God, the Japanese are so cool

My Dearest Galosh,

My Dearest Galosh,

You've been silent for so long I'm beginning to forget the way your face looks when you're smiling in the sunshine. I will write to you nonetheless, the thought of what your life in the city is like making me start doing that thing I do with my fingers. The one you said you do it too and how similar we are.

I listen to Liszt as we did on that road trip. Classical music was never really your thing though, you just did it for me. Today, it's mainly as protection from the sounds Mister Sniffles makes when he licks. Slurp slurp slurp over and over again. "Think. Think! *The concept of bioclimatic design can be summarized in three distinct...*" Slurp slurp. "Stop!" He looks at me with bewildered tiny eyes. "What! I ain't done nothin'!"

The most important aspect of bioclimatic design is how everything is local. Without understanding the context in which something gets built, there's no chance in hell that building is going to be sustainable in any way. And when I say understand, I mean really really understand, Zen-master level understand.

Some Japanese architects have the habit of camping for months in a place before starting to even *think* about designing anything. Seasons need to pass and weather needs to change and the quality of the light and...

God, the Japanese are so cool.

I'm reading a book right now about the sustainability lessons we can gather from Edo period Japan. Scarcity and an understanding of natural systems led them to develop a pretty cool set of practices. The book is called "Just Enough". I'll tell you more when I'm done reading it.

The same type of deep understanding of the place has even been preached by my permaculture buffs about starting a garden. They say that a good time frame to start with is ''Don't do anything for the first two years. If possible, three.'' Ok, guys.

So coming back to your upper field...you know, we're off to a good start I think. You haven't done anything on it for ages! I'm putting off visits because of the cold, even though that is exactly the right time to go and see a place. I've always said property visits should always be done in bad weather. Who doesn't fall in love with a place when cherry trees are blossoming and the sun is caressing your back and February puddles are long gone? But the sting of a windy winter day helps cool your head, pushes you to look out for hidden drawbacks and make better decisions. Plus, the lack of vegetation (in temperate climate winter I mean) gives you better visibility.

So I really should be heading to the upper field.

We had discussed the view in my first letter to you. Though I still haven't gotten a response from you... I know, busy busy busy... well, I think I've found a solution to the problem. To recap, the issue was that the view was North whereas the Sun was South.

Now, how do you get sunlight in, views in as well, yet keep your back to the Northern wind? The idea that came to mind was this:

What do you think? The low winter Sun hits the North side rooms (left side of the drawing) through the upper windows but is shaded out when it rises up the summer sky. The view then becomes focused, calculated, dependent on the viewer's position and not a wide expanse. Then, in the summer, you can always take in the big view by sitting on the North terrace, in the nice cool shade.

I had come up with this idea about ten days ago. Then yesterday as I edited this letter to you my dear, I headed for the drawing pad to sketch the idea out and the first draft was so silly I panicked. It wasn't solving the problem after all. Was I going crackers? That must be the case, otherwise how could I sit with a solution for ten days and not realize it was stupid? Then I looked at it a bit more and slowly it dawned on me that I wasn't drawing the right solution, the one I had thought about. I was drawing it the other way around. Everything was alright after all. I won't show you the first attempt. I threw it in the fire.

Yours as always,

Jo

P.S. I discovered a word yesterday: *Hiraeth* (n. Welsh): Spiritual longing for a home which maybe never was. Nostalgia for ancient places to which we cannot return. It is the echo of the lost places of our soul's past and our grief for them. It is in the wind and the rocks and the waves. It is nowhere and it is everywhere. (from my tumblr)