Convergence

Zach Horton

Theorizing Scale

A few months ago, after over 8 years of research and writing, I published my first academic book, The Cosmic Zoom. Writing this incredibly meaningful book changed my life, and it is my ardent hope that it will assist others as well. This post is an introduction and guide to the book. But first, my immense gratitude to my amazing editors at the University of Chicago Press.

This is a book about scale. About how one thing transforms into another, about how different subjects and objects encounter one another across scales, and about how we—as disciplined or creative thinkers—come to know (and unknow) the parts of the world that inhabit different scales than we can access with our senses. Such knowledge is the product of mediation, of conjoined processes of communication, sensory stimulation, and transformation. All media is trans-scalar, and everything we access that is trans-scalar is mediated.

The Cosmic Zoom develops a medial theory of scale that accounts for its disciplinary history, the scalar politics of today, and what I call the “scalar paradox of knowledge production”: the fact that scale seems to be arbitrary, a human convention, and yet investigation of both the material and social world reveals that scalar difference is a fundamental dynamic of the universe, and one that confounds disciplined knowledge production more than it bolsters it. How do we account for this paradox? Is the cosmos scaled, or do we impose scale upon it? Rather than collapse the paradox, this book argues that both are true, and the cyclical process, or circuit, of human stabilization of particular scales and the irruption of scalar difference beyond the human constitute the medial dynamic of scale.

The Cosmic Zoom considers the current moment in history as one of profoundly important scalar politics, which formulate or contest the constellation and characterization of particular scales, producing zooms that distribute and mediate affect, engendering particular scalar identities. Scalar politics determines human relationships to anthropogenic processes at planetary scales like climate change and big data, as well as human relationships with non-humans at all scales. To take the measure of our current, troubled epoch, I argue that we must come to a far better understanding of scalar mediation.

It is my hope that this work will provide a foundation for and help to catalyze the new interdisciplinary field of Scale Studies.

I thought it might be helpful to provide something of a guide to this sprawling book, so here goes…

First Chapter and Index

Here’s the first chapter of the book, plus the index.

Full Table of Contents

Here’s an unpublished, complete table of contents that includes all section titles in the book (the published version includes only the chapter titles). Along with the published index, this may help you hone in on the conceptual needle in the cosmic haystack!

Key Concepts

The book develops a number of key concepts, a few of which are listed here:

Scalar Difference: A fundamental difference of intensity between all assemblages that impels change. Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 5.

Scalar Spectrum: The range of possible scalar difference, without implied continuity between its ranges. Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3.

Scalar Collapse: The negation of difference between different ranges of the scalar spectrum through their superimposition in speculative media. Ch 1, Ch 4.

Resolving Cut: The relative stabilization of a scalar milieu produced by an observing entity. Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 4, Ch 5.

Resolution: The degree to which ecological detail can be differentiated within a scalar milieu, as outcome of the conceptual and technical stabilization of particular scales. Ch 2.

Pan-Scalar Humanism: An ideology that positions the human at the center of the constellation of scales. Ch 1, Ch 3 (“Toying With Ideas: The Scalar Analog”), Ch 4.

Analog Scale: Scalar difference represented visually as continuous space, optically and conceptually equidistant to the human subject. As distinct from analog media, which must occlude its own seams in order to produce analog scale. See also “Zoetrope Model of Scale” and “equidistant optics.” Ch 3, Ch 4.

Digital Scale: A representation of scale as a spectrum of discrete and discontinuous milieus. As distinct from digital media, which often produces analog scale, especially when non-recursive. Ch 4, Ch 6.

Trans-Scalar Ecology: Tracing the scalar relations, co-constitutive dynamics, and interdependencies of entities across scalar difference (scalar relationality as metadiscipline). Ch 5.

Drama of Resolution: A form of narrative that continually resolves new scales, re-articulating unresolved detail with newly resolved detail. See also “scalar memory.” Ch 2.

Trans-Scalar Encounter: The perspectival encounter between assemblages across discontinuous regions of the scalar spectrum, as resolving event. Ch 1, Ch 6.

Intensive Scale: Scale as primary differentiation, prior to particular knowledge formations (ontological). Ch 5.

Extensive Scale: Scale as secondary negotiation between stabilized surfaces (medial). Ch 5.

Recursive Database Subjectivity: The encounter of the self from different scalar perspectives afforded by database-driven media. Ch 6.

Disciplinary Resolution: The stabilization of particular scales for knowledge production through resolving cuts and the establishment of epistemic protocols. Ch 4, Ch 5 (“Disciplinary Scale”).

Trans-Scalar Constellation: The articulation of multiple stabilized scalar milieus into a world. See also “Zoom” and “Scalar Politics.” Ch 4.

Here’s a PDF version of this guide.

Disciplinary Guide

For those coming to the book from diverse vectors…


Media Studies: Entire book.

Visual Studies / Design (especially Ray and Charles Eames): Ch 3, Ch 4.

Literary Studies: Ch 1, Ch 2.

Science and Technology Studies: Ch 1, Ch 4, Ch 5.

Digital Humanities and Digital Cultural Studies: Ch 6.

Software Studies: Ch 5 (“Lost in Trans-Scalar Ecology: Powers of Ten Interactive”), Ch 6.

Environmental Studies / Ecology: Ch 1, Ch 5.

Philosophy / Critical Theory: Ch 1, Ch 5, Ch 6.

Cosmic Zoom History

Beyond its theoretical content, The Cosmic Zoom is also a history of the cosmic zoom form. I wrote a blog post for Chicago University Press with some cosmic zoom film recommendations here.

This book lays the theoretical groundwork for my future academic and creative work, and mode of living. I earnestly hope it assists you in your future endeavors, whatever form and scale they may take.

Domes 2022 Update: Infrastructure

It’s been awhile since I’ve updated this site (which I blame on the coronavirus blues), but it’s time to kick off a series of updates! I started this site years ago and named it Convergence because I intended it to be an unholy attempt to mix together different strands of my work and life that I wanted to bring together, experimentally, in the hopes that new connections, directions, insights, and dreams might emerge at the intersections. In 2022 I feel particularly invigorated to further explore this project. Plus, I know that many of you are interested in updates! So here goes…

The Domes project has been most consistently presented on this site because it represents, for me, a deep convergence of a number of my loves, including ecology, scale, family, form, dwelling, energy, systems thinking, and creativity. Let’s start out, then, with a short video of drone footage taken in January by Jon Watts. This is a candid snapshot of progress on the site that I’ll describe below:

In the past couple of years the Domes project has entered an exciting final phase. We completed the interior in 2020 and I began to focus on getting all of its interconnected systems up and running, as well as applying all I’ve learned in the previous five years to re-design some of its infrastructure. This lead to the design of a third structure, an above-ground utility hub and garage. We decided to locate this behind the domes proper, where we could dig up and re-configure our primary electrical and hydronic runs to better integrate the various components of the project’s infrastructure. I wanted to eliminate lingering underground water pressure issues that caused water to find its way into the domes (which are, after all, under ground) during heavy rains. These were issues that no one predicted before the build, and it is in fact counter-intuitive that sealed conduits would become flowing water pipes during heavy rains. But that’s exactly what happened (and in fact always happens in all conduits). Above-ground buildings are rarely affected by this because there isn’t enough water pressure in the underground conduits to push water high enough to empty into the structures. Plus, urban infrastructure has shorter runs and thus less of an opportunity to build up hydrostatic pressure. In the domes, however, long underground conduits and high hydrostatic pressure after rains easily push water up through conduits.

The opportunity to build a utility hub as a separate building allowed me to de-couple the domes from these long utility runs, eliminating the problem and creating an access point for new utility tie-ins, such as firefighting equipment, rainwater cachement, and off-grid battery banks. When digging new utility trenches, I also installed a deep “sump well” in the hillside that allows us to actually see far underground (visually or via sensors) to gather data about conditions underground. Here our friend Neal is helping me install the well:

The new building has a radiant floor that will be connected to a “heat dump” loop of our primary solar thermal heating system. This will transform its foundation into a massive heat sink to automatically handle excess thermal energy generated by the system. It can also be used, however, to provide on-demand thermal energy to the new building if/when desired. The electronic and hydronic interconnections between the domes, this new hub, and our outdoor utilities kiosk are extensive, and go far beyond the usual connections between detached buildings. This is because I’ve designed the entire site to be a single cybernetic system embedded in its natural surroundings rather than the autonomous islands that standard buildings are designed to be. Rather than the standard model of delivering utilities to autonomous buildings, here information, water, heat, and power are all shared in a multi-directional network.

I designed the foundation of the new utility hub with the necessary infrastructure, including underground plumbing and a large hexagonal pad, for a 5,000 gallon water tank. The roof is designed to collect rainwater and store it in the tank, then draw on that water for firefighting and emergency water needs. This new addition to our hydronic system is also designed to accept the input of other sources of water, such as a potential second well, in the future.

Beyond its main functionality as a utility hub, the new building will also serve as a garage so that we’ll be able to permanently house a vehicle on-site. And finally we’ll have a place to store our ladders! When the center of your ceiling is 15 feet high, changing lightbulbs can be quite a challenge! The building will also serve as a mini workshop to help keep the domes themselves less cluttered.

We considered a number of different building materials, and ultimately decided on steel as the most viable choice. We immediately ruled out wood as entirely inappropriate for the land’s fire ecology. Cinderblock or other masonry was both expensive and too monolithic, aesthetically, for our purposes. Metal is fireproof and economical; we hope we will be happy with the choice!

The pandemic has caused massive global shortages of steel, and the fabrication of our building has been delayed. However, we decided to move ahead with our foundation and are incredibly happy with how it turned out! And now all of our underground water problems have been fixed!

After we switched on our initial solar thermal system in late 2020 we were amazed: whenever there was sun it generated nearly unlimited thermal energy and used only only 60 watts (the amount of an old incandescent light bulb) of electricity to power a small pump. Compare this to the enormous amount of electricity it takes to heat up water (which is our backup system for long period of no sun). Even though we harness a great deal of electricity from the sun via the solar PV array I built in 2017, our solar thermal array feels far more magical. We decided pretty quickly to upgrade it with a second array of thermal collectors. My sister, Jess, and mom, Ann, and our friend Yves dug the forms for the new array on top of the second dome last year, and we poured them with the foundation. I then assembled the array with our friend Michael. Unfortunately, a sensor failure prevented me from bringing the full solar thermal system back online. When I next visit the site and have time, I’ll get it all running again, and our solar thermal capacity should be double. That’s a big deal, as this thermal system supplies heat to the domes (via radiant flooring), generates all of our hot water, and will, as I mentioned, be able to pipe excess heat to the new building.

We’ve also worked quite a bit on the interior of the domes, doing finish electrical, furnishing, and begun staying there. Those details will be covered in a future post!

We’ve also begun to turn our attention to landscaping. Two years ago we began to put temporary cages around new oak tree sprouts to protect them from grazing deer. Many have survived, but growing into a large tree is a long process! Meanwhile, Jess has been collecting stones from the land and has been experimenting with some masonry to help transition the front of the domes smoothly into the natural grasses of the land (which we hope to mow/cut far less in the future). She has also worked laboriously to create a paving stone pathway from the front patio to the kiosk and new garage in the back:

Next steps include further landscaping, connecting the many sensors and actuators in the domes together into the master “brain” that will allow the buildings to sense and respond to their environment, and of course, building the utility garage. As always, we welcome anyone who wants to join us on the land, especially this coming summer!

Elements and Flow

After the twin 2017 fires that ravaged the Domes and the countryside that surrounds them, I gave a lot of thought to what it means—practically, historically, and philosophically—to live in a fire ecology. The long silence on this blog is partly due to the mourning period prompted by those fires, as well as the difficulty of formulating an adequate response to them from the point of view of dwelling, as I’ve explored here in the past.

California has always been a fire ecology, which means that its ecosystems evolved with cyclical wildfire incorporated as a key process. Wildfire serves many ecological functions, including culling insect populations that can be injurious to trees, checking the growth of non-native grasses and other plants, and returning nutrients trapped in above-ground structures (such as dead trees) to the soil. Historically, northern CA burned, on average, once every 15 years. Indigenous peoples in the region welcomed and co-existed with this fire ecology. After European colonization, however, fire suppression became the a new tool of capitalist land management. Not just fire departments for towns and cities, but state fire agencies, were formed to protect private and public property from burning, which would reduce its value. This new emphasis on fire suppression was effective at disrupting CA’s fire ecology. Now instead of frequent low-intensity, fast-burning wildfires, CA faces massive, intense ones that are far more damaging. This is what we faced in 2017. Fuels (both natural and human-made) had built up in the environment for over a hundred years, and conditions were ripe for destruction.

After the half-finished Domes lit up like a funeral pyre, and yet survived, I felt that our experiment in radical architecture faced a critical crossroads. Had the design been validated, and all that remained was to complete them as planned? Or did the significant damage they received suggest that if anything, we had been too complacent in our planning, and not given fire its full due?

The response of most landowners in the area to the fires (which burned almost all homes on the mountain to the ground) was to either abandon the area entirely and move to wetter ecosystems, or to rebuild their houses in deliberately altered ecosystems that contained as little fuel as possible. This latter strategy took the form of relocating building sites to open fields, far from trees, while killing and removing trees that felt dangerously close. Such a scorched-earth policy, far more damaging than the fires had been, revealed something deep and sinister in the human project of dwelling, a colonial and all-too-human fixation on the remaking of ecology to suit aesthetics and psychology. While this has been the program for Western civilization for thousands of years at the largest of scales, humans like to believe that these are unwanted and accidental effects of large scale industrialization. This is the logic of anthropogenic climate change: we didn’t know about these long term and global scale effects! And we certainly don’t want things to be this way! But this same logic plays out at very intimate scales, in backyards, when a wildfire and the actual or potential loss of property makes a 200 year old tree next to the house seem threatening.

Personally, I don’t believe that a short-lived human has the right to take the life of a 200 year old organism, especially for reasons of aesthetics or fear. But could the Domes project provide an alternative model or logic? It was designed to shift human perspective to larger and longer scales, to re-conceive of dwelling and building as open ended and future oriented ecological processes. The Domes were for a time 250 years in the future. And yet, here was fire, at the doorstep, today.

There is no easy answer to how to live with fire, to be part of fire ecology and not stand against it. To build anything is to resist entropy, and if it is to house and protect and preserve something for the future, such infrastructure must resist the atomizing forces of the elements: earth, air, water, and fire. How to resist without disrupting, how to dwell with fire without being consumed (figuratively or literally) by it?

The next three years of Dome building, proceeding only in brief periods of the summers and winters, saw a number of adjustments with these questions in mind. In 2018 we repaired as much of the fire damage as we could and instituted a new policy of leaving no wood or plastic-derived material exposed to the larger environment. Vents and drains that had partially melted or burned in the fires were dug down, under ground, and transitioned to metal for their short above-ground stints. Our long-planned copper wall cap and daylight tube cap were completed in copper.

The Domes are underground, even if the “ground” in question is elevated. This means that water, perhaps more prosaically than fire, poses the biggest problem. Water flows downward, and downward in this case is inside. The effect of rain and time on the earth, only recently dug up and moved, also caused significant settling. Earth, when wet, flows like slow motion fluid, which actually leads to cracks forming at the highest points on the domes, and around immovable elements like vents. Like a cosmetic surgeon, Jess ferreted out every crack and marked it with paint.

Our excavators, Jerry and Wyatt, transported more earth to the top of the domes, then dug a number of trenches for our next steps. They then left us for a week to work with the positive and negative space they had created.

One of the most surreal things about the Domes is that the roof is just a hill, with regular grass, plants, and animals living on it. This means that we ended up digging trenches and burying things on our roof, truly scrambling the notions of inside and outside, above and below. In this case, we needed to lay in electrical conduit and the supply and return plumbing for our future solar thermal array. This would cycle water through the interior and roof of the domes, heating it with direct solar energy (no photovoltaics needed) to supply and store heat energy inside. This meant that the pipes needed to be ultra-insulated. We accomplished this by encasing them in thick pipe insulation, then building rigid, waterproof foam boxes around that. At the same time, we built foundation forms for the thermal array.

In order to more effectively transport rainwater off the roof (thus allowing less of it to seep down onto the domes below, and especially the front “pit,” an area in between the two domes, the tunnel passageway that connects them, and the front retaining wall, an area where water tended to collect and seep into the foundation), we had our coppersmith Tony create a large collection pan above the pit. It directed water into a vertical drain that empties down the hill in front of the domes. On the back side, however, we added a French drain in a gravel bed that empties out the back side of the domes. This re-engineering of the roof would move the majority of water away from the pit.

All of this amounted to quite a bit of underground roof infrastructure! We ended up working late into our final night before Jerry and Wyatt were to show up again. We just finished in time, and the next morning the excavators expertly buried everything!

At the end of 2018, then, we had a (mostly) finished roof that both fire and water could easily access, but which could resist their most deleterious effects. The Domes were fully open to and part of their environment (in the most literal and direct way possible), but could modulate the elemental flows that enveloped them.

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This theme of modulated openness and elemental coexistence continued in 2019, which saw an ambitious landscaping and infrastructure plan implemented. We dug a series of shallow trenches around the Domes and laid in a thin network of sprinkler pipes and fire sensors. In the future these will be connected to a water reservoir and microcontroller that will enable the Domes to automatically detect the presence and encroaching direction of wildfire and respond with targeted water to any part of them that may be in danger. I’ll write more about this in the future as the system is implemented.

 

 

Our small “kiosk” that houses our utilities and makes them accessible outside of the Domes, which miraculously survived the fires, was expanded and clad in Hardyboard, a cement and fiber board that resists fire and water.

We added a larger foundation pad to the kiosk, a similar pad for the solar PV array (to protect its lowest points, where fire had severely damaged solar panels and microinverters), round footings on the roof for our long-planned solar thermal array, a sidewalk in front of Dome 2, and a patio in front of Dome 1. The patio in particular, the result of weeks of the careful forming of curved boards, mirrors the curve of of the retaining wall above it, as well as the curve of the interior structure.

These elements embody the paradox of concrete: though it requires a fair amount of energy to produce and has the aesthetic reputation of of sterile, urban, anti-ecology, it is the most flexible, moldable, and fluid of all building materials. It is essentially (temporarily) liquid stone, and a little, properly formed, can do the job of much more invasive, brute-force materials. Much of its poor reputation is the result of its dramatic misuse in urban ecology. Ancient Roman architects knew how to use concrete organically; this art seems to have been largely forgotten.

Here, our patio acts as a bulwark against future fire and water, while also harmonizing the interior of the Domes with the larger ecosystem. Instead of modifying the surrounding land, we built an interface that transitions, with minimal incursion, between the space of shelter and the larger energetic system of which it is a part. This interface enables us to take the land and its historic ecology as it comes. This harmonizes with the larger architectural project of the Domes: to enable but softly mediate open exchange between the human and non-human, between interior and exterior, between technology and nature, between built and organic.

In the same way that the patio provides a minimal space of exchange that keeps fire and water out but plants and animals dwelling-with, the Domes are constructed to enable energy to pass in and out in various forms.

Our large south-facing windows are capable of letting enormous amounts of solar energy into the Domes. This is modulated via overhangs on the outside and automatic window shades on the inside. We designed the overhangs using a software tool that helped us calculate, at our exact latitude, how much light they would let it on any given time of any day of the year. All such questions involve weighing a number of factors, but we designed the overhangs (separately for the Dome 1 windows, door, and Dome 2 windows) so that they would maximize the amount of direct sunlight during the winter (when the sun is much lower in the sky) and minimize the amount of direct sunlight during the summer (when the sun is high). The shades inside (which will be the subject of a future post) then modulate what happens to that sunlight, either converting it to heat, allowing it through as visible light, or reflecting it back outside, depending on the season. In this way, the Domes are selectively permeable with the environment with respect to energy cycles, allowing them to be heated or cooled as an ecological process rather than as the marshaling of exogenous energy against the local ecology—standard HVAC systems.

Further energy is transported through the Domes in the medium of water, many hundreds of times more efficient than air. A simple, small pump circulates water from the interior of the domes through the roof and solar thermal array, where tubes concentrate light into heat, transferred to water that returns into the Domes, where it supplies all of the domestic hot water, as well as additional energy for heat in cold weather.

I finished the long-planned solar thermal array in December of 2019. Future posts will cover the creative wiring and plumbing required to enable and sustain these flows.

The Domes, in their relationship with their larger situated ecology, mediate energy, as well as concepts, opening themselves to larger flows but also transforming them in sometimes subtle and sometimes dramatic forms. This is, I hope, the right way to modulate the potentials of a particular ecosystem, intensifying some energies and diminishing others, while keeping those effects as local and minimal as possible. This is how a dwelling becomes both an integral part of an ecosystem, an extension beyond it, and a self-sustaining pocket within it. Rather than resistance to ecology, a participant and a modulating force. It can then open up new potentials of preservation, of protection, and thereby integration with an environment, through a mediation of energy, matter, and ideas.

The Grade Fire and the Redwood Valley Fire

THE GRADE FIRE

Glowing and exhausted from our summer successes, we cleaned up the site and prepared to depart in late July. Zach flew home to Pittsburgh and Jess stayed behind for an extra week, heading north with Ann for a quick road trip to visit family in Oregon. Around mid afternoon on a Sunday, a neighbor called Ann on the road with orders to evacuate the mountain immediately. A trailer had exploded on Highway 101 in the valley below. Fueled by hot dry winds and an unusual density of brittle undergrowth from an el niño winter, the fire swept up the mountain from the west and roared toward the domes and main house. Robert, who was home alone, ran out in his slippers and set to work preparing hoses and positioning a gas-powered pump at the pond below the main house. Ann called various friends to hurry up the hill and “help Robert evacuate.” Three of these friends from my parents’ church, Rolf, Jason, and Ted (an ex-firefighter), bravely stayed and helped him fight the fire. By the time it reached the house, Cal Fire was sending helicopters and engines to bomb the area with pink fire retardant chemicals and giant loads of water sourced from our pond. We are grateful to Ted as well as Peter Armstrong, an independent photographer who shoots for Cal Fire, for sharing their documentation.

Ann and Jess were shocked when googling the fire from the road to see a dramatic photo of our place featured in the Los Angeles Times. It reveals the fire sweeping across the swale toward the domes and main house . Photos  by Peter Armstrong.


  

Robert by the woodpile, working to hold the fire at the fence behind the main house; firefighters parked by the freestanding shed on the way to the domes.  Photos by Ted Enberg.

As the Cal Fire aerial view of the burned area above reveals, their collective efforts succeeded in stopping the fire at the dirt access road just behind the main house, preventing it from sweeping down the east side of the mountain and into the town of Redwood Valley below. The domes are not quite visible in this image; they are located just down the ridge from the solar array on the right side, in the fire zone. The fire burned 900 acres; approximately 150 of them were ours. We are extremely grateful to Robert, Rolf, Ted, and Jason, as well as the hundreds of firefighters who camped for several days on the mountain putting out flames. Cal Fire resounding credited Robert as a model of “fire preparedness” and ran a series of posts on social media, documenting the extent of the fire and the measures that limited the scope of the damage. We have copied over some of the text and images below, followed by Jess’s documentation of the domes upon her return from Oregon.

–CAL FIRE STORY– 

By Doug Pitman, Public Information Officer, Sheriff’s Lieutenant, Marin County- while assigned to the Grade Fire Public Information Team: 

Mr. Horton, a longtime Baker’s Creek resident, said, “I have been waiting for this fire for 24 years.” He has lived in his beautiful hilltop home, overlooking the picturesque Redwood Valley, for more than two decades. 

Mr. Horton said he was in his home unaware of the fast approaching wildfire until a neighbor alerted him. Soon he was surrounded by friends as well as CAL FIRE and local firefighters who fought and kept the blaze from destroying his home. Firefighters saved his home because of the defensible space he had provided and his pond that helped supply firefighting water.

Mr. Horton could not fully express his heartfelt appreciation for the hard work and efforts that helped he and his neighbors save their homes. As a proud Vietnam Veteran, he showed his thanks by flying the United States flag in honor of his country and the public safety personnel who valiantly fought the Grade Fire.

As firefighters continued their mop-up of the 900 acre Grade Fire, just North of Ukiah, CA, I had the opportunity to meet Mr. Robert Horton, who was assessing the damages to his and his neighboring homes. 

Mr. Horton’s home had been spared from destruction and that had a lot to due with his obvious efforts in establishing and maintaining a wide perimeter of defensible space.The only damages were; a melted pipe, a burnt corner on one of his gates, and his split rail fence will require some repair.

Mr. Horton keeps his annual grasses cut low, loose litter to a minimum, his rain gutters covered, and he has his trees trimmed up, away from the ground. 

Defensible Space: 
-Cut annual grass down to a maximum height of 4 inches. 
-Loose surface litter consisting of leaves, pine needles, and twigs shall be permitted to a maximum depth of 3 inches
-Trim tree limbs up 6 to 15 feet so they are unable to act as a ladder for fire from the ground up into the trees 
-Remove all leaves, pine needles and debris from rain gutters

Mr. Horton goes above and beyond by:
-Having hoses that reach the 4 corners of his property
-Having a additional water pond with a pump  
-Maintaining bare mineral soil under his deck

–END OF CAL FIRE STORY–

As the above panorama reveals, the fire burned a perimeter around the domes, wherever tall dry grasses were not mowed. The domes themselves were unscathed. The space was defended by Cal Fire and became the main encampment for firefighters who held watch for days after the fire was contained. They were all curious and impressed by the architecture, deeming it intelligent building in a region that, due to the long-term effects climate change, is increasingly prone to wildfire.

The grove of oak trees that lies between the main house and domes, providing a wonderful privacy screen, was hit hard, but we are hopeful that most of the trees are hearty and healthy enough to survive.

Robert and Jess took a ride in maxi (a six-wheeled all-terrain vehicle that we use to access challenging areas) to turkey gulch, the beautiful wooded area below the domes, to assess the damage. It was the first time we could see the exposed terrain, given that many decades of thick undergrowth was suddenly cleared.

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Although we mourned the hurt beings- plants, trees, and animals- with whom we share this beautiful place, we accepted the Grade Fire with a sense of inevitability and deep gratitude that ourselves and our homes emerged unscathed. From one perspective, human-caused fires take their place in a  continuum of “natural” wildfires that have always been a part of the land. Sometime in the 1960s, these same oak knolls burned, and many hundreds-of-years-old trees bore witness and thrived. Yet we knowingly designed the domes for an uncertain future, recognizing that California, like the rest of the world, is already reeling from the effects of climate change. The impact of wildfires is compounded by land development patterns that prevent controlled burning.

THE REDWOOD VALLEY FIRE

Nothing quite prepared us, however, for the enormity of the fires that ravaged our community in October 2017. This time, fires sprang up in eight different locations throughout N. California, driven by a sudden, massive drop in humidity combined with soaring temperatures and 50 + mph winds. It was the hottest summer on record, and the land was brittle from the long and rainless summer. The Redwood Valley Fire (also called the Mendocino Complex Fire) was started by sparking Pacific Gas & Electric poles swaying from the winds during the night. It swept with terrifying speed through the rural community of Redwood Valley and rushed up the mountain from the east, covering the areas left unburned by the Grade Fire.

Our parents were again on the front lines, receiving an evacuation order that roused them from sleep in the middle of the night. Shortly after, our neighbors, the Pardinis, arrived at the gate to the house. Their home was already on fire and they headed down the mountain. However, friends of theirs who came up to help them evacuate, an ex-fire-fighter named Ken and his son Carson, assessed the situation at our place and determined that there was a good chance of saving it yet again, in part because the Grade Fire created a “safe zone” around three sides of the main house. In an extraordinary act of solidarity, they stayed to help Ann and Robert. This time, the wall of flames was much higher and embers were shooting horizontally and lodging in every available nook. Cal Fire was nowhere to be seen; the speed and ferocity and confusion of the fire in the middle of the night prevented any organized fight. The four of them battled all night, putting out embers on the roof and at one point, flames on the deck. Ann paused only once to snap a few terrifying photos, above. Robert became lost in the smoke down by the pond and barely found his way back up to the shed, eyebrows and hair singed; it took weeks for his eyesight to return to normal. Somehow, they and the house were still standing come morning.


The sight in daylight was grim. Fences and trees were charred and broken. Whole forests of manzanita lining the road and protecting the domes from view were simply gone.  The shiny new solar array was singed from the intensity of the heat, wires melted and several panels blistered. Small fires continued to burn nearby. Jute erosion mats and seed were freshly laid over the dome mounds just the day before, an essential step to stabilize the soil in preparation for heavy winter rains. This flammable material sent the fire soaring over top of the building. Happily, the windows did not blow from the heat, and the structures survived largely undamaged–although a true assessment would take additional time. The heavy smell of smoke and a thick layer of ash permeated everything, inside and out. The aerial photo from Cal Fire below shows how much more intense the Redwood Valley Fire burned as it overlapped the areas devastated by the summer Grade Fire.

The well house further up the road burned down completely and the tanks that store water for the main house and domes were damaged beyond use.

For about a week, the fires continued to burn elsewhere and my parents were trapped on the mountain without electricity or water. They learned that in addition to the Pardinins, the Gibsons, Knapps, and several other neighbors lost their homes. Our nearby friends, Bill and Jay, survived both fires and were the only people on the mountain besides our parents during this period. Jess was able to communicate with Ann thanks to a generator that powered her cell phone in short bursts throughout the week. Since Jess was on a semester-long research leave from her university, she bought a plane ticket to help with the fire recovery the following week, anticipating that the region would by then stabilize. She was also able to arrange for a delivery of gas and groceries through a friend’s son who worked for AT&T, who was busy repairing fiber optics networks in the valley and bluffed his way through the barricades. The Friday following the fire, Pacific Gas & Electric arrived to repair several damaged poles on our road. Electricity was restored, but water would remain elusive for several more weeks. The roads reopened on Monday.

   

The full extent of the fire–although just one of many that devastated the region- was staggering for our close-knit rural community. It burned 36,523 acres, destroyed 545 structures, damaged 43 more, and killed 8 people. Many of our friends and neighbors lost homes. We are humbled by the extraordinary generosity of all who shared time and resources with us during this period.

When Jess arrived the following week, 10 days after the fire hit our homes, the air was cleared as the first storm of the season rolled in. As she began the 2.5 mile drive up the winding dirt road from the base of the mountain, the damage became worse at each turn. When she rounded the corner for the last stretch before the domes, the sight of the scorched manzanita forests was temporarily overwhelming. Soon, however, shock turned into peaceful awareness and commitment to the work at hand. Ann and Robert, swamped with damage to the property, had not yet been able to attend to the domes. The first step was to quickly replant the singed dirt mound before heavy rains caused irreversible erosion.  Jess, Ann and Robert, along with family friends Laura and Roy, joined in the collective labor. Another friend, Robert, helped finish the job the following day. Spirits were high.




Damage to the domes slowly revealed itself: Melted ventilation pipes. Dangerous trees that needed removing.  A warped window sash. Burn holes in screens. Bubbling areas of stucco that would need to be replaced. By far the worst damage, however, was the result of a freak accident. Brack left his scaffolding in place along the front wall after the stucco was finished as a favor to us because we were waiting for another contractor to install a copper cap to seal the top edge. The contractor backed out and hence, the scaffolding remained in place much longer than anticipated. One of the boards went up in flames and in turn, a cleanout drain attached to the buried french drain around the bottom perimeter of the domes also caught fire. The damage reached surprisingly far back, through the front wall and under 150 tons of dirt bearing down on the pipe. Barely had we moved a mountain, before we were confronted with the prospect of digging it back up. Zach made a very short trip out to install a temporary fix, which will hopefully see us through the rainy season. He also assessed and set in motion needed repairs to the new solar array. We are hopeful that an insurance claim to the main house may extend to the domes, which would ease the financial burden of redoing our hard won steps. On the whole, we feel incredibly proud that the domes stood tall through two fires. This gift compels our sense of responsibility to the project, the land, and the people associated with it. Paraphrasing our mother, why wouldn’t we love a place when it is hurting, just as we would love a person?



On one of her last days on site, Jess spotted a rainbow, a sign of the changes- driven by fire and water- that will continue to reshape the land. As we write in late November, the rains have brought the first wave of vivid green and grazing deer. 






 

 

 

 

Mountains and Mole Holes: Summer 2017

Our goal for the second summer was no less than to build a mountain, burying the domes under 150 tons of dirt. With the completion of this step, our aim was to realize a waterproof, temperature-regulated, fire-proof, and aesthetically unobtrusive structure. In addition, we set out to install a gleaming new solar array to energize the domes and my parents’ nearby home, finish the front walls with synthetic stucco, and carry on with the interior plumbing and electrical work necessary to prepare the domes for an eventual plaster finish.

First, we had to cover the domes with a thick layer of waterproofing: long strips of plastic with an underside of bentonite clay that expands upon contact with moisture. Every seam was super-sealed with heavy tape. As usual, the trick was to fit rectangular strips onto the sloped concrete surfaces by cutting, tucking, and fitting them, a bit like sewing a garment for a curvy body. Each layer was held in place with gun-driven concrete nails. Beforehand, we patched rough portions of the concrete with a disgusting oily mastic to make sure there were no large crevices for water to trickle in, destroying a few pairs of work clothes along the way.

     

      

Zach drove a boom in order to peg the waterproofing to the upper reaches. Troy and Todd, strong, apparently immortal teenagers with monkey climbing skills, helped us with the heavy lifting. Jess’s job was to lift, fit, pin, tape and repeat (including several days of work in the dreaded pit between the domes, where giant spiders were nesting).

All those wrinkles (above) had to be addressed, until the waterproof shell was smooth and reflective (below):

A layer of insulating blue foam was screwed into the concrete and waterproofing at the base of the domes, following by a giant snake of 4″ perforated French drain leading through the concrete retaining walls to exit in front of the house. Then a thick layer of drain rock was shoveled into place. Given that this water channeling device would be buried for the ages, getting the design right was essential.

     

When building domes, everything is repurposed; even our favorite childhood red wagon, in which Jess pulled her slave-driving older brother…

   

Remember all that foam that Dan and Jess painstakingly fitted into beautiful curves last summer? Now it all had to be removed, revealing a ragged and sinuous concrete wall dotted with small foam “cheese” squares that we had wired into place in order to space the foam off the rebar grid. Now we piled the removed foam layers in the middle of Dome 1, awaiting use as an exterior layer of insulation and protection beneath the dirt backfill.

Through the fall and spring, while we were mostly busy with our east coast teaching jobs, Curtis, our talented and steadfast carpenter, framed the interior walls to separate the attic, bathroom, bedroom, office, utility room, and hallway in Dome 2. The challenge was to frame up straight walls against curved ceilings, and to anchor them into a concrete floor without puncturing the fragile system of radiant heating pipes coursing just below the surface. Curtis has loyally returned to our job site to do this work, often alone on off-season weekends, after putting in an intense week laboring in his normal construction job and caring for his grandmother. These photographs reveal much of our own handiwork, too: the complicated ventilation system that we put in during the winter visit home, as well as the beginnings of the electrical and plumbing systems that will eventually be hidden behind plaster. Curtis and our neighbor, Danny, helped to guide us through the challenging electrical work. Tom, our part-time plumber who has so far eluded our camera, was also on site whenever a pipe-related job flummoxed us.

Here you can see the apex of Dome 2 buried in the attic, with a retractable ladder leading up to one of the few storage spaces in the house.

Here is a glimpse of our greatest interior challenge: Pulling hundreds of feet of wire through small conduits permanently buried in concrete. Unlike Dome 2, Dome 1 has no interior walls, so all the tubes had to be laid last summer, prior to the shotcrete, and directed into the main electrical boxes in the attic and utility room in Dome 2. This image shows the crammed juncture box in the kitchen, where ten different conduits converge.

We are grateful to Ahmed, a family friend who drove down from the Bay Area on two different weekends to lend a hand with wire pulling, hole digging, and a few hundred other tasks. Ahmed’s generosity, loud cheerful curses, and Micky Mouse shirt uplifted us during one of the toughest, hottest periods of the summer, when the relentless pace of work had began to wear on all of us.


 

Jess’s closest brush with her professional discipline, art history, was a glue brand called Gorilla O’Keeffe’s.

Then the dirt movers arrived: father and son team Jerry and Wyatt, family friends who have long graded the main dirt road up the mountain. They also excavated our site and laid the sewer system the previous year.  In preparation for 150 dump truck loads of dirt transported from a hillside from our property across the main road, we were careful to weed-whack the dry grasses on all sides. This was fast becoming  the hottest northern California summer on record, and fire preparedness around heavy machinery was constantly on our minds.

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Jess joined the dirt moving team to fit and lay sheets of protective foam against the waterproofing, as the dusty mound slowly grew upwards. This often entailed waving and shouting wildly at the operators as heavy machinery swung inches from her camouflaged face.

The domes are now fully buried in a 17-foot-high mound. We raked the new mountain smooth and sprinkled straw to keep the Mendocino County officials happy. Planting native seed and laying erosion mats to spur new growth had to wait until just before the first fall rains.

We could not have accomplished so much in less than two months without behind-the-scenes support from Ann and Robert, our parents. Among other tasks, they made dozens of supply runs to Ukiah, about a 25-minute drive from the build site. On one such trip, Jess stepped out of the passenger seat, arms piled high with bags and boxes, and nearly stepped on a beautiful gopher snake. Hissing furiously, he was chased off by Bo, a sweet new pup with a great sense of humor who arrived in the winter to help our hearts heal from the loss of Kaiyo.

   

Another job loomed: building a solar rack to house 20 gleaming new panels to feed energy to the domes and the main house where my parents live. We chose a site in an open field just north of the domes, next to an old array that sustained the household back when we were kids living off the grid, but was now outdated and decrepit. We rented an auger to dig 4-foot holes for the concrete footings.

As the smallest member of the build team, Jess had to  clean out the footings. She was becoming more mole than human.

Curtis arrived to help us frame up the posts and hopefully keep the rack from toppling over.

The last great task of the summer was to stucco the front walls of the domes. For once, we decided to give our dusty, exhausted, and mistake-prone selves a break and hire the brilliant stucco wizard, Brack Zollo, and his team. They did the job in two layers, first placing netting over the wall to hold a thick base coat of synthetic stucco.

Brack was the boss, but half the time he and his son suited up and joined the team. The thing we loved most about him, beyond his solid work ethic, great treatment of his workers, and beautiful results: No matter what crazy request we threw at him, he grinned and replied, “no problem.” After grappling with the careless work, no shows, and negative replies of many other contractors who approached our highly unusual project with a mix of fear and skepticism, this easy attitude toward challenges was a relief and a delight.


The final textured coat blended the warm tones of dry grasses and earth that- despite resembling a sand dune- was chosen to blend subtly into the surroundings through the changing seasons. A lot of sculptural framing work took place around the door and windows using stucco-sealed foam forms. Together with the earth sheltered backside, the domes now began to ease back into the land, waiting for rain-awakened grasses and spring wildflowers to reclaim the scarred construction site. Our summer work was coming to a close.

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