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A conversation with architect Dan Nelson about Saratoga Hill House.
Dan Nelson has inadvertently become an expert in resilient design because of where he lives and builds houses: Washington state. His architecture firm, Designs Northwest Architects, specializes in complex residential projects in and around the Puget Sound where earthquake risk runs high. With strict seismic codes and geological restrictions for building near FEMA flood zones, Nelson and his firm have become quite skilled in designing homes to withstand the extreme conditions specific to the Pacific Northwest.
Nelson gained international renown for the Tsunami House, a family home built in a high velocity flood zone that would potentially need to withstand 300-mile-per-hour lateral waves. The Pacific Northwest isn’t threatened by hurricanes, Nelson told me. “Here, we have tsunamis which come from earthquakes and we have to design for that potential.”
His solution was to build the house on 9-foot piers with ground-level industrial garage doors that open to let the water flow through the bottom floor and out the other side. That level of the house was also furnished with waterproof furniture just in case.
When I called Nelson, we talked about his creative solutions for a lesser known, but equally interesting home: Saratoga Hill House, which has been in the same family since the 1940s and is unfortunately sited in a severe flood and mudslide zone. Our conversation has been edited for length and clarity.
I saw Tsunami House in the book Designing for Disaster and was fascinated by your approach — especially the garage doors opening to let the tsunami winds and water flow through the house. I would love to hear about how you came to focus on resilient design.
Tsunami House has been covered a lot recently, especially in light of all the environmental catastrophes — hurricanes, flooding, and everything else — going on. It resonates with a lot of folks wondering how architecture can mitigate their exposure to extreme weather.
My office is about 60 miles north of Seattle, in the Puget Sound region. The Cascade Mountains divide the state in half. On the eastern side, the ecology is drier, more desert-like, and prone to wildfire. There, we are doing quite a few houses using Firewise Design concepts, which offer criteria for building more safely in a firezone. Puget Sound is west of the Cascade Range and prone to sea-level rise and earthquake-induced landslides.
Tell me about your architectural approach.
My approach to resilient architecture emanates from the challenges of the site and how the clients want to live on the property. It was born out of solving the problem of building on a certain piece of property. And every property has its own challenges.
Designing on flood plains is only one of those challenges. Building on Camano Island requires an archaeology study because many of the beaches have tribal artifacts and archeological deposits of cultural significance.
Let’s talk about Saratoga Hill House. First, where is it?
Saratoga Hill House is a beach house on the northwest side of Camano Island. There is no road to the property. There is a common parking area but whoever lives on that beach has to walk to their house. You can’t drive a truck or car to bring materials and equipment to the site. They have to be barged in or taken on a half-track with a tread system down the beach.
But then there are only a limited number of days or months we could get materials to the house because it is a smelt-spawning beach. At certain times of year, smelts spawn, so when that happens, you can’t do any work on the beach.
So, we needed an archaeologist and a biologist to do reports.
Saratoga Hill HouseSwift Studios
Your Habitable score shows severe flood risk. Were you aware of that?
We knew that. And saturated soil conditions create a potential for mudslides. They are two different issues we had to address.
As for the parameters of the site, Saratoga Hill had an unstable slope. And because it’s built on a shoreline, we had to address setbacks that dictated how close to the high-water marker we could build. Also there was no septic. All these issues set the parameter of what we had and dictated the direction of the design. And it’s why we built the house on that steel frame.
Saratoga Hill HouseSwift Studios
Tell me about those decisions.
I imagine people will think, is it even worth doing?
In this case, the client had grown up in this house. He was a third generation family member and had been going to this property since the 1940s. He was committed to building here no matter what. He spent his entire life going there and had a strong sentimental attachment to the beach. And on that beach are extended families — his sister lives next to him, his cousins live down the beach. All have been there for generations and their friends have more relatives. It’s a very tight-knit community.
How did you solve this massive puzzle?
Our first inclination was to build a retaining wall behind the house to hold the hillside back. The town planners wouldn’t let us do that because you can’t direct earth from your property to someone else’s and we were told it wouldn’t work. They said it was doubtful we could build a house there.
But the idea came to us after we did Tsunami House. If we have high velocity waves going through that house, what if we did the same with earth? We talked to the planners and proposed we find a way for a mudslide to go under the house. Instead of water, we did mud!
We worked with a geotechnical engineer who looks at soil conditions and the stability of the earth. The soil type would determine what pile systems to set our foundations on. We had to determine how much mud would come down the hill under worst-case conditions and how high would we have to set the steel frame.
Turns out, we had to go 10 feet for that lower level on the condition there was no habitable space below the house, other than the mechanical system. When we design in a flood plain, we can’t put any electrical or plumbing or mechanical systems below the flood plain. All light switches and outlets are 5 feet off the ground and anything that could get damaged by water has to be above the flood plain.
Saratoga Hill HouseSwift Studios
It’s been 10 years. Has the house been tested?
There have been mudslides in the neighborhood, but not yet on this property, And there has been flooding, but that’s not an issue for this property. We had done everything to address the flood plain — since every year now we get 100 year floods.
What are your three top takeaways for people living in a flood zone or mudzone?
If you are building a new structure, it has to be designed to meet FEMA requirements.
If you are living in a flood plain? A lot of older communities living in a flood plain actually lift the house. A house mover goes in, lifts the house, and puts a new foundation above the flood plain. You want to be a foot above the flood plain.
Retaining walls are not realistic or as effective as raising a house above the flood plain.
Are you working on any risky problems?
I feel very fortunate that I live where I live and for what I’ve learned. At the Saratoga Hill house we used a steel frame, metal siding. And it’s a cool modern house. But without having those issues we had to address, we wouldn’t have set the house on a steel frame — we did it to solve a problem and used those problems to come up with the architecture of the house.
I always say, the expression of architecture comes out of solving the problem of that site. It may seem like there are a lot of limitations that we have to work around. But by the time we’ve solved the problem of designing a structure on that site, it dictates the architecture.
This is almost hopeful for the future of climate change. What it tells us is that we have to — and can — do some pretty cool things to solve the problem.
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Current conditions: Bosnia’s capital of Sarajevo is blanketed in a layer of toxic smog • Temperatures in Perth, in Western Australia, could hit 106 degrees Fahrenheit this weekend • It is cloudy in Washington, D.C., where lawmakers are scrambling to prevent a government shutdown.
The weather has gotten so weird that the U.S. National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration is holding internal talks about how to adjust its models to produce more accurate forecasts, the Financial Timesreported. Current models are based on temperature swings observed over one part of the Pacific Ocean that have for years correlated consistently with specific weather phenomena across the globe, but climate change seems to be disrupting that cause and effect pattern, making it harder to predict things like La Niña and El Niño. Many forecasters had expected La Niña to appear by now and help cool things down, but that has yet to happen. “It’s concerning when this region we’ve studied and written all these papers on is not related to all the impacts you’d see with [La Niña],” NOAA’s Michelle L’Heureux told the FT. “That’s when you start going ‘uh-oh’ there may be an issue here we need to resolve.”
There is quite a lot of news coming out of the Department of Energy as the year (and the Biden administration) comes to an end. A few recent updates:
Walmart, the world’s largest retailer, does not expect to meet its 2025 or 2030 emissions targets, and is putting the blame on policy, infrastructure, and technology limitations. The company previously pledged to cut its emissions by 35% by next year, and 65% by the end of the decade. Emissions in 2023 were up 4% year-over-year.
Walmart
“While we continue to work toward our aspirational target of zero operational emissions by 2040, progress will not be linear … and depends not only on our own initiatives but also on factors beyond our control,” Walmart’s statement said. “These factors include energy policy and infrastructure in Walmart markets around the world, availability of more cost-effective low-GWP refrigeration and HVAC solutions, and timely emergence of cost-effective technologies for low-carbon heavy tractor transportation (which does not appear likely until the 2030s).”
BlackRock yesterday said it is writing down the value of its Global Renewable Power Fund III following the failure of Northvolt and SolarZero, two companies the fund had invested in. Its net internal rate of return was -0.3% at the end of the third quarter, way down from 11.5% in the second quarter, according toBloomberg. Sectors like EV charging, transmission, and renewable energy generation and storage have been “particularly challenged,” executives said, and some other renewables companies in the portfolio have yet to get in the black, meaning their valuations may be “more subjective and sensitive to evolving dynamics in the industry.”
Flies may be more vulnerable to climate change than bees are, according to a new study published in the Journal of Melittology. The fly haters among us might shrug at the finding, but the researchers insist flies are essential pollinators that help bolster ecosystem biodiversity and agriculture. “It’s time we gave flies some more recognition for their role as pollinators,” said lead author Margarita López-Uribe, who is the Lorenzo Langstroth Early Career Associate Professor of Entomology at Penn State. The study found bees can tolerate higher temperatures than flies, so flies are at greater risk of decline as global temperatures rise. “In alpine and subarctic environments, flies are the primary pollinator,” López-Uribe said. “This study shows us that we have entire regions that could lose their primary pollinator as the climate warms, which could be catastrophic for those ecosystems.”
“No one goes to the movies because they want to be scolded.” –Heatmap’s Jeva Lange writes about the challenges facing climate cinema, and why 2024 might be the year the climate movie grew up.
Whether you agree probably depends on how you define “climate movie” to begin with.
Climate change is the greatest story of our time — but our time doesn’t seem to invent many great stories about climate change. Maybe it’s due to the enormity and urgency of the subject matter: Climate is “important,” and therefore conscripted to the humorless realms of journalism and documentary. Or maybe it’s because of a misunderstanding on the part of producers and storytellers, rooted in an outdated belief that climate change still needs to be explained to an audience, when in reality they don’t need convincing. Maybe there’s just not a great way to have a character mention climate change and not have it feel super cringe.
Whatever the reason, between 2016 and 2020, less than 3% of film and TV scripts used climate-related keywords during their runtime, according to an analysis by media researchers at the University of Southern California. (The situation isn’t as bad in literature, where cli-fi has been going strong since at least 2013.) At least on the surface, this on-screen avoidance of climate change continued in 2024. One of the biggest movies of the summer, Twisters, had an extreme weather angle sitting right there, but its director, Lee Isaac Chung, went out of his way to ensure the film didn’t have a climate change “message.”
I have a slightly different take on the situation, though — that 2024 was actuallyfull of climate movies, and, I’d argue, that they’re getting much closer to the kinds of stories a climate-concerned individual should want on screen.
That’s because for the most part, when movies and TV shows have tackled the topic of climate change in the past, it’s been with the sort of “simplistic anger-stoking and pathos-wringing” that The New Yorker’s Richard Brody identified in 2022’s Don’t Look Up, the Adam McKay satire that became the primary touchpoint for scripted climate stories. At least it was kind of funny: More overt climate stories like last year’s Foe, starring Saoirse Ronan and Paul Mescal, and Extrapolations, the Apple TV+ show in which Meryl Streep voices a whale, are so self-righteous as to be unwatchable (not to mention, no fun).
But what if we widened our lens and weren’t so prescriptive? Then maybe Furiosa, this spring’s Mad Max prequel, becomes a climate change movie. The film is set during a “near future” ecological collapse, and it certainly makes you think about water scarcity and our overreliance on a finite extracted resource — but it also makes you think about how badass the Octoboss’ kite is. The same goes for Dune: Part Two, which made over $82 million in its opening weekend and is also a recognizable environmental allegory featuring some cool worms. Even Ghostbusters: Frozen Empire, a flop that most people have already memory-holed, revisitedThe Day After Tomorrow’s question of, “What if New York City got really, really, really cold?”
Two 2024 animated films with climate themes could even compete against each other at the Academy Awards next year. Dreamworks Animation’s The Wild Robot, one of the centerpiece films at this fall’s inaugural Climate Film Festival, is set in a world where sea levels have risen to submerge the Golden Gate Bridge, and it impresses on its audience the importance of protecting the natural world. And in Gints Zilbalodis’ Flow, one of my favorite films of the year, a cat must band together with other animals to survive a flood.
Flow also raises the question of whether a project can unintentionally be a climate movie. Zilbalodis told me that making a point about environmental catastrophe wasn’t his intention — “I can’t really start with the message, I have to start with the character,” he said — and to him, the water is a visual metaphor in an allegory about overcoming your fears.
But watching the movie in a year when more than a thousand people worldwide have died in floods, and with images of inundated towns in North Carolina still fresh in mind, it’s actually climate change itself that makes one watch Flow as a movie about climate change. (I’m not the only one with this interpretation, either: Zilbalodis told me he’d been asked by one young audience member if the flood depicted in his film is “the future.”)
Perhaps this is how we should also consider Chung’s comments about Twisters. While nobody in the film says the words “climate change” or “global warming,” the characters note that storms are becoming exceptional — “we've never seen tornadoes like this before,” one says. Despite the director’s stated intention not to make the movie “about” climate change, it becomes a climate movie by virtue of what its audiences have experienced in their own lives.
Still, there’s that niggling question: Do movies like these, which approach climate themes slant-wise, really count? To help me decide, I turned to Sam Read, the executive director of the Sustainable Entertainment Alliance, an advocacy consortium that encourages environmental awareness both on set and on screen. He told me that to qualify something as a “climate” movie or TV show, some research groups look to see if climate change exists in the world of the story or whether the characters acknowledge it. Other groups consider climate in tiers, such as whether a project has a climate premise, theme, or simply a moment.
The Sustainable Entertainment Alliance, however, has no hard rules. “We want to make sure that we support creatives in integrating these stories in whatever way works for them,” Read told me.
Read also confirmed my belief that there seemed to be an uptick in movies this year that were “not about climate change but still deal with things that feel very climate-related, like resource extraction.” There was even more progress on this front in television, he pointed out: True Detective: Night Country wove in themes of environmentalism, pollution, mining, and Indigenous stewardship; the Max comedy Hacks featured an episode about climate change this season; and Industry involved a storyline about taking a clean energy company public, with some of the characters even attending COP. Even Doctor Odyssey, a cruise ship medical drama that airs on USA, worked climate change into its script, albeit in ridiculous ways. (Also worth mentioning: The Netflix dating show Love is Blind cast Taylor Krause, who works on decarbonizing heavy industry at RMI.)
We can certainly do more. As many critics before me have written, it’s still important to draw a connection between things like environmental catastrophes and the real-world human causes of global warming. But the difference between something being “a climate movie” and propaganda — however true its message, or however well-intentioned — is thin. Besides, no one goes to the movies because they want to be scolded; we want to be moved and distracted and entertained.
I’ve done my fair share of complaining over the past few years about how climate storytelling needs to grow up. But lately I’ve been coming around to the idea that it’s not the words “climate change” appearing in a script that we need to be so focused on. As 2024’s slate of films has proven to me — or, perhaps, as this year’s extreme weather events have thrown into relief — there are climate movies everywhere.
Keep ‘em coming.
They might not be worried now, but Democrats made the same mistake earlier this year.
Permitting reform is dead in the 118th Congress.
It died earlier this week, although you could be forgiven for missing it. On Tuesday, bipartisan talks among lawmakers fell apart over a bid to rewrite parts of the National Environmental Policy Act. The changes — pushed for by Representative Bruce Westerman, chairman of the House Natural Resources Committee — would have made it harder for outside groups to sue to block energy projects under NEPA, a 1970 law that governs the country’s process for environmental decisionmaking.
When those talks died, they also killed a separate deal over permitting struck earlier this year between Senator Joe Manchin of West Virginia and Senator John Barrasso of Wyoming. That deal, as I detailed last week, would have loosened some federal rules around oil and gas drilling in exchange for a new, quasi-mandatory scheme to build huge amounts of long-distance transmission.
Rest in peace, I suppose. Even if lawmakers could not agree on NEPA changes, I think Republicans made a mistake by not moving forward with the Manchin-Barrasso deal. (I still believe that the standalone deal could have passed the Senate and the House if put to a vote.) At this point, I do not think we will see another shot at bipartisan permitting reform until at least late 2026, when the federal highway law will need fresh funding.
But it is difficult to get too upset about this failure because larger mistakes have since compounded the initial one. On Wednesday, Republican Speaker Mike Johnson’s bipartisan deal to fund the government — which is, after all, a much more fundamental task of governance than rewriting some federal permitting laws — fell apart, seemingly because Donald Trump and Elon Musk decided they didn’t like it. If I can indulge in the subjunctive for a moment: That breakdown might have likely killed any potential permitting deal, too. So even in a world where lawmakers somehow did strike a deal earlier this week, it might already be dead. (As I write this, the House GOP has reportedly reached a new deal to fund the government through March, which has weakened or removed provisions governing pharmacy benefit managers and limiting American investments in China.)
The facile reading of this situation is that Republicans now hold the advantage. The Trump administration will soon be able to implement some of the fossil fuel provisions in the Manchin-Barrasso deal through the administrative state. Trump will likely expand onshore and offshore drilling, will lease the government’s best acreage to oil and gas companies, and will approve as many liquified natural gas export terminals as possible. His administration will do so, however, without the enhanced legal protection that the deal would have provided — and while those protections are not a must-have, especially with a friendly Supreme Court, their absence will still allow environmental groups to try to run down the clock on some of Trump’s more ambitious initiatives.
Republicans believe that they will be able to get parts of permitting reform done in a partisan reconciliation bill next year. These efforts seem quite likely to run aground, at least as long as something like the current rules governing reconciliation bills hold. I have heard some crazy proposals on this topic — what if skipping a permitting fight somehow became a revenue-raiser for the federal government? — but even they do not touch the deep structure of NEPA in the way a bipartisan compromise could. As Westerman toldPolitico’s Josh Siegel: “We need 60 votes in the Senate to get real permitting reform … People are just going to have to come to an agreement on what permitting reform is.” In any case, Manchin and the Democrats already tried to reform the permitting system via a partisan reconciliation bill and found it essentially impossible.
Even if reconciliation fails, Republicans say, they will still be in a better negotiating position next year than this year because the party will control a few more Senate votes. But will they? The GOP will just have come off a difficult fight over tax reform. Twelve or 24 months from now, demands on the country’s electricity grid are likely to be higher than they are today, and the risk of blackouts will be higher than before. The lack of a robust transmission network will hinder the ability to build a massive new AI infrastructure, as some of Trump’s tech industry backers hope. But 12 or 24 months from now, too, Democrats — furious at Trump — are not going to be in a dealmaking mood, and Republicans have relatively few ways to bring them to the table.
In any case, savvy Republicans should have realized that it is important to get supply-side economic reforms done as early in a president’s four-year term as possible. Such changes take time to filter through the system and turn into real projects and real economic activity; passing the law as early as possible means that the president’s party can enjoy them and campaign on them.
All of it starts to seem more and more familiar. When Manchin and Barrasso unveiled their compromise earlier this year, Democrats didn’t act quickly on it. They felt confident that the window for a deal wouldn’t close — and they looked forward to a potential trifecta, when they would be able to get even more done (and reject some of Manchin’s fossil fuel-friendly compromises).
Democrats, I think, wound up regretting the cavalier attitude that they brought to permitting reform before Trump’s win. But now the GOP is acting the same way: It is rejecting compromises, believing that it will be able to strike a better deal on permitting issues during its forthcoming trifecta. That was a mistake when Democrats did it. I think it will be a mistake for Republicans, too.