Preservation at the Crossroads: Indy 2013

Hope to see you there!

The National Trust for Historic Preservation Conference will be in Indianapolis, IN from Tuesday October 29 – Saturday November 2, 2013. If you’re a preservation who loves to meet other preservationists, be inspired, explore a new city, learn and share, this is the place to be. Really, check out the program. It’s going to be a ball!

I haven’t been to a NTHP conference since 2005 (Portland, OR) and 2004 (Louisville, KY), so I’m looking forward to this one. It’s a particularly exciting conference to me because I’ll be presenting with an awesome group of preservation gals! And aside from that, I’m psyched to see Raina, meet Tiffany of Historic Indianapolis, meet the NTHP folks and others I only know via the internet or by voice, meet new friends, and catch up with those I know. It’s one big preservation party, and all of the preservation nerds are welcome. Without further ado:

Join us on Thursday October 31 from 3:00-4:30 pm. 

New Media, New Audiences!

The panel!

NTHPhandout (Click here for these images in PDF version. You can also find it on the NTHP conference website). 

Preservation in Pink will feature conference updates, news, plans, happenings as the conference approaches and of course during the conference. Check in for the fun. And if you’re going, let me know. I’d love to meet you!

Pondering “My Place”

Some people grow up and grow old in the same place, whether by never moving away or by returning home. Others wander around like gypsy souls, waiting to find that place to set down roots, personally, professionally, or both. And others are content to wander always, finding home wherever their feet land.

Where do you fit in? Counting my current residence, I’ve lived in 14 different houses/apartments in five states. It’s clear that I like to move within states, even within the same town. There’s always another building to love, a new neighborhood to call home. I’ve learned the fine skill of packing, moving, and downsizing (but only when necessary).

Why do I move so often? Life, school, job opportunities, restlessness – the same reasons as anyone else. And I suppose all along I’ve been looking for my place. We’re all told to find our people; those who get us, who support us and who help a place become home. Well, we also need to find our place; where we fit in, where the landscape and the built environment make sense to us, where we want to be. Aside from growing up in New York, I’ve lived in Vermont longer than any I have lived in any state. In fact, after one year in Vermont, I declared that it had cured my geographic commitment phobia and my gypsy soul tendencies. And four years later, has it? For now it has, which is good enough for me.

Oakledge Park and Lake Champlain looking to Burlington, VT: one of my places.

Lately I’ve been realizing that my place has many locations; I’ll never have just one, for all chapters of life will fit in different places. And those chapters might take me someplace new.  Slowly, I’m realizing that that’s okay. There’s no rule that I (or you) have to live in or feel at home in just one place. Not every town or city will feel like home, but then I’ll find it in the next one.

Instead of a geographic place, I find my place in other ways. Take, for instance, a track. Give me a 400 meter running track (preferably with a red surface) and I’m completely at home. Nine years of competing on a track team and four years of coaching and years after of running workouts, a track brings a calm feeling to me, one that is filled with good memories, strength, clarity, comfort and a knowingness of who I am. Or give me an open window with a breeze coming off a body of water and my heart swells with the feeling and memories of Point Lookout and family, my favorite place to be. And even though I’m not there, the comfort of that breeze brings a smile to my face. Give me sunshine and warmth or a crisp fall day, and I’m supremely happy to exist in that moment, wherever I might be.

So what defines my place? Aside from landscape and climate, maybe much of it is intangible, varying for all of us. Memories from previous places help to fill a new place and keep me connected from one to another. Yet, I move to find something new, so memory triggers are not the entire list of attributes of my place. Each place, geographic or otherwise, gathers its own memories.

It’s a complicated topic, perhaps one that deserves additional discourse. I’m learning that I’m happy to have my gypsy soul tendencies, and I’ll love new places because I know that I can always find home in each of them, at least in some elements. Yet, I know that Burlington, VT is one of my places, whereas Omaha, NE was not, even if I have good memories there. So maybe I take those memories with me and move somewhere new that becomes (one of) my geographic places, one of the places that I do feel at home. And then that gives me a complete place; my place.

Tell me, what do you think? How would you define your place? Is it geographic? Is it anywhere your family and friends are? How do you know when you found your place? Do you have one or more? I’d love to hear what you have to say.

Irene: Two Years Later

August 28, 2011 was a day that many Vermonters will never forget. It’s etched in memory, vividly due to its recentness and yet vague in the sense of lifetimes ago. Tropical Storm Irene changed the landscape of Vermont and altered the lives of communities and individuals. Rain fell all day as Irene worked her way north. A snowy winter and wet spring left the ground overly saturated, unable to handle the incredible amounts of rain flowing in the mountains and into our rivers and streams. By nightfall, Irene had slammed and flooded more of the state than anyone imagined. Vermont’s villages and towns are settled in linear fashion along waterways and in valleys. The terrain is such that we have thousands of bridges in such a small state. While beautiful, the landscape leaves Vermont vulnerable to flooding. Irene took advantage of that fact, flooding towns, overtopping river banks, filling houses with feet of muddy water, washing away entire roadways and sweeping bridges off their abutments. It was devastation on an enormous, unbelievable scale, surpassed only by the flood of 1927 (history and photos).

This was the type of event that you see in the media and cannot possibly imagine it being your own town or home. That is, until it is your town and your home. And even then, your first reaction is: what in the world are we supposed to do now? What do you do when your house is flooded with river mud, sludge, and dirt? Well, you let the water subside and then pump out the rest of the water. And then cleanup begins. River mud is disgusting; it gets in every nook and cranny. Unless it’s a completely washable object, you might not want to keep it. Dried mud – dust – flies through your windows and the dust settles on everything. After dealing with the flood cleanup, I never wanted to be dirty ever again, nor swim in the Winooski River.

At the time of the flood, I lived in Waterbury, which was one of the hardest hit towns in Vermont. And my house was one of the least flooded in town, but the basement still filled with seven feet of water. The streets were covered in this heavy mud and garbage that people had to remove from their homes, with buckets and shovels. It was backbreaking work. Walking down the muddy sidewalks was an obstacle course, only not a fun one. The week following the flood was a week of cleanup for the entire town. I’ll never forget the volunteers (kind-hearted souls who were not flooded and could help others) who drove around food and drinks to those of us cleaning our homes. Green Mountain Coffee and Ben & Jerry’s, two big businesses in town, provided food and ice cream to the residents. It was a week of togetherness. People joined forces, organized and helped one another, even long beyond that first week. This was not unique to Waterbury; stories like this can be heard about almost any flooded town in Vermont.

Aside from the togetherness (Vermont Strong!), I will remember, always, the heavy-hearted feeling that I had as I traveled the state for work. My job included documenting the damage of historic bridges across the state, which took me to all of the flooded towns, seeing the aftermath of Irene at such a fresh, unique, sensitive time. Cleaning my house and dealing with my own matters seemed minimal compared to what others had to deal with, perhaps because they were in communities without as many resources or as much help, or because their entire house was destroyed. Driving through the Mad River Valley and the Route 100 corridor was difficult emotionally. Even though towns were recovering, the process was long, seemingly too long in some places, and it was heartbreaking. Slowly, most everyone visibly recovered, but even today there are empty, flooded properties with no occupants. It’s a visible reminder of the devastation for all. It’s still hard to see these places, knowing that some are still recovering and some people have yet to receive help, or just never knew what to do. And others were left without a home.

Thankfully, there are good stories to share, such as the reconstruction of the Bartonsville Covered Bridge and the businesses and residences that have been improved and are better than before the flood. Irene tested the strength of Vermonters, whether longtime residents or new residents, and we all came out stronger. We  all found friends and neighbors who opened their hearts and gave us time and care. Or we were inspired by the generosity and faith of others. I’m sure that I am not the only who learned that you do what you have to do, and that everything will be okay. Irene was cruel, but there was no option other than to get to the other side and recover. The process continues everywhere, but people and communities have come so far.

It’s been two years, and I might always cry when I hear Grace Potter’s Mad Mad River or watch the Rebuilding Waterbury film, but the tears are two-fold: heartbroken for everyone who suffered, but proud of Vermont for being so strong and inspiring, and proud to live here.

A Preservationist’s Confession: I Get Overwhelmed at Farmers’ Markets

It’s true. I love the idea of farmers’ markets: local food, local folks, supporting the local economy, community gatherings, live music, mingling, sunshine, open air, chatting, fresh food, baked goods, use of town green space or something similar. They embody some strong preservation and community ideals.

What could possibly be wrong with a farmers’ market? 

I’ll let you in on a secret because, let’s face it, no one is perfect, preservationist or not. As the post title tells: I get overwhelmed at farmers’ markets, and I always have.

How is that possible, you ask? You live in Vermont, that’s ridiculous, you say. You’re a preservationist who is always talking about local economy, you say.

I know, I know!*

Here’s how. As I am not much of a cook, or at least an organized cook who is capable of planning meals, I tend to wander around a farmers’ market and wind up the full circle later, having no idea what to buy. I can smile and chat with the artists, admire their work, hold a cup of coffee, eat prepared food, enjoy the live music, be neighborly, but produce, meat and other stands? Unless I want berries or just a few tomatoes, I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing. I don’t even know what some of the vegetables are, and I’m a healthy eater. And unless it’s  produce that I know, I’m skeptical of prices. Despite what we think and hope, not everything is less expensive at a farmers’ market (add that to my list of pet peeves).

After wandering around for some time, I end up frazzled and heading home with very little produce. Let’s not even talk about buying meat. That’s many steps ahead, despite the fact that local meat is important to me. And then I feel guilty for not doing more very local shopping! But I don’t know how to improve. So it’s really just the same cycle over and over.

There is where you might tease me mercilessly, or offer some helpful advice. I can handle both.

Of course, there are probably simple solutions, like talking to the farmers, etc. And there are more complicated solutions like learning to plan meals. Bring on the solutions.

My point in sharing this is to a) share a weakness I have as a preservationist and b) to tell you that by the end of the summer I will successfully shop at a farmers’ market for a week’s worth of produce & meat, rather than the grocery store. At least, I’ll do my very best. Expect it to take all summer. I’ll report back to you.

And now it’s your turn to offer your own confession, whether you are a preservationist or not.

*P.S. I live in Vermont and I’ve never once been skiing. How’s that to confuse you?!

Why Buying Local is Worth Every Cent

Have you done any local shopping lately? It’s easier in the summertime when you can places and don’t mind taking extra time to stroll on the streets, or to head downtown rather than to the strip malls on the outskirts. Do you agree? What do you find to be the easiest thing to purchase locally?

Check out this new “Buy Local” infographic. (Who doesn’t love infographics?!)

Click to Enlarge Image

Why Buying Local is Worth Every Cent Infographic by CustomMade

Previous post on Buy Local posters. Will you make an effort to increase your local business spending this summer? Just $10 per month to a local business, as opposed to a big chain? You can do it!

A Truly Glamorous Gym

Atmosphere and ambiance contribute to enjoyment of a place, as preservationists know, whether that place is a restaurant, a library, a streetscape, a residence, an office, a classroom or even an athletic facility. If a place is pleasant and gives you that happy-to-be-there feeling, then you are likely to return. Sometimes this decision is blatant; other times, it is subconscious.

The St. Paul Athletic Club in St. Paul, MN is one of those breathtaking places that will make you glad to be there, whether it’s for social reasons or health reasons. You have to see it to believe it (see photos below – click for larger images and better clarity).

Opened in 1916 as a social and athletic club, it was recently renovated and reopened in winter 2013 by new owners with a true vision for restoring the function and the glamour of the athletic club. The club is located on 7 stories of the 13-story building. The current owners have brought the building back to life, and are an important link in the chain of downtown St. Paul revitalization and growth. (This Finance & Commerce article gives an overview of the financial side of the reopening.)

How would you like to workout in this room? Chandeliers, lamps, decorative plaster: I could barely believe my eyes.

Details, details.

Multiple floors of beautiful rooms and workout equipment.

Oddly enough, however, it was entirely empty when I was exploring.

Good views from these windows.

Another running track above the weights.

A view into the pool.

Beautiful mosaic tile floor.

Incredible windows at the pool; wish I had time to swim!

What do you think? Are you as impressed as I am? A historic building rehabilitated , and retaining its function as an important business in downtown and serving the people with a current need – sounds great. Hopefully the membership increases, and the club succeeds. Read about the original grand opening here.

Perhaps more athletic facilities should consider historic buildings – have you seen any? Would you be more likely to join a gym if it looked and functioned like the St. Paul Athletic Club? Would you pay more to support a business that operates with such care in a historic building?

Looking up at the St. Paul Athletic Club. Spectacular.

(By the way, I am writing about the St. Paul Athletic Club because I am impressed and think it’s a great success story. If you live in St. Paul or nearby, you should join. And I like to show my support for historic buildings. I have not received any compensation for promoting this business.)

Books, Brick Buildings & Backroads

Certain places will always tug at our hearts, filled with nostalgia, good memories, and chapters in the book of our lives that answer questions like: how did we become who we are? What has shaped us over the years? Where were we before this? These are places that may seem far away from the present, but if you stepped into them, memories would flood back to you. These are places that mean so much to us, places you will never forget and don’t want to forget.

Kenmore Plantation: where I spent many mornings cleaning the plaster ceiling with dental tools and toothbrushes.

Mary Washington College, dear in my heart.

Fredericksburg, VA.

Fredericksburg, Virginia, particularly the University of Mary Washington, is one of those places to me. It’s a chapter in my life that I keep with me still (hello, flamingos!) and cherish. Sure, the day to day worries of school exams and track meets and other issues have faded, but the brick lined campus walk, the historic preservation department, the streets that I’d walk or run everyday are embedded in my heart. Whether coffee at Hyperion Espresso, sleepless nights in the drafting lab or computer lab, learning from our professors, or admiring the beautiful historic buildings of Fredericksburg, Mary Washington represents my formative years as a historic preservationist (though I must have been one before I arrived) and it’s where the flamingos first flocked together, a group of intelligent, beautiful women whose bonds mean the world to me.

Flamingos flocked here.

Hyperion Espresso in downtown Fredericksburg.

A visit to Hyperion Espresso.

Suffice to say, when I was invited to be a part of the Center for Historic Preservation’s book prize jury, I was elated, honored and happy to be a part of Mary Washington in a different sphere (as a professional colleague instead of student). This included reading 17 books over the past few months, but it also entailed a springtime visit to Virginia, preservation chatter and scholarship, catching up with professors, meeting fellow preservationists, and visiting some of my favorite people. As evident by the photographs, Mr. Stilts came along for the ride, all in the name of Preservation in Pink entertainment.

See my challenge: The stack of book prize nominations.

Downtown Fredericksburg, VA.

I realized I was strolling the streets of Fredericksburg with Mr. Stilts peaking out of my bag — totally not posed!

The book prize will be announced in May, so I can’t say anything about it now. I will note that the morning sun in the preservation conference room with coffee, stacks of books and good company made for an excellent segment of my Virginia weekend.

Strolling down campus walk at Mary Washington.

Following a stay in Fredericksburg, my sights were set on rural Hanover county, exploring on a sunny day and arriving at Ali & Hume’s in time for a flamingo mini-reunion evening. {If you revisit that post, the house has come a long way!} The roads to Ali’s were narrow and winding, and brought fond memories of learning Virginia architecture. The landscape struck me: large fields, farmhouses set in a cluster of trees far from the road. Small vernacular and modern houses are brick clad, as is typical Virginia. This was a good reminder of regional architecture. Vermont’s houses are often lined close to the roadway, valleys are deep, mountains reach high and roads follow waterways. Weatherboard is more common than brick in Vermont, storm windows are necessary, and gable front is a common form.

Driving in rural Virginia.

Narrow tree lined roads (blurry, sorry!)

Aside from visual reminders, the quiet rural night brought back memories. Lying in bed in the early hours of the morning, the sound of the nearby freight train rattled on the tracks, carrying across the fields near Ali & Hume’s house. I remembered how the sound carries differently when not in the mountains. And the railroad brings memories of Southern Pines, traveling by train along the east coast (various trips), and living in houses that physically shook when the freight trains passed through town. But that night I felt contently comforted by the rattling lull floating through the fields, lucky to be in the company of preservation friends who are so lovingly working on their Virginia home.

Dinnertime scenery in Hanover County.

Flamingos, friends, books, coffee, preservation, winding roads, good food and some exploring in the sun. How could a weekend be any better?

Time to leave Virginia, flying back to Vermont.

Thank you Virginia for a lovely stay. See you soon.

Guest Post Series: The New Discussion on Vinyl Siding

Can you tell the difference between vinyl siding and clapboard siding?  How often does the difference cross your mind?  Why do we still have to make arguments against vinyl siding?

Preservation in Pink is proud to feature a new guest series entitled “The New Discussion on Vinyl Siding” written by Philip B. Keyes. The four-part series begins on Monday March 4 and will continue throughout the week. No matter what your position on vinyl siding, this series is sure to enlighten preservationists and others. Check back tomorrow for a good read, and hopefully good discussion between many readers. {Update: links to all parts below.}

Part One. Part Two. Part Three. Part Four.

Schoolhouses for Laura

In honor of Laura Ingalls Wilder’s birthday – February 7, 1867 – here is a collection of schoolhouses from around the United States. Here are some of Laura’s houses in South Dakota & Kansas & Missouri, the Ingalls Homestead in South Dakota and in Wisconsin.

The Little Red Schoolhouse in Dover, VT, ca. 1790.

The Pierce School in Lunenburg, Vermont.

An abandoned schoolhouse in Nebrasksa.

Union Village, VT

District #7 Schoolhouse in the Jericho Rural Historic District in White River Junction, VT. Currently it is the Jericho Community Center.

The Wells River Graded School, constructed 1874, in Newbury, VT.

A schoolhouse rehabilitated to a residence in Albany, Vermont.

The schoolhouse in Isle La Motte, VT. It is now a B&B/bike hostel.

Wood clapboards etched to look like stone blocks rather than wood boards. This 12/12 window has original panes, too. Taken at the Eureka Schoolhouse in Springfield, Vermont – a State Historic Site.

An 1896 schoolhouse in East Poultney, VT.

Main Street Middle School, Montpelier, VT

The Brown v. Board of Education National Historic Site in Topeka, Kansas. Photo taken June 2006.

Abandoned VT: Wheelock Schoolhouse

The general form and the span of windows is how I immediately spot schoolhouses.

Addison Town Hall (and school) on VT Route 22A, Addison, VT

Laura Ingalls remains one of my favorite authors and historical figures. Happy Birthday, Laura.

January Flamingo-grams

Merritt Parkway, CT.

Local shopping.

What should I do with these?

Merritt Parkway, CT.

Work or pleasure?

It’s cold here!

Montpelier, VT.

Vermont State House by night.

Ringing in the new year, flamingo style.

Whitestone Bridge, NY.

Coffee in the morning.

Preservation Photos.

Best local coffee around.

Point Lookout, NY.

Inspiration.

In case you don’t follow Preservation in Pink on Instagram or Twitter, here’s a recent roundup. What have you been up to?

Previously: Thanksgiving Flamingo-grams, November Flamingo-grams, October Flamingo-grams