Transitioning from Mixed-income Housing to Mixed-income Communities

I mentioned in class last week how the Cleveland, OH neighborhood I've lived in the past three summers follows many of the design standards advocated by New Urbanism. One of the areas this is true is housing: there is a mix of housing types (large, single-family; duplexes; and apartment buildings) dispersed and intermixed throughout the neighborhood. This type of housing mix (in addition to the fact that this is a city neighborhood and not a suburb) facilitates an organic mixed income neighborhood (as opposed to mixed income developments, built as an answer to traditional public housing projects, that most people think of when talking about mixed income housing).

In his blog on Detroit last week, Graham suggested that maybe we all should buy a home and restore it and "go work 'on the farm.'" Turns out that's what my boyfriend did, although maybe not to the extent Graham imagined. Cleveland has been facing the same economic downturn as Detroit, although not to the same degree: population loss, foreclosures, swaths of vacant land throughout the city, crumbling infrastructure. And so, it has some of the same cheap housing stock that Detroit has--provided that you are willing to put in a little work to rehab.

So, as I said, I've spent the last couple of summers playing 'on the farm,' experimenting with all sorts of sustainable projects.

My little garden--planned to be majorly expanded when I can be in town for the entire growing season!

Shed/rain barrel tower-- 15 feet elevation gets you enough pressure to run a sprinkler.

Planter I built from recycled bottles and 'rubble' found onsite.

Insulation made from recycled blue jeans--available at your local Menard's. The best part is no fiberglass.

I like living here, not only because I get to try out cool things 'on the farm', but also because the neighborhood is great. There are restaurants, bars, a library branch, a movie theatre, and a pharmacy all within a 5 to 10 minute walk of the house. It is diverse--there are people from a variety of ethnic backgrounds, ages, ethnicities, income levels, and physical and mental abilities. There is a community orchard right behind the house, with peaches, pears, apples, grapes... And there is an active block club and a strong social network. It pretty much meets all of Roseland's "Small Steps to Creating Good Neighborhoods."

There's just one problem. There have always been petty theft problems, breakins, etc. It is a city neighborhood after all. But the past two weeks on the block club listserv, a disturbing number of crimes have been shared, from stolen phones to catalytic converters cut out of cars in the driveway to violent assaults on neighborhood proprietors. A few of the emails have ended with comments like: "With all the trouble lately in the area and now this, we're talking about renting out the house and moving away." And: "I am just going to make sure we leave the city before our unborn child is old enough to form memories."

Aside from the fact that this sort of action puts a neighborhood teetering on the edge of vitality in risk of going downhill, I believe this type of experience is important to address when talking about mixed-income neighborhoods. I don't know for sure that the mixed income characteristics of the neighborhood are what cause higher crime rates. I also don't know if suburbia is much better--my mom got her bicycle stolen out of our suburban metro-Atlanta garage just like my neighbors in Cleveland. Maybe the block club list, facilitating excellent communication, is cultivating a paranoia about increased crime when the only change is that we can now share more effectively what has always been happening. But there is certainly the perception, and perhaps reality, that living in a mixed income community comes with certain risks that more homogeneous communities do not share.

This "us" and "them" mentality that springs up especially around crime is perpetuated because, while I mentioned the active block club earlier, the "strong social network," at least the one I know about, is by-and-large comprised only of the middle to upper income, single-family home owners. Although it is a mixed income neighborhood, it is not a mixed income or mixed class community. If all our neighbors came to block club meetings, would those thinking of leaving be more likely to stay? If the community were more socially integrated across economic and racial lines, would our network be stronger and our community anti-crime efforts be more effective. I believe the answer is a resounding yes. But how do we achieve this?

When researching for this post, I discovered the majority of literature on mixed income housing is on mixed income developments, like I talked about at the beginning of the post. Most researchers focus on the effects of mixed income housing on people with lower incomes, many of whom have been relocated from traditional public housing projects. This focus is probably warranted, but I believe that it is also important to understand the dynamics of mixed income neighborhoods from the perspective of middle- to upper income residents who otherwise enjoy the type of New Urbanist living and diverse communities that we advocate. Literature also focuses on mixed income housing developments, rather than the more organic neighborhoods like I am talking about here. But, there are important insights from this literature about the creation of community among very heterogeneous groups of people. Until we can make mixed income communities (not just individual housing developments) comfortable and healthy (including mental health and piece of mind from security) for all residents, it isn't really a viable solution. People won't want to live in places like my neighborhood in Cleveland when a safer, easier life is just 20 minutes down the freeway.

Mark Joseph, a researcher at Case-Western Reserve University, studies social interaction and community building in mixed income housing developments. I may be naive, but I believe this is an important component to making a mixed income community enjoyable and safe for all. The social network should encompass everyone in the neighborhood if it is to be a tool to deal with neighborhood challenges. Social interactions between income groups in mixed income housing tend to be casual and somewhat superficial, with the most significant barrier to deeper interaction being perceptions of differences. Joseph's research identifies the main tools for building a more inclusive community as 1) promoting resident interactions, 2) shaping physical design, and 3) providing formal services and supports. However, these tools face challenges as well, including uneven participation among groups. (This is one problem of the block club--invitations have been made to everyone on the block, but only certain types of residents decide to participate.) Other potential problems are perceived differences among groups, resulting in the tendency to congregate with those most like you, and practical limitations such as work schedules and transportation needs.

What do you think? Would you be willing to live in a walkable, mixed income, mixed use neighborhood even if that comes with higher crime? How can we work to combat the barrier of "difference" to build an integrated, socially supportive, inclusive community?

Putting Up: Progress Report

Remember that pile of library books on canning I mentioned about a month ago? (Yes, I’m behind on my blogs.) After spending a couple of nights staying up too late reading about how to can, recipes for canning, and how canning can kill you, I decided the only way to learn was to jump in and try. So, of course, I did it the smart way—invited four other people who had also never canned before to join me; decided to start out easy with whole tomatoes, peaches in simple syrup, salsa, and pickled okra; and estimated that the whole process would probably take 6 hours so of course I’d also have that day to volunteer for gameday recycling, read for class, and finish all my homework.

Ahem. Now I know things, which I will share with you so when you decide to preserve local food for winter consumption you actually do it the smart way.

1)  Can with someone who has done it before. Just for peace of mind and to make sure you don’t get in over your head. And to make sure you are doing the right thing so your cans aren’t botulism-infested.

2)  Pick ONE THING to can.

3) Canning takes a long time. Don’t commit to other plans on canning day. You’ll have to cancel them anyway.

There are two main canning methods: hot water canning and pressure canning. Hot water canning is appropriate for acidic foods such as most fruits and anything pickled. Pressure canning is required for everything else. This distinction is important because botulism (a potentially fatal bacteria) produces toxins in low-acid, low-oxygen environments, like a can of green beans. Pressure canning ensures that cans are processed under a high enough temperature to kill botulism spores in the can.

Since pressure canning equipment is significantly more expensive than that required for hot water canning, and because tomatoes and peaches (high acid fruits) were in season when we embarked on this adventure (mid-September), I opted for the hot water canning route. So, armed with lots of books and a bunch of excitement, we got to work, following all the instructions carefully.

Aside from the, shall we say, “beginner’s errors” described above, canning went remarkably well. Preparing the fruits before canning (washing, blanching, peeling, de-pitting, slicing and dicing, cooking) took a lot of time, but many hands and good company made the time go by quickly. 

Ice before or after blanching? We had some confusion.

Mark stirs the pot. Typical.

Sticky fingers

Hot water bath processing

All our cans sealed the first time, and now we have beautiful local produce to sustain us throughout the winter!

about-to-be pickled okra

This process raised some questions for me that I hope to be able to research further as part of this project. My stove burners were running full-throttle for pretty much the whole day. Yes, I saved carbon because my cans contain organic, locally-grown, in-season tomatoes. The transportation and production emissions for the vegetables themselves are much less than for a store-bought can of tomatoes. The glass jars I used were shipped to the store I bought them from, but I can reuse those year after year so that is a one-time emissions expense. But what about the efficiency of the mechanized aluminum canning process? I predict that the emissions generated from processing the tomatoes at the canning plant, on a per ounce basis, are less than the emissions caused by my stove. But maybe not…how does it measure up? Is home canning necessarily an emissions-saver? I’m digging around for some research on this…stay tuned.

The other main feeling I have coming out of this is that canning is only worth it for certain things. I don’t think I’ll can tomatoes again—freezing is just so much easier, with less risk of contamination. Since I’m not planning on saving these tomatoes for more than 5-6 months, freezing preserves them just as well. Convenience aside, which is actually the most sustainable solution? Again, stay tuned for the energy comparison between freezing and canning.

This was a tearful day

In addition to canning, I’m also pursuing my quest to localize my diet in other ways. Some are sticking, others I probably won’t do again. All my produce continues to come from the farmer’s market. I’ve found that I eat more fresh vegetables (as opposed to pasta, dried beans, etc.) when I go to the market each week. Part of this is because I can’t resist how beautiful all the produce looks, I end up buying more than I intended, and then I need to eat it before it goes bad. The cost differential from a grocery hasn’t been bad at all since I am buying what is peaking that week. I also purchased some local eggs, which were much more expensive than Kroger ($4.25 vs. $1.25)…depending on how much egg consumption (read, baking) I’m doing at a given time, that could make a financial difference quickly. Bread is the same—a loaf from Scholar’s Bakehouse costs $4.50, compared to $2.00 of mass-produced at Kroger, plus it is so holey that my PB&J kind of leak out. And I’m still consuming grain and dairy staples from grocery stores (for the most part purchased at locally-owned businesses, but still shipped in from somewhere else).

I’m blanching and freezing too. I’ve now got zucchini, squash, eggplant, onions, kale, and chard chilling in the freezer. I’m excited about the recipe potential this winter!

As we get closer to winter, I’ll shift from focusing so much on preservation to getting more into the research side of things, examining the effects of a local diet more critically.

Moving from "What" to "How"

I'm writing this post from the International City/County Management Association's Annual Conference in Phoenix, which has me thinking about the role of local policy in people's carbon footprints and, ultimately, our climate change destiny. The more I talk to people the more I realize how situation-specific sustainable solutions have to be--tailored to the opportunities and needs in individual communities. But, that doesn't mean that a basic understanding of climate change and the general tools we have to address it aren't necessary too.

The Carl Vinson Institute of Government (CVIOG), housed within the University of Georgia, provides research and policy analysis services to support government action across a range of topics. One of their projects is focused on sea level rise (SLR) along the Georgia coast as a result of climate change, with the main goal of working with local governments to prepare to deal with the consequences of SLR.

As part of the background research to apply for the grant for the aforementioned project, Vinson conducted a survey of key stakeholders in Glynn County, one of Georgia's 10 coastal counties. A main goal of the survey was to assess the community's perceptions of the threat of SLR compared to scientific predictions. To do this, they gave participants a blank outline of the county and asked them to color in the areas they thought would be underwater given 1 foot (yellow), 3 feet (green), and 5 feet (orange) increases in sea level. Here are some representative responses.

    

As you can see, people got creative. By having an intern (me, in this case) digitize all the drawings into GIS, an aggregate "community impression" of the effect of SLR in Glynn County could be created and then compared to scientific SLR predictions. Results are below, with blue indicating that there is more projected SLR risk than perceived by stakeholders and red indicating there is less risk than perceived by stakeholders, with the in-between shades ranging along that continuum in a logical manner.

     

1 ft SLR 

5 ft SLR

There is some over/understating under the 1 ft SLR scenario, but misperceptions are much greater as the severity of SLR increases to 5 feet. This seems to indicate that as the magnitude of climate change effects increase, communities are less and less capable of fully comprehending them. (This extrapolation is not scientifically sound and is based only on this very limited dataset, so take it with a grain of salt.) 

This method is interesting to me for two reasons. The first is academic: community perceptions of the impacts of climate change are important to consider when talking about moving toward climate change mitigation and/or adaptation. It goes back to the foundations of community-based marketing--we have to understand where people are coming from before we can design an effective intervention. (Plus I like things that combine community input and data analysis in general.) Despite the fact that I've seen about a billion climate change talks, for many communities (and perhaps more importantly government officials) communicating the "what" of climate change is still a necessity before we can get to the "how" of fixing it. But how much more time and energy can we afford to spend explaining climate change and waiting for people to understand the importance of acting? 

Which brings me to my second reason for being interested in this research: my grandparents live in Glynn County, Georgia, right next to a marsh along one of those river-fingers you can see reaching into the county. That's where SLR will cause problems first, unless someone takes some kind of adaptation or mitigation action. The beaches that I played on in the summer, the house where I celebrated Christmases and Thanksgivings, the town where my grandfather was born and has lived his whole life...it's right there.

There is a lot to learn from methods like the one employed by CVIOG. By using the best available scientific consensus to put climate change into understandable terms for a community, be it as rainfall changes, sea level rise risks, etc., we can begin to frame the discussion in a way that is relevant to the majority of community members. (This climate change communications guide by ICLEI also supports this approach.) Then we can couch the actions that need to be taken in this more personal understanding of climate change impacts, moving beyond the "whats" of climate change and devoting our energy to the "hows" of large-scale adaptation and mitigation.