Dixie Transforming

Savannah, Georgia is a city students of urban planning and landscape architecture study in great detail.  The first capital city of Georgia, it was founded on February 12, 1733 by General James Oglethorpe and his settlers.

Ogelthorpe’s vision for the city was rational and functional.  He envisioned the city unfolding westward from the Savannah River.  Each city ward (similar to a neighborhood) had its own common space.  These common spaces were planned to host military exercises.  The later use of these military grounds as urban parks developed after the colony of Savannah became better secured and defended.  Twenty-four squares were established between the years of 1733-1851.  Wikipedia has a decent rundown of the historic squares.

The rational layout of Savannah's famed historic district.

Today, 22 squares remain, 2 being lost to the plundering wave of urban renewal in the 1950s-60s.  The squares make the historic district of Savannah one of the most walkable cities in the United States.  You can feasibly spend several days walking from one park to the other, enjoying a variety of restaurants, shops, and businesses found in between the squares.  It follows that tourism is one of the city’s biggest economic engines (behind the Georgia Port Authority, aerospace manufacturing, and the US military).  Another noticeable presence in the city is the numerous SCAD students.  The Savannah College of Art and Design campus is scattered across the city’s historic district in 70 ornate Victorian period buildings.  The successful adaptive reuse of these antique facilities is remarkable.  They buzz with the energy and 24-hour presence of young people pursuing careers in the creative arts.

My visit to Savannah took place over the first week in April.  I arrived at precisely the right time: the azaleas, tulips, and camelias were in vibrant spring bloom.  The impressive live oak trees were likewise laden with pollen, giving vehicles a nice powdery sheen of yellow.  I stayed at a home just outside the historic district.  If you refer to the map above, my accommodations were about two inches below Forsyth Park on Barnard Street.  The location was excellent as it gave me distance from the flow of tourist traffic each day and was within walking distance of Forsyth Park.  Forsyth Park is the city’s premiere location for recreational jogging and team sports.  There is simply nothing like an evening jog under the shade of this park’s glorious southern live oaks (Quercus virginiana).

Joggers run the perimeter path at Forsyth Park in early April.

Hutchinson Island: Savannah’s urban frontier

Considering that the city is nearly 300 years old, Savannah’s urban expansion has posed challenges to planners.  Swamps and river deltas cordon the city’s south and eastern borders.  Large airports, busy highways, and military installations act as barriers along its western edge.  The only place for Savannah to go is north, across the Savannah River to the low lying landmass called Hutchinson Island.

The idea to develop Hutchinson Island stemmed from the city’s desire to get into the convention business (see my February post on New Orleans).  Due to the restrictions in the historic district’s building standards, Savannah had been unsuccessful in identifying a proper site of adequate size for new convention center facilities.  Erecting a modern convention center in the heart of Savannah would destroy the very urban fabric that brings tourists there in the first place.  But city planners understood conventioneers would also want access to Savannah’s historic treasures.  The city was pressed to find a solution that 1) allowed convention expansion within the city’s boundaries and 2) maintained the physical integrity of the historic district.

The city’s interest in putting the convention facilities on Hutchinson Island was due to several factors.  Some of the most important considerations included its proximity to the oldest parts of the city (most attractive to tourists) and the sparse development on the island (few neighbors around to object).  Many physical challenges were present: the low-lying island needed dredge material to elevate its shores, water access and roads needed building, there was no connection from the Talmadge Bridge, and ferry service would be required to give the convention center a meaningful link to Savannah’s historic district.  Despite all this, the task seemed doable and the city began construction on the convention center in the late 1990s.  A luxury hotel followed.  Private developers saw an opportunity to erect a luxury residential community and obtained city approval for the project.

That residential community, The Reserve at Savannah Harbor, was one of the sites I visited during my visit in early April.  I was interested to see how the project was faring in today’s economic crisis.  The Reserve’s developers began construction on its first residential units in mid 2007, right before the mortgage collapse of 2008.  Two and a half years later, I anticipated finding few active construction sites.  At the same time I assumed that as one of Savannah’s most exclusive communities The Reserve would be weathering the hard times with measurable grace.

Unbought parcels for sale at "The Reserve". The development's club house (currently boarded up) is in the distance. The lack of sidewalks is a hint that residents are expected to drive.

Once I arrived, I was saddened by The Reserve’s lonely character.  Most of the built properties are for sale.  There are several residences with well-kept lawns and late model cars in the driveways, but for the most part The Reserve fails to strike me as a thriving community.  I spoke to several people I encountered in Savannah and asked them for their thoughts about the city’s role in enabling The Reserve project to get off the ground.  One individual, who works security for the GA Ports Authority, shook his head and laughed: the place was going nowhere fast and it’s a good thing it’s across the river (meaning it remains off the public’s radar screen).  To me, the project seemed emblematic of today’s uncertainty in the real estate market.  If conditions ride out, and buyers interested in “plantation-style retreats” surface with viable credit, the project could very well work out.  After all, everything is ready to go – the 24 Hour security gate is built (though unmanned), the utilities are laid, and the streets paved (although challenged by aggressive weeds at this point).

The entry gate at The Reserve with stamped and tinted concrete detailing designed to look like brick and cobblestone.

Many of us have experienced the romantic allure that is part of a tropical island vacation: the excitement of an exotic landscape, clear blue waters, sounds of strange birds (maybe monkeys), the smell of lush vegetation, and the feel of the sun that seems so much closer than it does at home.  Islands and exotic beaches are some of the most popular vacation destinations for all these reasons and more.

Most likely, unless you are extremely rich, you will not be the lone castaway on a barren beach, plucking coconuts off a tree, swaying in a hammock, or spearing barracuda fish.  Sorry to disrupt your fantasy, but the hard, cold reality of mainstream island vacation-making means the place needs to be ready to receive crowds of tourists.  We now learn the critical word of the day: i-n-f-r-a-s-t-r-u-c-t-u-r-e.  There.  I said it. Your fruity-umbrella-drink dream is over.  Sorry about that.  And it will still cost you, so keep reading.

Islands these days are not complete without a cruise ship terminal.

Infrastructure.  There needs to be a big enough airport, wide enough roads, large enough parking lots, and enough rental cars to get us out-of-towners around an island.  To enjoy ourselves once we’ve checked into our hotels, we need to have accessible beach walks, clear signage, pest management programs, erosion control, rental facilities, and lifeguard stations.  It goes to say that we might even need a Walmart.  All these things are required to have fun while we’re on vacation, right?  Ummm, yep.   Sadly, the result of all these described “necessities” is an island that resembles something more like home than we’d like to admit to ourselves and our pocketbooks.

So is there an alternative?  Can we actually “get away from it all” in our modern times?

Glad to answer that for you.  Yes, there is an alternative – and you don’t even have to completely abandon your expectations for luxury and service!  Room rates at the Greyfield Inn span from $395 to $595 per night with a two night minimum, and you’ll have to make your reservations at least six months in advance if you want one of the cheaper rooms.  The fee includes your meals and use of bikes, so don’t grumble too much!  If the price is a tad high, as I suspect it may be, there is a $4 per night alternative.  You will need to bring your camping gear and tick tweezers, though. Two choices for two different groups of people.  Makes sense so far.

This is where the elite classes stay on Cumberland Island. Greyfield was a former vacation "cottage" for a Carnegie descendant.

Once the accommodation question is resolved, you can start to think about that island experience I describe at the beginning of this post — an experience where people are rare, animals are abundant, you are aware of the “ecosystems” around you, roads are made of only sand, and 17-miles of undeveloped coastline await you.  Paradise, right?

Welcome to Cumberland Island National Seashore: a place where you begin to understand the limitations of being a human being.

There is a lot to do on Cumberland Island, but you have to plan ahead to do much of it.  At the camping orientation, given twice a day by the NPS rangers, scary pictures are painted of wry visitors who failed to acknowledge their physical limitations: snake bites, alligator attacks, groin tick infestations, poison ivy, sunburn, heatstroke, nausea, and feral horse bites.  It gets even gorier, but I’ll save you from it because I’d like you to actually consider going to this place at some point.

A first day on the island will usually involve walking as far as you can go around the island’s southern attractions.  This experience helps orient you to what your feet are capable of and how many pounds you can carry in your backpack.  Walking on sand is not an efficient thing to do, so if you are planning on going more than a few miles, you should practice a little bit beforehand.  You can also interact with armadillos and roaming wild turkeys and scruffy equines.

At first glance, they look pretty, but then you notice their ribs and their scarred tick bellies. The fat horse on the left is pregnant.

Day two might involve testing your endurance a little bit more.  On my recent travels to Cumberland Island, I had the big idea to rent a bike and go 17 miles to the First African Baptist Church.  This is the church where JFK Jr. married Caroline Bessett.  Yes, I am a celebrity stalker, I admit it, but who isn’t?  There are plenty of other things to see on the way to the church, which happens to be the last outpost on the northerly tip of the island.  Sounded like a good plan, but then I realized there’s an 17 mile return trip to get back to camp.  That’s a 34 mile bike trip on sand – using a wonky rental bike – I admit I was having doubts.

I discussed my supply needs with the ranger on duty (the one that scared us at the orientation).  He suggested I would need 10 bottles of water to get there and back.  That’s about a gallon of water!  Needless to say, the bike ride would end up being slower than I thought it would be.

Long story short, the bike ride did not require a whole gallon of water.  Weather conditions were nearly perfect – cloudy, 72F, breezy.  I drank about 5 or 6 of those 10 bottles of water.  In lieu of so much water, I should have taken more food and possibly a weapon.  On my way back, I ran into a wandering, lone feral stallion on the narrow sand road.  The darn horse had me in a standoff.  All I had to defend myself were a couple of oversize pinecones.  It was pathetic.  The take away message that day was you should not underestimate the scariness of an island’s feral wildlife.  Full of ticks, a scarred belly, bony ribs and back, oozing eyes and patchy hair – that horse was a piece of work.

This is a view of the "main road" about 13 miles north of my campground. The main road runs the full length of Cumberland Island and you'll need a 4WD vehicle to get there without a bike.

Traveling in this manner across Cumberland Island a person becomes very oriented to the landscape.  The nuances of the maritime forest are beautifully revealed, and the experience changes as the sunlight hits different parts of the foliage.  In most places on Cumberland Island, the predominant duo-culture is the saw palmetto and the southern live oak.  As you move north, you see an occasional pine tree.  Soon, these loblolly pines outnumber the oaks.  Later, you notice small wirey stands of long-leaf pine, an endangered native pine of Georgia.

Long leaf pine trees grow differently than other pines. They are a native Georgian pine species and increasingly rare.

Sound is one of your biggest experiential informants: the rustling noises in the fallen leaves is most likely an armadillo rooting around with its nose.  Bird song is ever present, and after a couple days, you’ll even forget the sound a crow makes.  At night, you hear the ghostly whinnies of wild horses moving through the roadway areas as they make their way to new grazing territory.  It is no surprise that the wildlife is one of the main reasons visitors come to Cumberland Island.  You interact more with animals than you do with people here.  For me, having grown up on a hobby farm, it is a reminder of my childhood – only the animals are a little bigger and fiercer.

The experience on Cumberland Island has nothing to do with island vacations you’ll find elsewhere.  Only a few other places in the United States can offer this kind of visceral experience where the landscape envelopes you so completely.  You aren’t provided for, save for running water at a few numbered locations.  You can only go as far as your feet or bike can take you.  You are responsible here.  That means you carry out each item of waste that you bring on the island.  Your care of the island is reflected in the pristine condition of the landscape.  To do this well, you act within a common ethic of stewardship that links you to the well-being of the creatures and plant communities around you.  Do you do that when you go to Hawaii, or when you pull into dock on your cruise ship on St. Thomas?

There is something to be said for “roughing it”.

Towns of the rural south occupy a special place in the American consciousness.  Our notions about them are based on the depictions provided to us by notable literary figures such as William Faulkner, Flannery O’Connor, Zora Neale Hurston and Mark Twain.  Whether it be the quintessential southern courthouse town described by J.B. Jackson — or ideas about responsible land stewardship in essays and poems by Wendell Berry — writings about southern towns and their surrounding landscapes evoke very clear images about the sense of place, history and culture.

With the decline of manufacturing (textiles, furniture) and traditional agricultural enterprise (tobacco) in the south, towns and cities are realizing a need to attract and cultivate new economic drivers for the 21st century.  Some are using arts as a way to invite new talent, people, and ideas into their communities and to rectify the waning sense of culture and place of our modern time.  In Durham, NC, a new performing arts center and the adaptive reuse of the American Tobacco Campus have created new amenities and office space in the heart of a once depressed downtown.  The result is an environment that can attract residents as well as workers with walkable cultural attractions and the appeal of being within the city’s historic district.

Smaller urban areas are also interested in what the arts can offer their communities.  In Louisville, Georgia, a “Friends of” group bought and renovated a defunct firehouse in 2005, turning it into a gallery space and community education venue.  The gallery functions to promote the work of southern artists through its monthly exhibit program.  Area youngsters have opportunities throughout the year to engage with professional artists through talks and workshops.  Such programs help to fill the void that school classrooms cannot address given limited public funding and outreach capabilities.

Mulberry Street, Louisville, GA

I visited the Firehouse Gallery for the second time during my fellowship trip this spring and managed to catch the monthly exhibit opening on April 2.  The featured exhibit was the annual Jefferson County High School’s AP Art class show.  Each featured student artist was provided gallery space to display a collection of work produced during the semester.  Artwork came in a variety of mediums including 3d model, oil paint, pencil, digital photography manipulation, ink, pastel and mix-media.  Students were also given the opportunity to sell their artwork in the setting of a professional gallery.  By the end of the night about 35% of the student pieces were sold, resulting in many proud students.

The Friends’ Firehouse Gallery does a bit more than promote the idea of art to a rural community.  It provides a way into art.  While the gallery venue is more or less traditional in form, it is the slate of innovative of programming which makes it a meaningful community asset.  Potentially more inclusive and flexible than any local church, social club, or civic group, the Firehouse Gallery responds to the talents and creative aspirations of more and more Louisvilleans each year.  The outreach work is a never ending effort.

The presence of Louisville’s Firehouse Gallery adds a sense of prestige and pride to the town’s identity.  Separate efforts to redesign the Broad Street pedestrian facilities and the retrofit of the Jefferson County Courthouse clock tower are other examples of the growing enthusiasm to reshape the experience of downtown Louisville.

For the next 4 nights I am going to be on Cumberland Island.  I would have liked to get more posts up about my time in Louisville and Savannah, but it just did not materialize.  It will come, though, I promise.

Today I spent all day driving around St. Mary’s various strip malls trying to find a butane burner.  I need to have coffee and hot cider when I am camping.  There is no getting around it.  I found the burner at K-mart for only $10.  It is scary that these things can be manufactured, packaged, shipped and displayed for such a small cost.  It is not a Coleman, though, so who knows if the thing will even work.

In researching my stay on Cumberland Island, I have come across many frightening blog posts describing the conditions that campers endure there.  For example:

“I’ve been camping on Cumberland about 60 times since 1988. It’s my favorite place in the whole world.  Summer camping on Cumberland is a challenge. Gets pretty hot, no see-ums are bad and at night what sounds like rain coming down from the trees are really ticks (I prefer to go there November thru late March).”  (posted June of 2009 on trailspace.com)

Hmmmmm.  So hopefully it won’t “rain” while I am there.  Dear god…Hope to see you on the other side.

Taking a moment to share an article about my stepfather, who passed away Wednesday evening.  Thank you to everyone who has phoned or emailed.  It means a lot in these times, being on the road away from my family.  Thank you to Brad Schmidt of the Oregonian who authored the article.  Please click here.

The Beaverton Valley Times published an article on Bruce on April 15.  Please click here.

A service is scheduled for April 22 at 3pm at the Western Forestry Center near the Washington Park Zoo.

Three photo albums for Savannah have been posted.  The third lacks captions at this point, so maybe check back later on that one.

Under the dappled shade of live oaks and swaying Spanish moss, Savannah’s bountiful public realm is a cheap blessing in today’s hard times.  With 22 distinguished squares, you can stay pretty busy in this city wandering from one to the other.  You won’t be alone, either.  Tourists grow on the city’s trees.  They are everywhere.

One place Savannah’s tourists flock to is ‘The Lady & Sons’ restaurant.  For $13.99 + tax patrons get access to unlimited gooey cakes, collard greens, hoecakes, fried chicken, banana pudding and cola-basted ham.  The brains behind the operation is celebrity chef Paula Deen, a silver-haired fox with a talent for making food that hastens human death.

The adjacent gift shop provides yet another opportunity for tourists to fund the Deen enterprise.   Here, practically every magazine possible with Paula Deen’s face is available for sale.  (As if you didn’t already own them….)

The wall of Deen says it all.

Why buy the cookbooks anyway?

Factory artist Thomas Kinkade is a worthy contender to Savannah's Deen enterprise.

As a followup to my March 19 aerial tour of factory farming operations in coastal N. Carolina, I took an opportunity to drive through the area on my way between Manteo and Louisville, GA.  Here is map showing the route I took:

The drive included pass-throughs of Duplin and Sampson Counties, the most prolific hog producing counties in North Carolina.  I had many expectations looming in my mind (and nose) about what I would encounter.  First, I assumed I would not be able to get away from the smell of hog feces and urine.  Second, I assumed that it would be difficult to identify hog farms from the road.  Third, I expected the entire drive to be depressing.

Turns out my assumptions were pretty off.  Parts of the drive were downright idyllic, although the skeptic in me knows that surface appearances don’t say much about reality – even more so the case when it comes to the question of industrial agriculture.

During the drive, which lasted about 2 hours, I made a point to keep my windows down so I could catch a whiff of the earthly perfume that Duplin and Sampson Counties are known for.  Perhaps the winds were “just right”, perhaps the recent rains were masking odor – I really don’t know – but out on the country roads of Sampson and Duplin Counties the air only smelled of pollen and diesel fumes (that’s considered fresh air out there).  All accounts I’ve read of drives through these places compare the experience to encountering mustard gas on the front lines – it’s downright blinding and can knock you on your butt.

From behind the steering wheel on the winding country roads, it can be difficult to pinpoint hog farms from other innocuous agriculture operations.  Thinking back to what I saw on my Southwings flight over this area,  farm owners intentionally place barn and lagoon facilities as far back on the property as is possible to keep neighbors quiet.  In Sampson County, though, I noticed some modest signage identifying livestock operations.  The signs, maybe 9″x12″ and dark blue in color, identify the family farm name and whether the animals produced there are hogs, turkeys, or chickens (identified by profile illustrations of the animals).  On one stretch of roadway less than a couple miles long, I counted ten such signs.

Feeling a little bummed that my afternoon drive failed to show me egregious violations against Mother Nature, I decided to change my course and head straight into Clinton, NC.  Clinton is not only the seat of Sampson County, but it is also the home of the Premium Standard Foods processing plant, a subsidiary of Smithfield.  Approximately 9,000 hogs are processed here every day, 7 days a week, 24 hours a day.

This is an aerial view of the Premium Standard plant taken during my 3/19 Southwings flight over coastal N.C.

The plant here has an unusual relationship with its host town because of its location just a few blocks south of the historic main street.  For Clinton residents, it means all the truck traffic coming in (live hogs) and out (loin chops, bacon, hams, etc.) is a part of the town’s rhythm and culture.   A century ago, this sort of building pattern was common where people lived within shouting distance of the most polluting factories.  Today, most noxious land uses prefer to locate themselves in isolated areas with rail and highway access.  This arrangement keeps people from stepping on each other’s toes (or hooves, in this case).

This neighborhood in Clinton, NC receives downwind fumes from the Premium Standard plant.

To add insult to injury, it turns out the prevailing wind patterns in town push all the factory’s fumes into a modest neighborhood that abuts its western property line.  A drive through the neighborhood made my eyes bulge out.  There can be no peace or escape for neighbors with this gurgling steel giant so nearby.  As one of  Clinton’s largest employers, the factory is a critical source of jobs and security for nearly everyone in town.  For this reason alone, I would expect neighbor complaints against the plant are rare.

This tractor trailer hauls hogs to be slaughtered at the Premium Standard plant in Clinton, NC.

The same trucks pull up and offload their contents behind a residential neighborhood on the plant's western boundary.

Southwings, a noble environmental advocacy organization operating out of Ashville, NC, posted a short story on their website that summarizes my flight experience with them on March 19.

Click here.

During my stay in Manteo last weekend, I managed to get over to the Outer Banks and drive around a bit.

The Outer Banks of North Carolina

Leaving Manteo and going over the Crotoan Sound Bridge, you have two directional choices.  Take a left (north) and you pass through the towns of Nag’s Head, Kill Devil Hills, Kitty Hawk, etc.  This route is not for sightseeing.  The towns have little spatial distinction – you do not know when you have left one and entered another.  The highway functions as one long strip mall with lots of chain restaurants, “Wings” gear stores, taffy and ice cream shops, miniature golf places, and condominium developments.   The condo and housing developments are anywhere between 3 and 5 stories tall.  Views to the ocean from this part of the road are obscured.  The housing stock looks relatively new, perhaps built or refurbished in the last 20 years.

Bright yellow Wings stores are all over the place in the Outer Banks.

Your other choice is to take a right and head south along highway 12.  You soon understand why the communities to the north look the way they do.  The first thing you encounter is the welcome sign to the Cape Hatteras National Seashore area.  For the next 40 miles it’s more or less wide and open.  The sand dunes still block your view to the ocean, but commercial intrusion is absent.  Every 5 miles or so, you’ll come upon a new town (Rodanthe, Waves, Salvo, Avon, Buxton, Frisco, and finally, Hatteras) but their impact on the landscape is minimal compared to what you find north of the bridge.

These towns within the Cape Hatteras National Seashore have an interesting relationship with the National Parks Service.  Their beaches are managed by NPS whose mission includes safeguarding viable habitat for many species of migrating water fowl and shore mammals.  The NPS regularly closes sections of the coast where it is believed species of concern will nest.  Whenever the NPS announces closures, the towns cry foul play.  Closed beaches mean tourists fail to stopover, bypassing each town’s modest taffy and fudge stores, excursion operators, cafes, and beach gear shops.  Vestiges of public protest mark the roadside.

Endangered plovers are a bird species that will cause areas of the Outer Banks to close this season.

The scope of problems facing the Outer Banks is not merely commercial or economic in character. It is downright physical.  As a series of barrier islands, the Outer Banks are in a state of southerly migration.  Shifting sands here have created trouble for its tourism-based economy.  The government has made efforts to fight nature back.  Ten years ago, the iconic Cape Hatteras lighthouse was relocated almost half-mile inland to prevent the structure from literally falling in the sea.  Below a photo of the lighthouse location before it was moved:

You can go to the old lighthouse location and get a view of the new location in the distance, as I did below.  As the biggest tourist attraction in the Cape Hatteras National Seashore area, there was little question that the lighthouse needed to be “saved” from coastal erosion.  Many millions of dollars were spent to relocate it.  Still, there is little understanding of how long the investment will last given the latest predictions about sea level rise.

The granite slabs show the footprint of the original lighthouse location.

My trip to the Outer Banks was originally scheduled to have a 4 day stop on Ocracoke Island, the most southerly island within the National Seashore area.  I ended up canceling the Ocracoke leg of the trip, so none of my work there was done.   I intended to spend time investigating how Ocracoke’s version of tourism differs from tourism in towns outside of the boundary of the National Seashore area (Kill Devil Hill’s, Nag’s Head, etc).  The following questions are interesting to me: To what extent do activities for tourists in these designated areas have a distinct dependence on a healthy landscape?  How is the identity of the village of Ocracoke tied to these park assets?  Does Ocracoke intentionally forgo opportunities to develop parts of the island as a way to distinguish itself from other parts of the Outer Banks?