Welcome! I hope I bring a spot of calm and happiness into these uncertain times. I blog about my photography adventures, flowers, gardening, the importance of chocolate in a well lived life, or anything else on my mind.
My husband and I had the pleasure of visiting a day lily garden owned by Tom and Kathy Rood this past Wednesday. We are near the height of day lily bloom here in upstate New York, and we were fortunate enough to be in the area when this commercial operation was open.
Tomorrow, I will show you some of my day lilies as part of Garden Bloggers Bloom Day.
For today, the Roods rule. After we take a stroll, I have a little story for you.
Such beautiful grounds.
Come into the shade, shall we?
The Roods were friendly and knowledgeable- they immediately offered us bottled water, and invited us to eat some of the mulberries ripening on their trees.
Mulberries.
Alas, this White Perfection was sold out, because I was ready to buy it.
This Lemon Supreme was.
When we got to talking to the Roods, they asked us where we were from. Upon hearing that we lived just outside Johnson City, New York, Tom mentioned that he had worked for GE for several years back in the 1960's. Yes, just blocks from where I live.
I had to tell Tom that the former GE plant was a fixture of my neighborhood at one time, but (rented by another defense contractor, BAE Industries at the time) it was ruined by a flood in 2011, and demolished in 2016. It took months to demolish this grand building, once the largest wood framed structure in the United States (as my regular readers know all too well.)
The grounds remain vacant, a former power plant (Gowdy Station) Tom also remembered in the distance. Now, only the geese work the property. I showed him a picture (not this picture) on my phone.
This is a reworking and updating of a post I first published in October of 2014.
I'm looking at 180 pages that try to spell out my neighborhood's future. As flooding becomes more and more of a threat each year, worldwide, due to changing climate, we all may face this one day. What is a neighborhood, anyway? A website defines neighborhood as follows:
The term neighborhood
has many meanings and uses. For example, neighborhood can be used to
refer to the small group of houses in the immediate vicinity of one's house
or to a larger area with similar housing types and market values. Neighborhood is
also used to describe an area surrounding a local institution patronized by
residents, such as a church, school, or social agency. It can also be defined
by a political ward or precinct. The concept of neighborhood includes both geographic
(place-oriented) and social (people-oriented) components.
On September 7 and 8, 2011, my neighborhood of Westover, near Johnson City, flooded due to two tropical storms just a few days apart, dropping a total of 13 inches of rain. The flood capped the rainiest summer on record.
Many houses were ruined and abandoned. In 2014, demolition began, finally, of once cherished houses that were now only rotting eyesores. By law, the land those houses sit on must remain undeveloped, or developed into something like a park or other green space.
In a meeting I attended in 2013, speakers explained that demolition, if not done right, can ruin a neighborhood. What will be left, after demolition, is some streets with only several occupied houses, and large gaps in between. Houses, and neighbors, become isolated. Ways are being discussed to mitigate that, because a neighborhood is more than just a collection of houses.
One thing I learned from the meeting is that there are ways to handle potential flood damage. Zoning laws where we live, for example, require businesses to have a certain number of parking spaces for cars. Those spaces are paved, and rain can not penetrate conventional paving. But there is something called permeable paving, which would allow the movement of storm water into the ground. (There was also discussion of the fact that zoning laws tend to require more parking spaces than are normally needed.)
A neighborhood must be in harmony with the natural world around it. Along
with the residences, there was damage to a building once occupied by
some 1200 workers, a building owned by the Air Force and rented to BAE
Systems, Inc. That building (actually several buildings joined
together) was some 600,000. square feet, one of the largest wood framed
building in the United States.
It awaited its fate after it was announced, in
November of 2011 that it could not be repaired. Without a definite
plan, my neighborhood will never be able to move forward into the
future. In 2016, demolition began, and now, it is complete. A few demolition workers remain, hauling in landfill and leveling the site. I expect it will be done by this spring. Then what? Of
course, those 1200 workers will never be returning to my neighborhood. Right now, they
are in buildings a few miles down the road, but BAE may decide to leave
our area all together. We need businesses to return. We need their tax
dollars. A neighborhood needs jobs.
The drawing even shows a farmers market. I
have mixed feelings about this plan. Would I, for example, want to live
in a place that, just five and a half years ago, was under several feet of water
for a couple of days, no matter how many flood control techniques are
used in its building? Not many of us get to plan the future of our neighborhood - a plan that, for us, must take climate change into account.
On the other hand, I fear that what will happen to the former BAE site is what happens to so many projects in New York State - lots of talk, but no action.
A neighborhood needs vision. But it also needs the implementation of the vision.
As I look over the large vacant area, I try to be optimistic about the future.
A little more than five years after the flood that ruined it, the building that was once the largest wood framed structure in the United States has met its fate. This structure, near to where I live in upstate New York, was once known as Air Force Plant 59.
Since the flood, the building has fascinated me. It was a fixture in my life for nearly 30 years. A landmark. I passed it every day. I called it the "BAE building", after its last tenant before the flood (BAE Industries).
It's been a building for all seasons since it was built as a military production plant in 1942. Winter...
May 5, 2014
Spring.
August 9, 2013
Summer.
October 18, 2013
And fall.
The Air Force still owns the property. But not the building.
October 23, 2016
It is rubble. It took nearly seven months to demolish.
Angle similar to the "fall" picture.
And now, the burning bushes that once were part of its landscaping turn red one more time, behind a fence. They, too, await their fate.
The final fate of the property still awaits announcement. But, my neighborhood just won't be the same without BAE.
Some people love to see demolition. But to me, the demolition of a building in our neighborhood bring me sadness. And, today extra sadness. The last time I wrote about the demolition of this building, a woman who came from this area commented on my post. Last night, I received word that she had passed away on Wednesday evening. I will blog more about her this weekend.
This vacant building and I have become friends, in a way, over the years, ever since it was flooded in September of 2011 due to Tropical Storm Lee. I pass it every day.
Since February, this building, one of the largest wood framed structures in the United States, has been undergoing demolition.
As of two days ago, this is what the remains of the building looks like. Most of it is gone.
Soon enough, it will all be gone, along with a little dream I once had.
I'd like to share a portion of an email I wrote to a friend in February of 2012 (yes, they were planning this demolition that long ago). At one time, I felt this site may have been a good one for a regional farmers market. But the market was built elsewhere, and opened earlier this summer.
Still, the thought of a farmers market in my neighborhood makes me wistful. I think it could have been built in a way that would have been compatible with being in a flood zone. It would have had good highway access and been right on a major bus line. And, there would have been plenty of parking (unlike the site that was ultimately chosen).
The neighbor I blog about below? Her house was foreclosed on. She had to move.
Yes, that flood had so many repercussions. We in my neighborhood still feel them today.
The email:
It
breaks my heart that this solid 70 year old building has to be torn down.
My neighbor (actually she lives two blocks from me) feels much the
same way. She has lived in my neighborhood all my life and told me the
building was even hit by a tornado once. Must have been before I
moved there in (mid 1980's) I was thinking - they have plans to
build a regional farmers market at Otsiningo Park, a park which has been
flooded to the point that it must be closed, at least 10-15 times (if not
more) since the 1980's? Where they will build it (near the former rest
stop on I-81) has not flooded but what is the use if no one can get to
it? [note, another site was eventually chosen] On the other hand, this beautiful brick
building has loading docks, bays for trucks, and is right on a major bus
line and is centrally located close to an exit off U.S. 17. And yes,
it would be blocked off in case of a flood warning but you know what, I
think the portable flood wall across Main Street has gone up four times (including
this last time) since 1987 and held up to the last time. A slightly
better record than Otsiningo Park. They can demolish the lower part of
the building, the part that really got flooded bad in September (the back
of the building) because they would need more parking than the site has
now. I'm close to blogging about it, not
that it would change anything. And who knows if it would even be
possible, given that the Air Force owns the building. And maybe it
would just be cheaper to tear it down. But then we'll have a big
vacant hole there for the next trillion years. It really is too bad.
I wrote the post below in September of 2011. It's so hard to believe that the flood that created the events of that post are almost five years behind us now.
Yesterday morning, I woke up to the sounds of a thunderstorm and a heavy downpour. I welcome the rain, so needed in our drought.
But my heart still does not soar when it rains.
I have a feeling it never will.
Demolition activity in my neighborhood continues. More photos of the demolition of a historic factory building will come tomorrow.
It's Raining It's Pouring And My Heart is Not Soaring
A few minutes ago I got out of my evening bath, dried off, and prepared to sit in front of my computer to blog.
Then I heard this sound.
There are a lot of sounds around here nowadays. There are the backup
beeps of heavy equipment, going day and night (24/7) at the BAE Industries plant, thanks to the flood recovery contractors. There's the
sound of garbage trucks coming around to pick up flood debris (using
back end loaders and dump trucks.) There are the contractors, coming
around to give estimates for damage repair or new furnaces. For a while
there were the scavengers, hoping to wrestle scrap metal or scrap
something to sell out of a pile of someone's 30 years worth of soggy
memories. Thankfully the last has mainly stopped, due to the garbage
pickups.
But there is one sound in the neighborhood that we all dread.
It's the sound of rain.
There was just a burst of rain. Heavy, pouring rain. It stopped a few
minutes after it started. But more rain is in the forecast for
tomorrow, Saturday and Sunday. They say maybe 1 1/2 inches of rain by
Monday. But they could be wrong. And I'm thinking, and I know my
neighbors are thinking: will it be like two weeks ago? Will the
basement we just paid Servpro good money to steam clean and dehumidify
in an effort to keep our first floor living room floor from warping
further overwhelm our new dehumidifier?
I used to love the sound of rain. Even after the flood of 2006 that
affected parts of this area I still (after a while) fell back in love
with its sound.
I don't know if I'll ever like that sound again.
If it
starts to rain again, my heart will not be soaring. It will be in the
pit of my stomach.
Instead of looking up in the sky, I am directing my gaze today to a building in my neighborhood known officially as Air Force Plant 59. When first built in 1942, near Johnson City, New York, it was one of the largest (if not the largest) wood framed structures in the United States.
Rendered unusable by flooding caused by Tropical Storm Lee on September 8, 2011, it is in the process of being demolished. Its last tenant was BAE Systems, and it is called the "BAE" building, or even the "GE" building (a tenant of many years) by locals.
In early August of 2013, I took this picture of the moon over the former BAE building. (It's the white dot between the two trees).
Now, much of the building is gone, but the wildflowers on the property are doing quite well because no one is mowing what used to be the lawn anymore. Probably little need, with the drought we are in.
Chicory, its blue so comforting, grows here and there.
Queen Anne's Lace is flourishing everywhere.
In the shade, earlier this month, catmint bloomed.
There is a tall thistle plant near this catmint, but in the sun.
There's something in all of us, I think, that enjoys watching a building being demolished.
A landmark building is being demolished not far from where I live. People visiting me always remark about the demolition in progress. It's going to be in progress, perhaps, for perhaps three months more (including cleanup of all the debris and the land replanted in grass.)
It seems I've blogged so many times about Air Force Plant 59, built during World War II, whose last tenant, BAE Systems, left in advance of raising flood waters on September 8, 2011. The building had stood, vacant, ever since.
The BAE building (some locals still call it the "GE Building", a tenant for many years), on September 10 2011, as the flood waters were already receding, is shown in this video.
As my neighborhood walked the trail of recovery, this building stood patiently, as a disaster recovery tried to salvage it. After almost two months of effort, it was decided (in November of 2011) that it was not salvageable.
On May 7, Bradford Pears bloomed in front of the building for perhaps the last time (as of today, they are still there).
May 12.
On June 6, everything looked so green from this angle. But, in back, the building was being torn up from the direction not facing the public.
The skies were so beautiful on June 21, as summer began (the smokestack to the left is not part of the building).
Goodbye to what was once executive parking, I believe
Then, on June 23, we saw part of the building collapsing into itself in controlled demolition. I haven't witnessed this demolition personally, since I work during the hours when this demolition takes place. But, perhaps it surprises me that so many people love to watch a building being demolished. Almost everyone you see walking along Main Street, where this building is, stops to stare.
There are some videos on You Tube. One (not this one) even has such dramatic music it's - well, it's an experience.
Taken on July 4 - no demolition due to the holiday
As of this morning, piles of rubble replace more and more of the building.
Fields of Debris
Any historic building meeting its end saddens me. So much was built in this factory. Airplane engines during World War II, hybrid buses and other projects more recently.
Over 1,300 people worked here (they've moved a few miles down the road, but BAE only committed to five years - and, later this year, that time will expire.)
And, no one knows for sure what will replace the old Air Force Plant 59. The future of this plot of land may well be the future of any neighborhood that floods. There is technology out there - green roofs, parking lot materials that allow water to penetrate and not collect. This land can be used. We can co exist with flooding.
One plan is for a solar power plant. Another plan is for multi use, and that is what I am hoping for. Imagine if they even included plans for senior living. Buildings can be built to co exist with flooding. People are already trying to figure out how to co exist with hurricanes, and that is not a problem where I live.
We MUST learn to live with floods. With climate change, we have no choice. But it's almost like we've lost our will to try anything new.
In October of 2011, over a month after a historic flood hit much of
the part of New York State where I live, I wrote this email to a
friend.
As my regular readers know, my neighborhood of Westover, near Johnson City, New York, was one of many neighborhoods impacted by a massive flood caused by a record year of rain, capped by two tropical storms in a couple of weeks time - Irene, and then Lee. Meanwhile, this past week, Houston has also been hit by historic flooding. I want to tell the people there "it will be a hard road, but you will recover."
This email is intensely personal to me, but I wanted to share it with
you for "T" day in the Blogging from A to Z Challenge. My theme, after all, is "Days of Our Lives".
"There was a thick fog this morning, and
I took a walk through some of my Westover neighborhood. The lights
of the BAE restoration diffused into the fog and dimly lit our neighborhood.
For the first 2 1/2 blocks, everything was normal. These houses have
electricity. Halloween decorations glowed in the dark, orange and
green. And then I hit The Other Side. Turning onto Main Street,
I peered down the streets of the other half of my neighborhood. Dark,
with few cars parked on the streets, no decorations glowed there. No
one was home. No one has been home since September 8, 2011. Only
the thick fog keeps me company.
I didn't look to my left, towards the
Johnson City Y. It is still closed. It was flooded, and reopened,
but then, last Saturday, a fire hit. Right now the estimated reopening
date is November 4.
On the BAE side of Main Street, restoration
employees arrive to begin their daily shift. The crowds of day workers
who did the initial muck-out and waited in lines on Main Street to check
in at a tent are gone, and the relative silence is eerie. There is
still a lot of equipment there, tents, and people smoking cigarettes before
their shift begins. Here, the lights glow almost like day through
the fog.
The future itself of BAE is in doubt,
but they continue to clean up the property in the meantime.
I walked on Main Street along the BAE
property. On the other side of Main Street, the flooded side, Westover
Plaza, stands empty. Lights glow in only one store, an Aldi, which
has been totally remodeled. They are moving groceries into the building
and I expect their reopening will be announced soon.
I stood at the fence in front of the
front entrance of BAE, and a song from the 80's popped into my head. I
don't know why, because this is not how I usually behave, but I suddenly
sang out the song in my mind. It was a Simple Minds song called
"All The Things She Said": (I probably shouldn't be quoting this
without permission but, in the Year of the Flood, I take this liberty)
These may not be the exact words but this is what I sang in the fog: "She said, this is the time She said, this is the place She said, this is the place* my heart
wants to be" And then I started my day."
Here is the music video, if you are interested. My neighborhood is somewhat restored, with the vacant, flood ruined houses (mostly) demolished. And it's still the place my heart wants to be.
Over a thousand bloggers are blogging daily throughout the month
of April (except on Sundays), starting with A and devoting each
consecutive day to another day of the alphabet.
Today, D stands for a building that has been in my life for almost the last thirty years. During that time it was occupied by General Electric, Martin-Marietta, Lockheed-Martin and most recently, BAE Systems.
Since November of 2011, the lonely building has been awaiting its demolition, ruined in a flood (along with parts of my neighborhood) on September 8, 2011. That November, it was determined the damage to it was too extensive.
February, 2016
Despite the destruction, beauty surrounded it in the winter.
May 7, 2015
Beauty surrounded it in the spring, too, when the Bradford Pears bloomed.
August 2013
The moon would set over more of those pear trees (see white spec between the two trees).
October, 2014 - A Small Part of the Complex
It was one of the largest wood framed structures in the United States when it was built in 1942 - over 600,000 square feet.
February 27, 2016
And now, it is finally being torn down. The entire demolition and destruction will take several months. After that, we don't know what will happen.
Foggy morning March 17, 2016 - this part was torn down later that day
This former defense plant has lain vacant since February 28, 2012, when the last of its employees left. When the 2011 flood hit this building, along with much of my neighborhood (Westover) near Johnson City, New York, BAE helped with the recovery effort. We owe a lot to their employees. (You are welcome to read my posts from September/October 2011 to learn more.)
At the time of the flood, some 3800 people worked in this building. In a couple of years, they may not have jobs at all.
There is something about seeing heavy equipment at work. These in the February 27 picture are called "300 class excavators". The excavators reach into the structure to remove wood beams and columns. In a controlled process, the building collapses. Because there is a creek nearby, and because it is in a residential neighborhood in Westover, near Johnson City, the process must be carefully controlled.
I have taken so many pictures of this building since the flood. I will miss it, in many ways, when it is completely gone.
But sometimes, we must destroy in order to renew.
For the Blogging from A to Z Challenge, and the former BAE building, this is D-Day.
For so many years, I have blogged about an abandoned defense plant in my neighborhood. It has lain vacant since September 8, 2011, when floods ruined this historic building. Officially known as Air Force Plant 59, it was one of the biggest, if not the biggest, wood framed building in the United States when it was built in 1942.
Several days ago, I took a picture. It may be one of the last ones taken with snow on the ground. Gaze upon it well.
Because, Friday, the demolition of this 600,000 plus square foot building begun, after several months of preparation.
I am going to dread the demolition in some ways.
Many years ago, I lived in a neighborhood of Tampa, Florida called Hyde Park. When I lived there, it wasn't one ofTampa's premier neighborhoods. Over some 42 years, that has changed.
Shortly after I moved to Hyde Park, as a newlywed (it was what we could afford), buildings vacant for years were torn down to start construction of the Lee Roy Selmon Expressway, known locally as the "Crosstown". Out of those vacant buildings, as demolition proceeded, came roaches. And rats.
Lots and lots of roaches and rats.
I wonder what we in BAE's neighborhood are in for.
And, in a way, my heart breaks for this historic old building. It deserved better.
But all I can do, at this point, is watch. And document the demolition. And hope that the asbestos abatement was done well, because there is plenty of asbestos in that old building.
I can only hope that good comes out of this. At least, it gave me a possible topic for "D" day at the Blogging from A to Z Challenge.
