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Continuing
Education
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After
reading this month’s installment of the
ARCHITECTURAL RECORD / AIA
Continuing Education series, complete the questions and check
your answers. AIA members may fill out the self-report form
and send it in for two AIA Learning Units.
Learning
Objective:
After
reading this article, you will be able to:
1.
Distinguish four types of hidden site
conditions.
2.
Describe steps to mitigate each of
these four.
3.
Appreciate the need for interdisciplinary
teams to investigate hidden conditions.
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High summer
and the dense forests at the future site of Tickfaw State Park
are still and quiet. The soil below feels dry, though it's black
as coffee grounds. Vines hang from tree branches in soft ringlets,
while gray-green ferns nose the mossy perimeters of the broad
trunks. Small, algae-flecked pools, almost obscured by fallen
logs, reflect the bits of sun that filter through the thick canopy
of leaves.
To the untrained
eye, Tickfaw in the middle of summer seems no different than any
other southern forest. But to those schooled in the nuances of
vegetation and soil, Tickfaw is a wetland just waiting to recur.
Once the seasons change and the burning sun passes its zenith,
the water will take over again, making paths that are navigable
in the summer into impassable quagmires, the calm pools into swamps.
Kurt Soderberg,
AIA, a principal with Chenevert, Songy, Rodi & Soderberg,
was given a mandate by Louisiana's Office of State Parks to build
pavilions, parking, a swimming pool, and all the other ``garden-variety''
state park accoutrements at Tickfaw. But partway through the design
stages Soderberg and landscape architect Patrick Moore discovered
that of the 750 acres that make up the site, all but 60 are wetlands.
``We realized we had to completely alter the plans, and still
placate our client,'' he says. As if things weren't complicated
enough, Soderberg and Moore discovered that the small parcel of
buildable ground at the Tickfaw site is precisely where the evidence
of Native American relics can be found. Disturbing that ground
is likely to trigger an archaeological excavation.
It's not enough
to know the topography of a site anymore; you must also know the
vegetation and what is beneath it. Endangered species, archaeological
finds, brownfields, wetlands--these are the kinds of surprises
that can devastate a project or, at the very least, stop work
for a few hours, weeks, or months. Architects may be forced to
alter their plans, resite buildings, or scrap the project altogether.
It's not unusual for site problems to engender legal battles and
community ill-will.
To some degree,
what is discovered depends on the building's location. In the
Southwest, Native American relics are common; in the Northeast,
brownfields are. But wetlands are by far the most common site
condition architects encounter. Look at the Tickfaw land in an
historical context and it seems obvious that Native Americans
would have camped on the dry ground and hunted, fished, and foraged
in the fecund marshes. Look at the soil and the plants and it's
obvious that the area is flooded most of the year. But this sort
of site sensitivity takes experience and training of a different
kind than architectural schools provide. ``We may be taught how
to relate the building to the site contextually, but coping with
difficult site conditions is not something we learn formally,''
says R. Christian Schmitt, AIA, a principal at Schmitt Sampson
Architects.
Site surprises
used to be the developer's bailiwick. But as federal, state, and
local control over these issues tightens, and as the role of the
designer changes, architects are increasingly pulled into the
debate and, in some cases, held responsible. For example, if an
architect commissions a site analysis and finds nothing, he or
she runs the risk of getting sued when toxic chemicals turn up
later. There are also no clear standards for what constitutes
a comprehensive site analysis or when it should be conducted.
The federal government's requirements vary, depending on what's
found on the site and what the government's jurisdiction is. Landscape
architects, environmentalists, archaeologists, and other professionals
who conduct analyses provide varying levels of thoroughness, according
to how much is paid. And, as every architect knows, each dollar
spent on the site is one less dollar devoted to the building.
Schmitt's
firm designed a house at Brays Island, a residential development
in South Carolina which requires that a highly detailed site analysis
be approved by an architectural review board before drawings are
submitted. It took Schmitt and a landscape architect close to
four days to complete the analysis. The cost: about $5,000. But
the results were worth it, he says. ``You become so familiar with
the site, with its history, its trees, the trails that the wildlife
follow, the way the sun moves around it, and the soil, that you
wind up with a design that couldn't work anywhere else,'' he says.
Though the process is expensive, it yields a better building.
Also, because the analysis is done early in the project, it greatly
reduces the likelihood of a surprise later, when fixing it is
costlier.
In the end,
Soderberg and Moore converted Tickfaw into an ecotourism center,
a place where tourists and wetlands coexist. Opening this summer,
the redesigned park uses buildable land for interpretive centers,
while the archaeological sites and wetlands are crisscrossed with
trails and boardwalks. Instead of swimming pools, there are retention
ponds to contain some of the water that floods the area.
Knowing the
ground conditions at Tickfaw in advance would have saved time
for Soderberg. The contract was awarded in 1992, but because of
the wetlands issue, construction on the $5 million project didn't
begin until 1997. Consulting fees for environmental and archaeological
work and permits ran about $90,000. But this example proves that,
though architects may be afraid of finding site problems, they
are also adept at solving them. ``We took something that was a
real obstacle and turned it into something innovative,'' Soderberg
says.
Brownfields
For almost
two years, Bill Wilkerson, AIA, of Derthick, Henley & Wilkerson
Architects, grappled with state and local officials to come up
with a way to make a chemically polluted site in the industrial
south side of Chattanooga, Tennessee, viable for a new stadium.
Wilkerson is no expert in brownfield development. When it came
to sorting out the tangle of government regulations, the architect
admits that he ``didn't have a clue.'' But the stadium project
was a crash course for Wilkerson in how to deal with brownfields,
a significant problem now that pristine sites in urban areas are
rare and expensive. According to federal surveys, there are about
600,000 brownfield sites in the United States. Says Michael Pawlukiewicz,
director of environmental research for the Urban Land Institute,
"Just about every city site is a brownfield.'' Cleaning one
up costs, in very general figures, at least $100,000 per acre,
though there are federal programs that provide money to offset
these costs.
In 1993 Wilkerson's
firm was commissioned to design the football and soccer stadium
on the site of an old foundry. The firm first encountered a hundred
55-gallon drums sitting on one edge of the property and oozing
unidentified liquids. In addition, the 33-acre parcel was frosted
with a four-foot-deep layer of sand contaminated with heavy metals
and petrochemicals, through which surface water was percolating.
State regulators required capping the site with a nonporous material,
such as asphalt, to prevent the surface water from straining out
contaminants and introducing them to the ground water.
"Initially
this was a $29 million project,'' Wilkerson says. "Conducting
a cleanup would have cost, based on the original estimate, at
least $2 million. So we were in a position of finding a way to
keep enough money for our project and still make the site usable.
It was as if we were pouring our client's resources into the ground.''
The first
breakthrough came when the architects discovered, after testing
every barrel, that the contents were mostly water. The other liquids
were not dangerous and were easily disposed of. Next problem:
the contaminated sand. Beneath that four-foot strata was a layer
of impervious clay. Wilkerson and his team discovered that by
dishing into the ground for part of the stadium they could scale
back the mass of the complex and use the clay removed from the
16-foot-deep bowl to seal the site elsewhere. That would avoid
the unappealing "asphalt sea'' that state regulators had
in mind, and the clay could support plantings and trees.
The stadium
was completed last year and, thanks to creative problem solving,
only $150,000 was spent on testing and abatement. But Wilkerson
learned that working on this type of site requires close collaboration
among engineers, bankers, environmental consultants, landscape
architects, contractors, and lawyers; the problems encountered
invariably cross interdisciplinary lines. He also worked with
an environmental lawyer who served as his advocate in deciphering
regulations and dealing with the state. Finally, while there are
plenty of consultants willing to perform seemingly endless studies
of contaminated sites, "you have to know when to end the
studies and spend money on remediating the site instead,'' he
says.
Investigation
of a site's history and disclosure of contamination is a standard
real estate practice that normally takes place before a parcel
is sold. But that doesn't guarantee there won't be surprises.
Robert Colangelo, the founder of Brownfield News Magazine and
manager of a brownfield development company, says the first thing
architects should ask for when they get involved in a commercial
or industrial site is an ASTM phase-one site assessment. This
document includes a site history and a sampling of the soil and
groundwater, as well as analysis of any site structures. The cost
to perform an assessment ranges from $6,000 to $200,000, depending
on the size of the parcel and the type of contaminants. If contamination
is uncovered mid-project, work should be stopped and the proper
regulatory authorities contacted. Workers should stay away from
the site until the problem is solved to avoid personal injury.
Digging
up bones
Every Native
American tribe is loath to disturb burial sites. The Tunica Biloxi
tribe of central Louisiana is no exception. When construction
on the reservation is planned, they send Bill Day, the tribe's
director of cultural and historical preservation, to look for
archaeological materials. Evidence of what's underground can usually
be found by looking carefully on the surface. Flakes of rock may
indicate arrowheads, bits of pigment may indicate pottery, and,
in the palm-flat land in this part of Louisiana, swells in the
ground may indicate a burial mound.
Day was researching
the site of the Tunica Biloxi Economic Development Corporation,
a 6,000-square-foot office building designed by Yeager, Watson
and Associates. Prodding a small mound of soil, he uncovered bones
that appeared to be human. He examined them and found a flattened
musket ball lodged in what he believed to be the chest cavity.
Further research led Day to conclude this was the body of a well-known
tribal chief shot in the mid-1800s.
As a result
of the find, the architects had to move the parking lot to allow
tribal representatives to heap a four-foot-high mound over the
site. The architects were not happy about the change in plans,
though it came about early enough to keep costs minimal. ``We're
just not convinced that it was necessary,'' says Perry Watson,
AIA. ``We're not even sure those bones were human.'' On the reservation,
architects must follow the tribe's tenets. To the elders, Bill
Day's word was enough to convince them to move the parking lot.
But to architects used to a more formalized methodology, the Tunica
Biloxi's system is casual and mystifying.
The building
is now complete, but the case underscores one of the rules of
dealing with site problems: Never underestimate the community's
involvement with a site, especially one with human remains. When
burials are found, the coroner, an archaeologist, or the local
university's anthropology department (of which archaeology is
a part) should be contacted.
Other archaeological
finds
Nothing can
hold up site work longer and introduce more extra costs than an
archaeological excavation. Rules governing finds vary according
to the locality, the size of the site, and who is involved in
the project. If the property is private, finds can be bulldozed,
except where there's legislation that says otherwise. If there
are ties to the federal government, even if the project is only
partially funded by a federal agency, the site falls under the
National Historic Preservation Act, administered by the Department
of the Interior. The property must then undergo a phase-one archaeological
analysis, during which test pits are dug. If anything of value
is found, the act requires a more extensive phase-two dig. A phase-three
dig is a full-blown excavation. Since the act was passed 20 years
ago, the number of archaeologists employed by public agencies
has leaped exponentially.
When Coke
Florance, FAIA, at KCF/SHG first walked the Washington, D.C.,
block where the $200 million MCI Arena would be built, it was
nothing more than a city parking lot. KCF/SHG, working with Ellerbe
Becket, and Devrouax & Purnell, charged ahead with the project,
never suspecting there was anything beneath that asphalt. The
project was so politically complex, no one even thought about
the site analysis. ``It was lost in the shuffle,'' Florance says.
Just before
excavation, the site was tested. Historical records showed nothing
of significance, but plenty of interesting things turned up once
the digging began. The project quickly moved to phase-three status.
A 70-member crew worked seven days a week, 12 hours a day, for
three months. Meanwhile, the construction crews waited. Ultimately,
the project came in two months late, though there were other problems
during construction. The cost of the site work was $600,000. However,
the finds, now on display at the arena, were of historical value.
Says Florance, "In the end, the finds became an asset.''
Saving
endangered species
At Disney's
Celebration, near Orlando, Florida, plans for a housing tract
were altered when nesting eagles were found on the land. After
negotiating with the Fish and Wildlife Service, the Florida Game
and Freshwater Fish Department, and conservation groups, the Celebration
Company, the site developer, had to give the eagles a 2,250-foot
radius around the nest. This cost the company 12 acres of developable
land.
Jim Yawn,
the environmental project manager, says there were plans to set
aside much of the land in that radius as part of a greenbelt flanking
the development. But because of the eagles, the plan was changed
to include the residential area. Yawn's bitterness over the decision
is clear. ``Studies have proven that the eagle population is booming
in Florida. These birds are nesting in suburban backyards and
even urban areas.''
Part of the
problem with laws governing site work, especially endangered species
legislation, is that they seem subjective. "Laws change.
The species on the endangered list change. There are differences
in the ways the various species are handled and these recommendations
change. What the developer next door did is different than what
you do,'' says John Fay, a biologist for the United States Fish
and Wildlife Service.
The highest
concentration of endangered species is in the southern United
States, especially where pressure from development is strong.
Fay advises checking with local agencies to find out what species
are on the list in the vicinity of the site. In sensitive areas,
a study will have to be done before a building permit is issued.
An environmental consultant should review the site, even if the
land is private.
Decisions
about what to do once something is found on a site—whether
it's an endangered species, toxic waste, wetlands, or an archaeological
site—aren't normally as one-sided as in Celebration's case.
Unless what's found is highly significant, officials are willing
to compromise. Says landscape architect Patrick Moore: "The
days of beating your head against the wall with agencies are over.
Now you can go to them and say, `We have a problem. Help us solve
it.'''
WHAT TO
DO WHEN A SITE PROBLEM IS FOUND
In all cases, notify the property owner and stop work until it
is determined what must be done to comply with the law.
ENDANGERED SPECIES
Before work begins, check with the United States Fish and Wildlife
Service to see if there are endangered species in the region.
On private land, contact a local environmental consultant or a
nonprofit conservation group, such as the Sierra Club.
ARCHAEOLOGICAL FIND
Before work begins, search historic literature to see if anything
of significance was on the site. On lands with federal involvement,
a phase-one study is required. For help, contact the United States
Department of the Interior, the state archaeologist, the National
Trust for Historic Preservation, or, in case of human remains,
the coroner.
TOXIC WASTE
Before work begins, make sure an ASTM phase-one study was conducted.
On private lands, check local maps and records to see if the site
was ever industrial. For help, contact the United States Environmental
Protection Agency, an environmental attorney, or an environmental
engineer.
WETLANDS
If wetlands are suspected, have an environmental consultant, the
regional department of environmental conservation, or the Army
Corps of Engineers do a wetlands delineation. Findings are submitted
to the Corps of Engineers. To develop in wetlands, a 404 permit
is needed and compensatory wetlands must be created. 
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Continuing Education