as second-year student in 1995–96, the Spencer House in 1998, and on Thomaston Farmers’ Market as a fifth-year student in 1999–2000. After Rural Studio, he worked as an architect in Birmingham, Alabama. In 2005 he became a licensed architect and established Standard Creative in Birmingham.

Learning How to Create Leia Price alumna 2004

When asked how students are selected for Rural Studio, Mockbee said that some students were chosen because they would be good for the studio, others because the studio would be good for them. As the years pass, I become increasingly more confident of my place in the latter group as I understand more and more how my contribution is out-scaled by the experience and knowledge I gained.

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the financial impacts of our architectural choices. When it became clear that preserving the architectural integrity of the building would demand an increase in budget, we embarked on an aggressive fundraising campaign that brought in over $100,000 in cash and in-kind donations. The first calls we made were anxiety-laden; but the process of securing donations revealed that our abilities as problem solvers enabled us to create tangible products from mere ideas. This realization gave me confidence and resolve, and the training I received, so lacking in traditional studio education, became the base from which I continue to draw in professional practice. You might ask: surely, familiarizing students with construction techniques is helpful, but are they really imperative to the development of an architect? That’s why we have Architectural Graphic Standards, right? Perhaps, but learning how to pour concrete reveals another lesson: the impact of the builder on the translation of architectural drawings into a built structure. Every project is an organism that is fed or starved by the parties tasked with its implementation. During the course of a project, multiple decisions are made every day—some consciously, others not—that determine a series of paths that lead to the project’s conclusion. At Rural Studio, we learned that every relationship and the mechanics used to navigate those relationships have the power to shape the building. Through one small example, this lesson became evident for me when we made the decision to subcontract the metal roof fabrication and installation. Tasked with bidding the job and hiring the subcontractor, I saw for the first time how complex and symbiotic are the relationships between the architect and builder, the drawings and the final product. As I supervised the work of our subcontractors, I was exposed to the effects of a contractor translating our drawings, which were translations of our ideas. It became clear that the ability to properly guide the translation greatly impacted the final product. If one pays close attention at Rural Studio, one can see the unfortunate results of separating the architect and the builder in modern practice, or diluting their relationship. Because we are both designers and builders at Rural Studio, very little is lost in the translation of architectural intent to built product. Yet contemporary construction culture imposes divisions that complicate and strain the complex relationships between designer and builder, to the detriment of the project.

The genius of Rural Studio lies in a simple principle that anyone who has given without expectation of recompense understands. The giver, intending to help his neighbor, walks away with the greater gift. My small investment in Newbern was repaid in dividends that, eight years later, continue to impact my professional and sometimes even my personal choices. There is beauty in the symbiosis of the students and the community at Rural Studio. No one party takes without giving. As students, we are not only utilizing our skills for the greater good, we are given the opportunity to hone those skills and practice our craft. While the most rewarding experiences for a Rural Studio student are associated with social architecture, the studio offers vastly important, if seemingly less romantic and inspiring, lessons that are extremely relevant to architectural practice. Among these are nuanced lessons in design/build architecture that have proven valuable in my career. The practical knowledge I acquired at Rural Studio has shaped my approach to professional practice. Through creative, complex, and sometimes unrefined methods, we, as students, began to deeply understand the connection between an architect and builder and how the measure of that connection impacted the built project. After completing the Newbern Fire Station, I, like many others, set out to replicate the Rural Studio experience professionally. The initial goal was to receive a paycheck for practicing design/build social architecture. After realizing the scarcity of for-profit Rural Studio–type models, I expanded my search to include offices practicing either social architecture or design/build. Eventually, I was able to accept a job with a firm practicing architectled design/build that allowed me to satisfy my newly found desire to explore being an architect who builds. As an architecture student, I reveled in the art and theory of design. Yet, as my education progressed through conventional studios, art and design remained disconnected from the process of construction. So, while I had great confidence in my ability to convey a concept through a drawing or model, I had no confidence in my capacity to turn that concept into built form. My experience as a fifth-year student at Rural Studio changed that. Rural Studio narrows the divide between design and implementation. While there, I quickly discovered my affinity for implementation, for undertaking every part of the process required to make the fire station a reality: dreaming, drawing, calculating, and constructing. At one point we created a budget for the fire station and tested

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clerestory windows and stainless steel fasteners to real essentials. Could we afford a two-by-six wall? How could we make the roof quickly constructible by two laborers? How do we give the house an identity without incurring extra costs? With only a truck bed of construction waste, we produced a durable home that halved our client’s electricity bills, generated potential full-time employment for two local contractors, and empowered a client to live with dignity within his means. For me, the resulting lesson—that design has powerful implications beyond site boundaries—was career shaping. After my experience at Rural Studio, I got a real job at Atelier Ten in New York City. There I expanded the lesson learned at the studio about design’s larger implications to fit skyscrapers and urban parks. At this larger scale, not only money but energy, water, and carbon were at a premium. By identifying early stage design opportunities, such as massing for both optimal daylighting and reduced solar gains or using energy analyses and orientation to determine roof slopes, we helped architects achieve their programmatic aspirations without increasing resource consumption. Now, with my research at the urban scale, the aim is similar: to decouple economic prosperity from environmental degradation and population growth from sprawl. The connection between resource use and the form of the built environment is as strong for the metropolis of Shanghai as it was for Frank’s House. I suppose a career in urbanization and sustainable development is not what I expected to glean from my years among the catfish ponds and cow pastures of the Alabama Black Belt. Certainly Rural Studio did not preach environmentalism specifically; instead it preached the social responsibility of craft. Working in a small town where feedback is abundant, you quickly realize that carelessness leaves a legacy. At the studio, thorough attention to detail was demanded in all stages of the design process: from our extensive research about financing and HUD loans to creating stacks of iterative hand drawings, from navigating a client’s preconceptions to fastening porch screens. As design professionals, we think about craft as producing tight aesthetics, but, more broadly, craft is the practice of communicating care for our places, be it a seven-hundred-square-foot house, a Newbern-sized town, or a megacity. Not surprisingly, craft also scales up. More generally, and perhaps most importantly, my experience at Rural Studio taught me the difference between a job and a vocation. In Newbern, the classroom expands far beyond the walls of the Red Barn, into Lou’s

As Rural Studio students shift from designers to builders, they become fluent in translating an idea into built form, which is dependent upon the designer understanding the builder’s process. The designer has to know how to build. At the studio, drawing for the builder is a basic tenet of architectural practice. But in today’s practice, unclear drawings remain a major point of contention between architects and builders. When students are forced to rely on their own drawings in construction, they learn the significance of drawing for the builder and how to do it clearly. Today, functioning as both an architect and construction manager, I rely on the knowledge I gained at Rural Studio to bridge the divide between architect and contractor. Leia was born in Fort Worth, Texas, and raised in Guntersville, Alabama. She entered Auburn University School of Architecture in 2000. At Rural Studio, she worked on the Sanders Dudley House as a second-year student, and on the Newbern Fire Station in 2003–4, her fifth year. In 2006, after completing the Rural Studio program, she went to New York City, where she is now project manager for Peter Gluck and Partners and ARCS Construction Services, working as a designer and construction/project manager in the field.

The Career-Shaping Lessons of Rural Studio Kellie Stokes alumna 2005

At the end of Frank Harris’s dusty driveway, I scuffed the dirt with my steel-toed boot. The house looked small from here. The surrounding vacant lots and sprawling dilapidated outbuildings swallowed any sense of proportion it might have had in a less neglected setting. I knew everything about that house: why its sonotubes— or should we say footings?—were eleven feet four inches apart; why the bathroom was adjacent to the kitchen; how many hours it took to build and install the roof trusses; etc. Only after hundreds of design iterations, mock-ups, client interviews, and cost estimates, did it strike me as odd that seven hundred square feet could have dominated my thoughts for the previous twenty-two months. Frank’s House was the end product of the two years I spent with Rural Studio designing and building a commercially viable $20,000 prototype for the 27 percent of households in Hale County living on an SSI check. With a strict budget, the conversation quickly turned from

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Born and raised in the South, I seem to have spent most of my young adulthood trying to escape its grasp, only to find myself right back where I had started. As a youth, I felt that living in the South was like living in a vacuum, a place where nothing was allowed in and, sure as hell, nothing would be allowed out, including me. I saw the South as a region that rejected the progress accepted in other parts of the U.S. in social moves, education, and ways of living. At the same time, I saw my part of the country as holding on to those characteristics that kept it from being perceived as a great place. As a young black student raised in a community of poverty and disarray, predominantly composed of members of my own race, I began with a very jaded or warped sense of my own surroundings. I thought: how could the “other half ” not take more pride in where they live and how they live? My involvement with Rural Studio changed the distorted attitudes that I had developed. My change in perspective happened as I began opening my eyes and appreciated where I lived in a way that I had not been able to in the past. To me, lacking pride in one’s life situation was tied up with where and how one lived. But, I asked myself, was I or my family that far from being the next Rural Studio client? I was this privileged college student who was just trying to do his part, but it would have been fairly easy for one of my parents to lose their job and turn my family into one of those “without.” As a result of these realizations, I could never again overlook those who did not have or were less fortunate than me. And that’s what I learned from being among those “rural folks,” as they are so often called. I discovered from my time at the studio a community’s sense of pride that had been there all along, despite their poverty. Those rural folks’ feeling of pride was not connected with personal possessions and exorbitant ways of life. Their way of living left a very small carbon footprint, the same meager footprint that Rural Studio has been championing and illustrating to the world for two decades. Still struggling to release myself from the vacuum with which I equated to the rural South, I believed that working around the world would help me better understand the surroundings from which I came. I had grown accustomed to living in an impoverished place and among people who did not have very much to call their own. This allowed me to live just about anywhere, under just about any circumstances, in part, because it is a humbling experience. It also made me ask the question, why was

Diner and Sledge Hardware, onto baseball fields and courtroom benches, into AME churches and bingo halls. In Hale County, I felt how wholly satisfying it was for work and life to be interwoven and for five o’clock to never arrive. It was impossible to compartmentalize my life. My role as a designer was often inseparable from my role as a neighbor, my role as a teacher from that of a student, my role as a teammate from that of a friend. I learned that to be a citizen architect—a citizen anything—means committing to a place and making it not only your project site, but your home. While I don’t wear Carhartts on a daily basis anymore, the Rural Studio experience has continued to shape my work and life in unexpected ways. It led me to explore my current field of work, to assess the environmental and functional implications of urban form. It exposed me to a hard and beautiful corner of my home state, a place I still dream of returning to. It taught me how to swing a hammer and how to sing gospel. My two years with the 20K project taught me that sometimes limitations—be they money or materials or even time—can bring out your best work. It trained me to think like a designer and to work like a scientist, but to live like a neighbor. Kellie was born in Durham, North Carolina, and raised in Birmingham, Alabama. She has an undergraduate degree from Dartmouth College in math and studio art. As an outreach student at Rural Studio, she worked on the first 20K House (Elizabeth’s House) and then became a supervisor on the second 20K House for Frank Harris. After Rural Studio, she went to MIT for a masters of science in mechanical engineering, specializing in daylighting. She worked for Placetailor rebuilding a gunmaker’s cottage into the first “Passivehouse” in Boston. She worked for two years at Atelier Ten in New York, then moved to Boone, North Carolina, to join the faculty at Appalachian Energy Center as an energy research engineer. She recently started a PhD program in the Department of Forestry and Environmental Studies at Yale University.

An Eye-Opening Classroom Jermaine Washington alumnus 2003

As a student at Rural Studio who was supposed to be helping poor and underserved people of the rural South, I ended up taking away much more than I could ever give. The experiences and influences of Rural Studio have stayed with me and continue to drive my decisions today.

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2 + 3: 5 Years of Rural Studio

it okay to accept poverty and its effects as “just the way it is,” instead of challenging the status quo? The social concerns that I began to see existing everywhere and in different parts of the world helped me to more clearly understand the realities and their consequences in the South, which I once saw as shameful and equated with a lack of pride. I eventually discovered that these forgotten places were full of potential and hope, opportunity and promise. These places and people only needed a voice with which to express their richness. And finally, I realized that not only could I be that voice but that it was my responsibility. Learning to ask how and why are lessons that I learned from Rural Studio and from the rural South. Contesting the status quo existing in a place and among its people is a concept that remains relevant for me to this day. It is a matter of constantly asking myself how should I design to respect the client’s own way of life when I am designing for a place and people who often lack the basic necessities? It doesn’t matter whether the design problem is a church, a ball field, or a place to call home, I must remain respectful of peoples’ way of living. Beyond that, I also have to remain innovative, resourceful, responsible, and rural. My expectations of the South have dramatically changed over the years. From the time I was a disillusioned student to the time I became a professional who has made his way back to the place he once despised, I now have a new-found love and appreciation for all things rural, including the studio which changed the way I think.

Daniel Wicke alumnus 2007

I arrived in Hale County on August 12, 2006, roughly five days before standing on a chair in front of forty fellow students declaring my preference for boxers over briefs. One could call it an icebreaker. Truth is, I had no idea what I was getting into. Unlike most of my classmates, I had never set foot in Hale County until that balmy August day. After months of furtively trying to persuade my professors to tell me how I should spend my final year, one professor called my bluff. No matter how cleverly I tried to convince him to provide me with a decision, he let me know it was my education and therefore my decision; he frankly didn’t give a damn. I now know that I was looking for a release—a chance to break away from the traditional academic environment where I comfortably existed. Rural Studio was also a chance to start fresh and become the architect of my own education. At first, it was uncomfortable. I wasn’t sure what to make of the place or the fact that I would be spending the next two years of my life dedicated to an unknown project for a community that I knew nothing about. I was excited, anxious, and completely overwhelmed by the potential impact of the work. I find all of those feelings natural now and would be surprised, disappointed even, if I hadn’t had them. Taking ownership of my education, traveling outside my comfort zone, and all the associated feelings foreshadowed the choices to come: settling on a project, choosing teammates, and contributing as an instructor. Rural Studio’s commitment to the values and virtues of the projects, coupled with a belief in both the community and its students’ abilities is invigorating and contagious. Upon arrival the students are instantly infected with a confidence that is unfounded yet impressive. This confidence is substantiated and nurtured through the intimate involvement of the students with their projects. What they lack in experience is made up for in dedication, ambition, and frankly time. This newfound assurance became my power; it was possible for a group of young inexperienced students to go toe-to-toe with some of the world’s best architects. I was fortunate to have had the opportunity to be a supervisor and was always impressed, occasionally

Jermaine was born and raised in Pass Christian, Mississippi. He entered Auburn University School of Architecture in 1998. He worked on the Sanders Dudley House in his second year, 1999– 2000, and on the Newbern Little League Field as his fifth-year project in 2002–3. He went to Barcelona in 2006 and worked for Batlle i Roig Arquitectes and Casadevall Export SA. In 2009 he worked for a year with Mark Hurcum Design Practice in Sydney, Australia. Recently, he established his own practice, Regarding Architecture, in Birmingham, Alabama, with Patrick Nelson a team member on the same fifth-year project. His firm focuses on community architecture through adaptive reuse of old buildings.

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intimidated, by the students’ resolve and determination. A famous basketball coach once said, “Do not let what you cannot do interfere with what you can do.” 1 It is amazing what people can achieve when given an opportunity. Many people have much to contribute but lack an outlet. Rural Studio provides that outlet, offering a chance for students and communities alike to explore an idea they believe in and see it through to resolution. The studio’s work addresses the intangibles of architecture, focusing on each project’s effect contextually and on users physically, emotionally, and psychologically. The studio’s young architects are compelled to look beyond the tectonics of a building to the heart of the matter. It is a belief in community and people that anchor the studio’s core values. Architecture doesn’t exist without people; it can’t function without clients. After five years, I left Rural Studio to work for a Chicago firm historically focused on high-end residential architecture. On first glimpse, this appears to be a huge change of focus. However, I have come to realize my education at Rural Studio was as much of an education in humanity as it was in architecture. “Rich or poor, architecture is shelter for the soul.” 2 Rich or poor...architecture is not concerned with economic status. Its interest lies in people from all walks of life. My current position provides an interesting and educational juxtaposition to my time in Hale County. This experience strengthens my understanding of architecture and builds on the values I embraced at Rural Studio. I believe in the value of pursuing an ambition to the best of your ability. If architecture is to be my pursuit then I want to position myself to be the best possible architect. I am resolved in my quest to learn to be a great architect by fully understanding the social and technical requirements and implications of each challenge. Once again, I am compelled to take ownership of my development as an architect and individual. One of the primary lessons I learned at Rural Studio is that you always have more to learn. A professor and architect I admire once said, “Architecture is a marathon not a sprint.” 3 Like many of my fellow alumni, my marathon is just beginning. Who knows what adventures lie ahead?

assistant on Dave’s, MacArthur’s, and Joanne’s 20K Houses. He currently works as a project architect at Wheeler Kearns Architects in Chicago. 1. John Wooden 2. Sambo Mockbee 3. Andrew Freear

Daniel was born and raised in Nashville, Tennessee. He started at Auburn School of Architecture in fall 2002, was an invited walk-on to the Auburn University basketball team. As a fifthyear student in 2006–7, he worked on the second Akron Boys and Girls Club. In 2008–11, he was the outreach supervisor-director’s

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Rural Studio Team Rural Studio is a way of life. It is made up of a diverse cast of characters with a twenty-four/seven commitment to the place and the program. We work as a team; students learn as much from staff as from faculty, and we all learn from each other. The result is a unique “can-do” learning environment. Current staff: Cameron Acheson, outreach coordinator and director’s assistant; Eric Ball, gardener; Elena Barthel, tenure-track assistant professor to third-year students; Natalie Butts, twentieth-anniversary manager; Melissa Denney, Auburn University College of Architecture, Design and Construction and Rural Studio development officer, based in Auburn; Gayle Etheridge, office manager and director of traffic; Andrew Freear, director and professor for fifthyear, outreach, and continuing “leftover” fifth-year students; Richard B. Hudgens AIA, adjunct instructor for the third-year history and theory seminar and architect of record for Rural Studio projects; Steve Long, woodshop coordinator; John Marusich, third-year coordinator and assistant; Marion McElroy, 20K product-line manager; Johnny Parker, site construction supervisor; Rusty Smith, Rural Studio associate director and associate chair of the program of architecture at Auburn University; Mackenzie Stagg, outreach coordinator and director’s assistant; Catherine Tabb, cook; and Brenda Wilkerson, bookkeeper Other staff involved at Rural Studio during the making of projects published in this book and other staff involved at Rural Studio prior to this book: Elizabeth Allen, office assistant; James Ballard, chef; Bryan Bell, fifth-year and outreach visiting professor; Jennifer Bonner, clerk of works; Daniel Boone McHugh, third-year coordinator and clerk

of works; David Buege, interim director, fifth-year and outreach; Lindsay Butler, clerk of works; Michelle Coomes, office manager; Jason Coomes, third-year visiting professor; Frank Flury, third-year visiting professor; John Forney, outreach adjunct instructor; Melissa Gentry, cook; Kendricca Glidden, office assistant; Danielle Henry, office assistant; Myron Hill, cleaner; Steve Hoffman, third-year coordinator and assistant; Ellis Hoskins, gardener; Irene Hoskins, cleaner; Ann Langford, office manager; Bruce Lindsey, codirector; Emily McGlohn, third-year coordinator and assistant; Samuel Mockbee, codirector and cofounder; Lisa Nicholson, office administrator; D. K. Ruth, codirector and cofounder; Tinka Sack, supervisor; Jay Sanders, clerk of works, third-year coordinator and assistant; Margaret Sledge, third-year visiting professor; Daniel Splaingard, clerk of works and director’s assistant; Kellie Stokes, outreach coordinator; Janet Stone, office administrator; Christian Trask, supervisor; Daniel Wicke, outreach coordinator and director’s assistant; Mark Wise, outreach coordinator and director’s assistant; and Jonathan Brooks, John Jacobs, Alfred (A. J.) Jordan, Paul Mims, Lerone Smiley (a.k.a. Big Selma), Robert Steele, Terrence Wise, and Herbert Wooten, from the Greensboro State Cattle Ranch, who have maintained our grounds and buildings Our steadfast consultants, who visit regularly and give support remotely through phone, email, or Skype: Steve Badanes, cofounder of Jersey Devil and Howard S. Wright Professor at Neighborhood Design/Build Studio, University of Washington; Clifton Burt, principal of Clifton Burt Graphic Design, Portland, Oregon; Joe Farruggia, principal in GFGR Architects and Engineers, Chicago; Anderson Inge, architect, engineer, and teacher at various art and architecture schools in London; Paul Stoller, environmental consultant, formerly director of Atelier Ten, New York

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City, now directing the Sydney, Australia office; Xavier Vendrell, University of Illinois at Chicago and principal in Xavier Vendrell Studio, Chicago and Barcelona In addition, we have a diverse group of regular guests who provide critical and forthright observations during public reviews: Marlon Blackwell, principal, Marlon Blackwell Architect, Fayetteville, Arkansas; Cliff David, permaculture expert, Tennessee; Bill Dooley, Professor of Art, University of Alabama; Julie Eizenberg and Hank Koning, principals, Koning Eizenberg Architecture, Los Angeles; Ted Flato, principal, Lake Flato Architects, San Antonio; the late Tom Forman, president, Chicago Associates, Planners and Architects (CAPA), Chicago; John Forney, principal, John Forney Architecture and Planning, Birmingham; Peter Gluck, principal Gluck+, New York City; Gary Grant, Auburn University extension office; Richard Harris, Professor of Timber Engineering, University of Bath, England; Jones Valley Teaching Farm, Birmingham; Amos Paul Kennedy Jr., printmaker, Detroit; Peter Landon, principal, Landon Bone Baker Architects, Chicago; Tim Macfarlane, principal, Glass Limited, London; Charles Mitchell, Department of Agriculture, Auburn University; Mike Newman, principal, SHED Studio, Chicago; Scott Peacock, master chef, Marion, Alabama; John Peterson, president, Public Architecture, San Francisco; Cindy Ragland, district ranger, Talladega National Forest, Oakmulgee District; Spencer Family Farmers, Marion, Alabama; Katrina Van Valkenburgh, managing director, Corporation for Supportive Housing, Chicago; Dan Wheeler, principal, Wheeler Kearns Architects, Chicago

Project Credits Willie Bell’s House  2005, Mason’s Bend, Hale County Client: Willie Bell Harris Instruction: Frank Flury, Emily McGlohn Students (second-year project): Brent Amos, Daniel Ash, Lu Bai, Uel Bassett, Rebecca Broome, Katherine Caldwell, Sean Carter, Courtney Casburn, Laura Clark, Ryan Coleman, Drew Coshow, Joey Fante, Elizabeth Farrell, Melissa Graveline, Abigail Grubb, Jennifer Hale, Rosannah Harding, Jason Holland, Trey Howell, Nadene Mairesse, Drew Merkle, John Middleton, Rand Pinson, Kendall Pitts, Melissa Rouse, Mackenzie Stagg, Ryan Stephenson, Nicholas Thomas, Joey Tudisco, Sarah Tillotson, Jennie West, John Tyler Young Christine’s House 2005, Mason’s Bend, Hale County Client: Christine Green Instruction: Andrew Freear Students (fifth-year project): Amy Bullington, Stephen Long Rose Lee’s House 2009, Footwash, Marengo County Client: Rose Lee Turner Instruction: Elena Barthel, John Marusich Students (second-year project): Tyler Allgood, Sarah Al-Rukhayyes, Kendra Ayers, Tanner Backman, Doug Bacon, Bob Benner, Brandon Block, Stephanie Brown, David Charney, Jackson Clay, Jordan Cox, Michael De St. Aubin, Andrew Dolder, Christine Furey, Rebecca Hayes, Alex Henderson, Randall Holmes, Stephen Kesel, Ally Klinner, Kenneth Lao, Corey Lee, Tina Maceri, Lauren Oliver, Benjamin Pendergraft, Alexandra Peoples, Autumn Sikorowski, Andrew Taylor, Daniel Toner, Christina Walton, Elizabeth Whitlock, Joseph Wojciechowski, Katie Woods, Mary Melissa Yohn

Newbern Firehouse  2004, Newbern, Hale County Client: Newbern Volunteer Fire Department, the town of Newbern Instruction: Andrew Freear Students (fifth-year project): Will Brothers, Elizabeth Ellington, Matthew Finley, Leia Price Newbern Town Hall  2011, Newbern, Hale County Client: Town of Newbern Instruction: Andrew Freear, Daniel Wicke Students (fifth-year project): Brett Bowers, David Frazier, Mallory Garrett, Zane Morgan Hale County Animal Shelter  2006, Greensboro, Hale County Client: Hale County Commission and Probate Judge Leland Avery Instruction: Andrew Freear Students (fifth-year project): Jeffrey Bazzell, Julieta Collart, Lana Farkas, Connely Farr Akron Boys and Girls Club 2007, Akron, Hale County Client: Town of Akron Instruction: Andrew Freear Students (fifth-year project): Whitney Hall, John Marusich, Adam Pearce, Daniel Wicke Thomaston Rural Heritage Center  2004, Thomaston, Marengo County Client: Rural Heritage Foundation, Town of Thomaston Instruction: Andrew Freear Students (fifth-year project): Abby Barnett, Kathryn Elizabeth Bryan, John David Caldwell, Melissa Harold, Paul Kardous, Nathan Makemson, Emily McGlohn, Walker Renneker, Robert White Pyramid Learning Center  2005, Marion, Perry County Client: Perry County Board of Education Instruction: Andrew Freear

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Students (fifth-year project): Derek Aplin, Amy Bell, Sam Currie, Angela Hughey, Turnley Smith Hale County Hospital Courtyard  2006, Greensboro, Hale County Client: Hale County Hospital Instruction: Andrew Freear Students (fifth-year project): Blair Bricken, Nathan Foust, Nicholas Gray, Heidi Schattin Safe House Black History Museum  2010, Greensboro, Hale County Client: Theresa Burroughs and the Board of the Safe House Black History Museum Instruction: Andrew Freear, Daniel Wicke Students (fifth-year project): Chris Currie, Cassandra Kellogg, Candace Rimes Perry Lakes Park: Cedar Pavilion  2002, Marion, Perry County Client: Perry Lakes Board, Perry County Commission, Town of Marion Instruction: Andrew Freear Students (fifth-year project): Jennifer Bonner, Mary Beth Maness, Nathan Orrison, Anthony Tindall Perry Lakes Park: Restrooms and Walkway  2003, Marion, Perry County Client: Perry Lakes Board, Perry County Commission, Town of Marion Instruction: Andrew Freear Students (fifth-year project): Sarah Dunn, Matthew Foley, Brannen Park, Melissa Sullivan Perry Lakes Park: Covered Bridge  2004, Marion, Perry County Client: Perry Lakes Board, Perry County Commission, Town of Marion Instruction: Andrew Freear Students (fifth-year project): Matthew Edwards, Lynielle Houston, Charlie Jorgensen, Sara Singleton

Perry Lakes Park: Birding Tower and Walkway  2005, Marion, Perry County Client: Perry Lakes Board, Perry County Commission, Town of Marion Instruction: Andrew Freear Students (fifth-year project): Adrienne Brady, Natalie Butts, Paul Howard, Coley Mulcahy Lions Park: Baseball Fields  2006, Greensboro, Hale County Client: Lions Park Committee, City of Greensboro, Hale County, Lions Club Instruction: Andrew Freear Students (fifth-year project): Laura Filipek, Alicia Gjesvold, Jeremy Sargent, Daniel Splaingard, Mark Wise Lions Park: Surfaces and Restrooms  2007, Greensboro, Hale County Client: Lions Park Committee, City of Greensboro, Hale County, Lions Club Instruction: Andrew Freear Students (fifth-year project): Joe Aplin, Lindsey Butler, Mark Dempsey, Russell Gibbs, Adam Kent, Pamela Raetz, Anthony Vu, Adam Woodward Lions Park: Skate Park and Concession Stand  2009, Greensboro, Hale County Client: Lions Park Committee, City of Greensboro, Hale County, Lions Club Instruction: Andrew Freear, Daniel Splaingard, Daniel Wicke Students (fifth-year project): Evan Dick, Brett Jones, Carrie Laurendine, John Plaster, Terran Wilson, Sandy Wolf Lions Park: Playground  2010, Greensboro, Hale County Client: Lions Park Committee, City of Greensboro, Hale County, Lions Club, Alabama Department of Public Health (Strategic Alliance for Health) Instruction: Andrew Freear, Daniel Wicke Students (fifth-year project): Cameron Acheson, Bill Batey, Courtney Mathias, Jamie Sartory

Lions Park: Scout Hut and Park in the Park  2012, Greensboro, Hale County Client: Lions Park Committee, City of Greensboro, Hale County, Lions Club, Greensboro Scouts (Scout Troop 13 and Cub Pack 13) Instruction: Andrew Freear, Mackenzie Stagg, Cameron Acheson Students (fifth-year project): Tyler Allgood, Sarah Al-Rukhayyes, Jessica Cain, Alex Henderson, Benjamin Johnson, Benjamin Pendergraft, Elizabeth Whitlock, Mary Melissa Yohn 20K House (#1): Elizabeth’s House  2005, Newbern, Hale County Client: Elizabeth Phillips Instruction: Andrew Freear Students (outreach project): Charles Horn, Phillip M. Jones, Min Kim, Hanna Loftus, Laura Noguera, Kellie Stokes 20K House (#2): Frank’s House  2006, Greensboro, Hale County Client: Frank Harris Instruction: Andrew Freear, Kellie Stokes Students (outreach project): Fernando Abreu, Susan Massey, Alexandre Landry, Nathalie Leysen 20K House (#3): Truss House  2007, Greensboro, Hale County Client: Joe and Sherman Moore Instruction: Andrew Freear, Stephen Long Students (outreach project): Jeremy Aranoff, Karamjit Birk, Sabina Nieto, Jane Sloss 20K House (#4): Pattern Book House  2008, Greensboro, Hale County Client: Deidre Paige Instruction: David Buege, Mark Wise Students (fifth-year and outreach project): Drew Coshow, Robert Douge, Abigail Grubb, Steven Ward 20K House (#5): Loft House  2008, Greensboro, Hale County Client: Dawn Instruction: David Buege, Mark Wise

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Students (fifth-year and outreach project): Kait Caldwell, Joey Fante, Aimee O’Carroll, Ryan Stephenson 20K House (#6): Roundwood House  2008, Greensboro, Hale County Client: Mama Fay Instruction: David Buege, Mark Wise Students (fifth-year and outreach project): Ryan Coleman, Matt Mueller, Mackenzie Stagg, Laurianne Uguen 20K House (#7): Bridge House  2008, Greensboro, Hale County Client: Kiera Instruction: David Buege, Mark Wise Students (fifth-year and outreach project): Betsy Farrell, Drew Merkle, Rand Pinson, Ashley Snell 20K House (#8): Dave’s House  2009, Newbern, Hale County Client: Dave Thornton Instruction: Andrew Freear, Daniel Splaingard, Daniel Wicke, Students (outreach project): Charity Bulgrien, Ian Cook, Obi Elechi 20K House (#9): MacArthur’s House  2010, Faunsdale, Marengo County Client: MacArthur Coach Instruction: Andrew Freear, Daniel Wicke Students (outreach project): Clem Blakemore, Pernilla Hagbert, Will Holman 20K House (#10): Joanne’s House  2011, Faunsdale, Marengo County Client: Joanne Davis Instruction: Andrew Freear, Daniel Wicke, Mackenzie Stagg Students (outreach project): Jacob Beebe, Erika Henriksson, Eric Schmid, Sandra Yubero 20K House (#11): Turner’s House  2012, Faunsdale, Marengo County Client: Turner Dansby Instruction: Andrew Freear, Mackenzie Stagg, Cameron Acheson

Students (outreach project): Meaghan Burke, Rennie Jones, Ingunn Opsahl, Peter Paller 20K House (#12): Eddie’s House  2013, Faunsdale, Marengo County Client: Eddie Davis Instruction: Andrew Freear, Mackenzie Stagg, Cameron Acheson Students (fifth-year and outreach project): Tim Owen, Loren Prosch, Claudia Vollero Payne Lake Pavilion (Tea House)  2009, Payne Lake, Hale County Client: USFS Talladega National Forest, Oakmulgee District Instruction: Andrew Freear, Daniel Splaingard, Daniel Wicke Students (fifth-year project): Anna Bevill, Lori Fine, Ian Hoffman, Roger Mainor Payne Lake Walking Trail Bridge 2010, Payne Lake, Hale County Client: USFS Talladega National Forest, Oakmulgee District Instruction: Andrew Freear, Daniel Wicke Students (fifth-year project): Nick Bishop, Golpar Garmestani, Nick Wickersham Payne Lake Bathhouses  2011, Payne Lake, Hale County Client: USFS Talladega National Forest, Oakmulgee District Instruction: Andrew Freear, Daniel Wicke Students (fifth-year project): Michael Dowdy, Franklin Frost, Will McGarity, Mary Pruitt Rural Studio Farm: Raised Kitchen Garden Fall 2008, Newbern, Hale County Client: Rural Studio Instruction: Elena Barthel, John Marusich Students (neck-down project): all Rural Studio students Rural Studio Farm: Commercial Kitchen  Fall 2009/Spring 2010, Newbern, Hale County Client: Rural Studio

Instruction: Margaret Sledge, John Marusich Students (third-year project): Meagan Ackerman, Jessica Cain, Sarah Chaplin, Enoc Cruz, Hunter Dyas, Brittany Fleming, Sarahgrace Godwin, Sean Jeong, Hanna Johns, Benjamin Johnson, Eric Kessler, Thomas Kurian, Yesufu Oladipo, Matthew Patterson, Ivan Vanchev, Julian Vida, Justin Washburn, Alyssa Webster, Daniel Weldon Rural Studio Farm: Morrisette House Strategic Plan, Solar Greenhouse, and Newbern Strategic Plan Fall 2010/Spring 2011, Newbern, Hale County Client: Rural Studio Instruction: Elena Barthel, John Marusich Students (third-year project): Morgan Acino, Christine Bagdigian, Damian Bolden, Davis Campbell, Ashley Clark, Drew Craven, Kurt Funderburg, Brad Greene, Will Gregory, Kyle Johnson, Michael Jones, Mary Win McCarthy, John McDaniel, Peter McInish, Thomas McLemore, James Miller, Anna Powers, Michael Stricklen, Cameron Weldy, Ashley Williams, Michael Wilson, Sarah Wright Rural Studio Farm: Morrisette House Strategic Plan (Food Forest, Horticultural Garden, and Irrigation System), Solar Greenhouse, and Newbern Recycling Station Fall 2011/Spring 2012, Newbern, Hale County Client: Rural Studio Instruction: Elena Barthel, John Marusich Students (third-year project): Tanner Avery, Jeffery Bak, Cody Bryant, Kaitlyn Callis, Candace Duffelle, Caleb Gardener, Cierra Heard, Whitney Johnson, Skylar Keele, Rachel Latham, Lucas McCarrell, Dylan Moore, Samantha O’Leary, Brooke Riesburg, Helen Schlesinger, Iain Shriver, Sebastian Toro, Emily Walker, Taiwei Wang, Thomas Whales, Ellen Wirry

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Rural Studio Farm: Morrisette House Strategic Plan and Solar Greenhouse (Irrigation System, Canopy, Raised Beds, and “Berm”) Fall 2012/Spring 2013, Newbern, Hale County Client: Rural Studio Instruction: Elena Barthel, John Marusich Students (third-year project): Cindy Baker, Laura Bathke, Stephen Bianchi, Dawson Bowers, Richard Bryant, Alexandra Buehning, Bruce Buescher, Taylor Christiansen, Alan Darpini, Callie Eitzen, Kristen Gruhn, Aleksander Hays, Carlos Hernandez, Taylor Horton, Anne Johnstone, Kevin Laferriere, Adam Levet, Michael Lewandowski, Julia Long, Quinn Mackenzie, Ian Maples, Allison Martin, Cecilia Plascencia, Gabrielle Rush, Margaret Scott, Trenton Tepool, Kevin Thompson, Mary Elsa Tomlin, Kyle Wherry, Megan Wood, Torrence Wong Greensboro Farmers’ Market  2011, Greensboro, Hale County Community partners: City of Greensboro and the Hale County Farmers Committee, Alabama Department of Public Health (Strategic Alliance for Health), Alabama Farmers’ Market Authority Marketing team: Faculty and staff of Rural Studio with Julie Roche, Katie Walch of Americorps VISTA, and Hale Empowerment and Revitalization Organization, Inc. (HERO) Design and construction team: Faculty and staff of Rural Studio Jones Valley Farmers’ Market  2012, Birmingham Client: Jones Valley Teaching Farm Project team: Faculty and staff of Rural Studio with Michael Dowdy, Franklin Frost, Will McGarity, Mary Pruitt

Complete Works All dates based on year of graduation Denotes a project featured in this book David Bryant House Fix-Up 1993, Mason’s Bend, Hale County Bryant (Hay Bale) House 1994, Mason’s Bend, Hale County HERO Office Design and Drawings 1994, Greensboro, Hale County Mattie Hogan House Fix-Up 1994, Greensboro, Hale County

HERO Children’s Center 1998, Greensboro, Hale County

Courthouse Benches 2000, Greensboro, Hale County

Lewis House 1998, Moundville, Hale County

Mrs. Jackson’s Basket Weavers Store 2000, Demopolis, Marengo County

Spencer House, Porch 1998, Newbern, Hale County

Akron Boys and Girls Club 2001, Akron, Hale County

Pods, Morrisette House 1999, Newbern, Hale County

Bodark Amphitheater 2001, Newbern, Hale County

Seed House 1999, Mason’s Bend, Hale County

Chantilly, Historic Restoration Drawings 2001, Newbern, Hale County

Moundville Trailer Fix-Up 1999, Moundville, Hale County

Silo Project 1995, Sawyerville, Hale County

Architecture of the Everyday, Exhibition 1999, Nexus Center for Contemporary Art, Atlanta, Georgia

Smoke House 1995, Mason’s Bend, Hale County

Futures to Come, Exhibition 1999, Max Protech Gallery, New York

Yancey Chapel (Tire Chapel) 1995, Sawyerville, Hale County

Pearl Patton House Fix-Up 1999, Greensboro, Hale County

Annie Taylor Reroofing 1995, Greensboro, Hale County

Pump House 1999, Mason’s Bend, Hale County

Clothing Closet 1995, Newbern, Hale County

Safe House Black History Museum Fix-Up 1999, Greensboro, Hale County

Long Dr. Trailer Fix-Up 1995, Greensboro, Hale County Harris (Butterfly) House 1996, Mason’s Bend, Hale County Wilson House 1996, Greensboro, Hale County Akron Pavilion 1997, Akron, Hale County Goat House  1997, Sawyerville, Hale County HERO Playground 1997, Greensboro, Hale County Supershed, Morrisette House 1997, Newbern, Hale County Composting Privy and Bathhouse, Morrisette House 1998, Newbern, Hale County

Mason’s Bend Basketball Court 2000, Mason’s Bend, Hale County Mason’s Bend Community Center (Glass Chapel) 2000, Mason’s Bend, Hale County Sanders-Dudley House 2000, Sawyerville, Hale County Spencer House Kitchen Extension 2000, Newbern, Hale County Thomaston Farmers’ Market 2000, Thomaston, Marengo County Architecture of the Black Warrior River, Exhibition 2000, Max Protech Gallery, New York Design Culture Now, National Design Triennial, Exhibition 2000, Smithsonian Cooper-Hewitt National Design Museum, New York

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Corrugated Cardboard Pod 2001, Newbern, Hale County Newbern Baseball Field 2001, Newbern, Hale County Newbern Playground 2001, Newbern, Hale County Akron Playground 2001, Akron, Hale County Art Classes 2001, Akron, Hale County Margaret Walker House Fix-Up 2001, Greensboro, Hale County Super Deck, Supershed, Morrisette House 2001, Newbern, Hale County Rural Studio, Exhibition  Jun. 9–11, 2001, Interface Carpets, NEOCON 2001, Merchandise Mart, Chicago Rural Studio, Exhibition  Oct. 1–31, 2001, Cincinnati Contemporary Arts Center, Ohio Akron Senior Center 2002, Akron, Hale County Antioch Baptist Church 2002, Perry County Essie and Jab’s Warm Dry Room, Architectural Ambulance 2002, various locations, Hale County HERO Knowledge Café 2002, Greensboro, Hale County

Lucy’s (Carpet) House 2002, Mason’s Bend, Hale County Perry Lakes Park: Cedar Pavilion 2002, Marion, Perry County

Utility Now! Bicycle Street Sweepers  2003, York, Sumter County Handicap Accessibility Ramp 2003, Newbern, Hale County

Shiles House 2002, Newbern, Hale County

Richard Lewis Ramp 2003, Greensboro, Hale County

Annie Foreman Trailer Roof 2002, Greensboro, Hale County

Sheltered Housing for AIDS Patients 2003, Auburn, Lee County

Gutter and Screen Door Installation, Architectural Ambulance 2002, Greensboro, Hale County

Uncle Henry’s House 2003, Perry County

Outdoor Handrail, Architectural Ambulance 2002, Greensboro, Hale County Water Heater Installation, Architectural Ambulance 2002, Greensboro, Hale County Wheelchair Ramp and Porch, Architectural Ambulance 2002, Newbern, Hale County Rural Studio, Whitney Biennial, Exhibition  Mar. 7 – May 26, 2002, Whitney Museum of American Art, New York Theater of Tile, Exhibition  Jun. 10–12, 2002, Interface Carpets, NEOCON 2002, Merchandise Mart, Chicago Great Hall, Morrisette House 2003, Newbern, Hale County Music Man’s House 2003, Greensboro, Hale County Newbern Little League Baseball Field 2003, Newbern, Hale County

Just Build It!, Exhibition Mar. 5 – Jun. 2, 2003, Architekturzentrum, Vienna, Austria Soto Minims [Under the Minimum], Exhibition Jun. 12 – Jul. 11, 2003, Col·legi d’Arquitectes de Catalunya, Barcelona, Spain Samuel Mockbee and the Rural Studio, Exhibition Oct. 5, 2003 – Jan. 4, 2004, Birmingham Museum of Art, Alabama Newbern Firehouse 2004, Newbern, Hale County Patrick House 2004, Newbern, Hale County Perry Lakes Park: Covered Bridge 2004, Marion, Perry County Thomaston Rural Heritage Center: Restaurant, Big Sign, Stage, and Parking 2004, Thomaston, Marengo County Housing Resource Center 2004, Greensboro, Hale County

Samuel Mockbee and the Rural Studio, Exhibition  Sept. 25, 2004 – Jan. 2, 2005, Scottsdale Museum of Contemporary Art, Arizona Christine’s House 2005, Mason’s Bend, Hale County Pyramid Learning Center 2005, Marion, Perry County Perry Lakes Park: Birding Tower and Walkway 2005, Marion, Perry County 20K House (#1): Elizabeth’s House 2005, Newbern, Hale County Willie Bell’s House 2005, Mason’s Bend, Hale County Juanita’s House 2005, Sawyerville, Hale County Samuel Mockbee and the Rural Studio, Exhibition  Sept. 30 – Nov. 19, 2005, The Joseloff Gallery, University of Hartford, Connecticut Rural Studio: Education of the Citizen Architect, Exhibition  Oct. 22, 2005 – Feb. 1, 2006, Sao Paulo Biennale, Brazil Hale County Animal Shelter 2006, Greensboro, Hale County Hale County Hospital Courtyard 2006, Greensboro, Hale County Lions Park: Baseball Fields 2006, Greensboro, Hale County Michelle’s House 2006, Greensboro, Hale County

Perry Lakes Park: Restrooms and Walkway 2003, Marion, Perry County

Outside In, Community Space and Photographic Essay 2004, Hale County

Thomaston Rural Heritage Center: Gift Shop and Gallery 2003, Thomaston, Marengo County

Sub Rosa 2004, Newbern, Hale County

Eloise High House 2006, Greensboro, Hale County

Sunshine School Fix-Ups 2004, Newbern, Hale County

Rural Studio: Education of the Citizen Architect, Exhibition  Sept. 5 – Nov. 5, 2006, Jule Collins Smith Museum of Fine Art, Auburn, Alabama

Avery Organic Vegetable Stand 2003, Perry County Ola Mae’s Porch 2003, Greensboro, Hale County

Samuel Mockbee and the Rural Studio, Exhibition May 22 – Sept. 6, 2004, National Building Museum, Washington, DC

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20K House (#2): Frank’s House 2006, Greensboro, Hale County

Akron Boys and Girls Club 2007, Akron, Hale County

Rose Lee’s House 2009, Footwash, Marengo County

Lions Park: Restrooms 2007, Greensboro, Hale County

20K House (#8): Dave’s House 2009, Newbern, Hale County

Lions Park: Surfaces 2007, Greensboro, Hale County

Lions Park: Playground 2010, Greensboro, Hale County

St. Luke’s Church 2007–8, Old Cahaba, Dallas County 20K House (#3): Truss House 2007, Greensboro, Hale County Dinah’s House 2007, Newbern, Hale County 20K House (#4): Pattern Book House  2008, Greensboro, Hale County 20K House (#5): Loft House 2008, Greensboro, Hale County 20K House (#6): Roundwood House 2008, Greensboro, Hale County 20K House (#7): Bridge House 2008, Greensboro, Hale County Rural Studio Farm: Raised Kitchen Garden Fall 2008, Newbern, Hale County Southern Exposure: Contemporary Regional Architecture, Exhibition  Feb. 7 – Jun. 8, 2008, Virginia Center for Architecture, Richmond House for All, La Triennale di Milano, Exhibition  May 15 – Sept. 14, 2008, Palazzo dell’Arte, Milan, Italy Rural Studio in the American Pavilion, Venice Biennale, Exhibition  Sept. 14 – Nov. 23, 2008, U.S. Pavilion for La Biennale di Venezia: 11th International Architecture Exhibition, Venice, Italy Lions Park: Concession Stand 2009, Greensboro, Hale County Lions Park: Skate Park 2009, Greensboro, Hale County Payne Lake Pavilion (Tea House) 2009, Payne Lake, Hale County

Payne Lake Walking Trail Bridge 2010, Payne Lake, Hale County Rural Studio Farm: Commercial Kitchen 2010, Newbern, Hale County Rural Studio Farm: Morrisette House Strategic Plan 2010–today, Newbern, Hale County Rural Studio Farm: Newbern Strategic Plan 2010–today, Newbern, Hale County Rural Studio Farm: Solar Greenhouse 2010–today, Newbern, Hale County Safe House Black History Museum 2010, Greensboro, Hale County 20K House (#9): MacArthur’s House 2010, Faunsdale, Marengo County Greensboro Police Department at City Hall, Design and Construction Drawings 2010, Greensboro, Hale County 1:1—Architects Build Small Spaces, Installation  Jun. 15 – Aug. 30, 2010, Victoria and Albert Museum, London Oakmulgee District of the Talladega National Forest, Strategic Design Framework 2010, five counties across west Alabama Uniontown Park 2010, Uniontown, Perry County Lions Park: Hub 2011, Greensboro, Hale County Newbern Town Hall 2011, Newbern, Hale County Payne Lake Bathhouses 2011, Payne Lake, Hale County

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Rural Studio Farm: Newbern Recycling Center 2011–today, Newbern, Hale County 20K House (#10): Joanne’s House 2011, Faunsdale, Marengo County Greensboro Farmers’ Market 2011, Greensboro, Hale County Small Scale, Big Change, New Architectures of Social Change, Exhibition  Oct. 3, 2010 – Jan. 3, 2011, Museum of Modern Art, New York Greensboro Recreation Center: Boys and Girls Club Study Center, Renovation and Refurbishment 2012, Greensboro, Hale County Boys and Girls Clubs of West Alabama, Greensboro Unit 2012, Greensboro, Hale County Lions Park: Park in the Park 2012, Greensboro, Hale County Lions Park: Scout Hut and Public Restrooms 2012, Greensboro, Hale County City of Greensboro Parks and Recreations Department, Planning Assistance 2012, Greensboro, Hale County 20K House (#11): Turner’s House 2012, Faunsdale, Marengo County Jones Valley Farmers’ Market 2012, Birmingham Lions Park: Exercise Trail 2013, Greensboro, Hale County Old Bank of Newbern Library 2013, Newbern, Hale County 20K House (#12): Eddie’s House 2013, Faunsdale, Marengo County Municipal Flag Design, City of Greensboro 2013, Greensboro, Hale County

Acknowledgments There are a great many people and groups of people without whom Rural Studio and, therefore, this book would not exist. We are grateful to each and all of them. The first to come to mind are our wonderful neighbors in Newbern and Greensboro (Hale County), in neighboring Perry County, and further afield in west Alabama. No less important are our students and their parents; the students because they have believed in the studio’s mission, have devoted countless hours of work, and because of their humor, courage, and skill. The students’ families have been unfailing in trusting their children and the Rural Studio education. There are our many community partners: the mayors and town councils of Newbern, Greensboro, Akron, Marion, and Uniontown; the probate judges and commissioners of Hale and Perry Counties; the Alabama Department of Public Health, Alabama Historical Commission, Friends of the Hale County Animal Shelter, Friends of the Hale County Library Board, the Greensboro Baseball Association, Greensboro Boys and Girls Club Unit Board, Greensboro Elementary School, Greensboro Farmers’ Market, Greensboro Tourist Board, Greensboro Farmers Coop, Hale County EMS, Hale County Extension Office of the Alabama Cooperative Extension System, Hale County Hospital, HERO (Hale County Empowerment and Revitalization Organization) Horseshoe Farm, Leadership Hale County, Lions Park Committee, Old Bank of Newbern Library Board, Newbern Mercantile Store, Newbern Post Office, Newbern Volunteer Fire Department, District Ranger Cindy Ragland and the Oakmulgee District of the USFS Talladega National Forest, Thomaston Rural Heritage Center, the board of the Safe House Black History Museum, Newbern’s Sunshine High School, and so many more.

We want to thank all our faithful clients for believing in the students and their projects; all our consultants and advisors, without whom we could not do what we do; and all our donors, grantors, and contributors of materials. Among them are the Alabama Power Foundation, Big Ass Fans, Harry J. Brown Jr. Private Foundation Inc., I.P. Callison, Nathan Cummings Foundation, Andrea Oppenheimer Dean, Delray Lighting, Jessie Ball duPont Fund, Edwards Mother Earth Foundation, Ms. Lauren C. Elder, Enterprise Community Partners, Graham Foundation for Advanced Studies in the Fine Arts, Great Southern Wood, Mrs. Rosemary J. Haines, Mrs. Margaret Hunsburger, John P. and Dorothy S. Illges Foundation, Norman and Emmy Lou Illges Foundation, Interface Flooring Systems Inc, Dr. Marie-Claire Marroum-Kardous and Mr. Kal E. Kardous, Kawneer, Kellogg Foundation, Mr. Bruce Lanier and Mrs. Leewood Avery Lanier, LGE Electronics, Ludwick Family Foundation, Mr. and Mrs. Joshua Mahoney, Martin Sprocket and Gear Inc., Mitsubishi, Marcia Moulton, National Endowment for the Arts, Oprah’s Angel Network, PARC Foundation, Dr. and Mrs. Paul Parks, PELLA Windows and Doors, Philanthropic Collaborative, Potrero Nuevo Fund, Regions Bank, Katherine G. and Robert M. Roloson Foundation, Ms. Deedie Rose, Dr. and Mrs. William Hurt Sledge, Strain Family Foundation, Sustainable Forestry Initiative (SFI), Jim Turnipseed and Turnipseed International Inc., Viking Range Corporation, the family of the late Mr. Robert L. Walthall, Williams Tree Farm, Young Boozer Family Foundation, and so many others. We are most grateful to the families of Samuel Mockbee and D. K. Ruth, and to all our colleagues at Auburn University’s School of Architecture (within the College of Architecture, Design, and Construction) and to Auburn University for supporting an endeavor such as this in its own backyard.

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Finally we would like to thank all the people that have helped gather, discuss, and bring the pieces of this book together: to Jessica Cain, Allyson Klinner, John Marusich, Zane Morgan, and Mackenzie Stagg at Rural Studio, who made or found all the images and drawings. To John Forney and Anderson Inge for their huge investment in the discussion and evolution of the book over a number of years. To Mr. Kirtley Ward Brown and family and the University of Alabama Press for allowing us to republish Mary’s essay “A Writer’s West Alabama Childhood.” To Sandy and William Christenberry, Kate Christenberry, and Amos Paul Kennedy Jr. for allowing us to reproduce their artworks. To publisher Kevin Lippert and Princeton Architectural Press for believing in the idea of the book. To Ben English for his fabulous design. And finally to Megan Carey, whose sense of humor, rigor, passion, and above all patience (with us) has made her a delight to work with.