Of roof combs and vented ridges. [Or, why old buildings teach us old tricks].

Roof section axon, comb vent.

Roof section axon, underside of roof lath detail.

Yesterday I worked on a detail for the ecoMOD team, who's working here in the Field School on the 6th iteration of UVA's ecoMOD project, in partnership with Falmouth Heritage Renewal.The detail, for a modified comb vent at the ridge of a hip roof, is based on both vernacular detailing and on basic thermal properties [heat rises!] The team had already run some tests using fluid dynamic modeling, and I was tasked with taking those findings and translating it to a simple, field-buildable detail that could be easily replicable on other houses in Falmouth or around Jamaica. 


By just adding some additional furring, and some strategically placed blocks, the ridge section can be lifted above the main body of the roof, allowing heat to escape. The blocks are placed to provide enough support for the ridge cap, as well as to get secure fastening surfaces and eliminate punctures through the corrugated roof sheathing. The ridge section is lapped over the sheathing to protect the sheathing fasteners and keep out driving rain. Insect screen can be installed under the ridge furring blocks as well.

Additionally, the students found that by placing lath on the underside of the rafters, the naturally occurring convection loop [heat rises!] is accelerated and aided, as long as complementary floor level vents are also installed. With temperatures reaching about 140 degrees Fahrenheit at the ridge, pulling 75-80 degree air from under the house becomes critical to keeping cool. 


This detail will be used here on ecoREMOD2, and will hopefully become part of the library of details that can be used on historic homes here in Falmouth that FHR works on - and represents, for me, the kind of technologies I'm interested in finding, highlighting, and understanding on this research trip. The other aspect of the students' work that's of interest to me is the quantitative analysis. While I'm not an engineer or a scientist, partnering the qualitative with the quantitative, especially on details and strategies that haven't been analyzed like this, is the way that this kind of research reaches beyond the anecdotal, the observational, and the merely descriptive to the provable and applicable, for both historians and architects. Or, also, those crazy enough to try being both. 

Ground gutters.

Ground gutter, Good Hope [c. 1760], Jamaica.

Ground gutter, New Seville [c. 1745], Jamaica.

I don't know if it's because it's raining buckets here everyday, but ground gutters seem to be cropping up a lot in my explorations around Jamaica. It makes sense - get the water to the ground and away from the building as fast as possible. The ground gutters only work, though, if they have eaves or scuppers that throw the water into the gutter - and there seem to be a wide variety of eave depths here in Jamaica, ranging from extremely deep [8' or so over a porch] to almost nonexistent. It would be interesting to tie in the eave depths to specific [ie conscious] strategies for water and sun mediation.

It's on my list of things to do to look into the annual rainfall here in Jamaica; I know the hurricane season is upon us, but how does the rainfall occur over the course of the year? Understanding this will give clues as to why these gutters were set up this way, and could shed light on cistern sizes, when and how cisterns were used, if other water sources were needed, etc. Maybe others have already determined these things, but I've been gradually coming to this as a trajectory in this research - combining field observation and sketching with quantifiable data. In other words, what does the carrying capacity of a cistern against the annual rainfall patterns tell us about how people utilized and sourced water [and perhaps still may utilize and source water]? And further, how could that combination of information inform design strategies in the post-MEP world? 

Side note: I'm trying to come up with a better term than "post-MEP" - what I mean by that term is "the world after air conditioning, mechanical systems, electricity, or electrically assisted running water." I tried "post mechanical," but that leaves out amazing mechanical strategies like the 18th century water mill here in Falmouth. And I tried "post grid-tied," but that also narrows the definition of "grid," assuming an electrical grid, and nosing out complex grid systems like the Inkas' pan-mountain urban planning strategies I saw in Peru. And finally, I've tried "post-HVAC," but that's too narrow too. So, I guess I'll keep thinking on that one. 

In any case, it's finally stopped raining [for now], and I'm being serenaded to sleep by the tree frogs and reggae music from Club Nazz next door.   

Update

Above Machu Picchu, Peru. March 2011.

Ok, back in action....

I've been in Jamaica for the last week, attending the Vernacular Architecture Forum conference here in Falmouth, and will be here all week nosing around, hanging out with the UVA Field School crew, and trying to stay dry...Coming blog attractions include some interesting rainwater collection strategies, thoughts on louvres, and general love for one of my favorite places in the world.

Also, interspersed - thoughts on Peru, which I visited in early March for two weeks. 

I hope you'll leave your own comments and thoughts too - I will be traveling from now until early September, and my basic itinerary is something like this [research sites are bolded, I'll be spending 10-14 days in each research city]: 

Falmouth, Jamaica

USA: Boston, Philly, Lancaster

Beijing, China

Trans-Mongolian Railway

Ulan Bator [and countryside adventures], Mongolia

Seoul, South Korea

Hanoi, Vietnam

Hoi An, Vietnam

Kuala Lampur, Malaysia

Malaka, Malaysia

Singapore

Perth, Australia

home!

I'll be logging about 18,000 air miles, and traveling by train, bus, boat, foot, ox cart, horse, jeep, subway, tram, taxi, and hopefully a few things as yet to be discovered. I have 1 backpack, 4 sketchbooks, 1 camera, 2 pairs of shoes, 1 tinwhistle, 5 phrasebooks, among some other things. I plan on seeing the Great Wall in China, living with nomads in Mongolia, taking the train the length of Vietnam, seeing the stars from the southern hemisphere [again!], and filling my sketchbooks. And, seeing some sweet architecture.

Going home.

Ben and me at Mühlekram, Neuthal, Switzerland. Photo: D. Moedinger. Jan 2011.

Ben at Mühlekram, Neuthal, Switzerland. Jan 2011.

While in Switzerland, we were lucky enough to visit the original Wäber homestead of Mühlekram, in Neuthal. Though we discovered that the house had been rebuilt in the 1830s, the land was still in agricultural use, over 300 years after our ancestors left. The area was [up until recently] inhabited mostly by weavers, hence our ancestors' surname, and my brother Ben's and my middle name: Weaver. They were forced off their land because of their religious beliefs [Mennonite], which ran counter to the state churches [both Catholic and Protestant]. Our great-X11 grandfather was imprisoned for 18 months in Zürich, the family lost their farm, and after fleeing through Germany, they settled with several other families in Lancaster, PA in the first quarter of the 18th century. 

Visiting Mühlikram was a profound experience - quiet and still. I love the picture of Ben walking amongst the footprints left in the snow, casting a long shadow into the trees. 

In the architecture world, words like "place" and "home" get tossed around so much it's easy to forget what profound concepts they are, what deep associations and meanings they have, and how complicated they can be. These concepts are charged - with history, culture, emotion - and it's in the context of pondering those concepts that filling out my weekly IDP hours [Did I spend 5 hours on Code Research, or was it Systems Coordination?] seem so silly, so completely counter to what an architect actually needs to know, and is called to do.

I think IDP could do with a few additional categories: Thinking, Drawing, Making, Traveling, Looking, Listening, Building, Reading. Oh, and Writing Blog Posts. Meanwhile, I should probably get back to work.

 

Shout-out to Dürer.

No one's home. Diana ringing the doorbell at Albrecht Dürer's house, Nürnberg, Jan 2011.

While in Nürnberg, we stopped by Albrecht Dürer's house. He's one of my favorite draughtsmen ever - though he was also a theorist, painter, engraver, and printmaker. Apparently, he also contributed [continuing the process begun by Martin Luther] significantly to the development of the German vernacular language with his books, including "Four Books on Measurement" and "Four Books on Human Proportion." In them, he used everyday craftsman's language [like Schneckenlinie [snail's line!], describing a spiral] to explain concepts of proportion, geometry, mathematics, spatial relationships, etc.

I also liked the giant doorbell he had out front. I imagine that it threads all the way up to the studio, so he knows when someone wants to come in and talk about art. 

Here are some oldies but goodies from Dürer. I love the Nativity; instead of the stable existing as a flat backdrop for the scene, it's dramatically thrust forward and cropped, a semi-ruin crowding the shepherds and wise men at the thresholds, and providing Mary a fleeting moment of privacy with her newborn son.

The Muzzle of a Bull, a watercolor sketch, shows Dürer's layering technique, and how the drawing is built using lines, patches of color, and areas of unpainted paper.

And the Rhinoceros is just awesome.

Dürer, Nativity.

Dürer, Muzzle of a Bull.

Dürer, Rhinoceros.

Odds and Ends

Some things I learned this week:

1. Century Gothic is "the greenest font." According to the University of Wisconsin, Century Gothic uses 30% less ink than the most common default font, Arial. And at $10,000/gallon, it's a hell of a lot cheaper too.

2. Kindergarteners are taking shop class. A NY Times article explains why it's important that kids learn to work with their hands. I couldn't agree more!

3. Time to throw out the Prismacolors? Urban planning based on a computational understanding of space, rather than wishy-washy conceptions of "tradition," or adherence to self-referential zoning standards - after hearing a lecture on this at work, I'm fascinated - and wondering [again] about the value structure of belief. More on this later.

The Backsides of Buildings.

Nürnberg Castle, Nürnberg, Deutschland. Jan 2011.

Nürnberg Castle has much more famous facades, but I like this one: between the castle's inner walls, moving down the hill through tunnels to the gate, there's a break in the tunnels, and an unexpected vertical view of the sky. In my mind, there are always reasons behind architectural moments like this - usually a completely practical one - such as providing a strategic opportunity to pour boiling water on invaders' heads, or the mason ran out of stones, or later generations needed to make a quick addition to an old space. 

Perhaps that why architecture born of necessity, or practicality, is sometimes the most beautiful, and why I love the backs of buildings, barns, and workspaces. When designers [trained or otherwise] are freed from the expectation that they make Architecture or Something Beautiful And Important, perhaps that's when they can really get to work - inspired by what's there [revealing, interpreting, utilizing], and the desire to make something that works - in every sense of the word. To wit: Zumthor's Shelter for Roman Ruins, in Chur, Switzerland: utility, purpose, economy, wood, steel, and light. YES.

Shelter for Roman Ruins, Zumthor. photo: B. Moedinger. Jan. 2011

Shelter for Roman Ruins, Zumthor. Jan 2011.