SANDRA KOCHAN | at Re:Imagine, 30 August 2007
Okanagan Vernacular: Function, Not Form?
As I write this, the outdoor temperature is soaring into the high 30s and my thoughts about vernacular architecture are in search of cool relief. I let my mind wander through the deeply shaded arcades of the Mediterranean. I reminisce about the humble verandas and beach cabins of childhood summers, plywood floors decorated with a seasonal detritus of sunflower seeds, comic books and damp beach towels.
Vernacular architecture is sometimes called 'architecture without an architect' but what's really at the heart of the vernacular, be it language, food or buildings, is local authenticity. Raw materials are sourced close by and assembled using artisanal skills. Local knowledge informs the whole process. The end results express a sense of place.
First nations people were and are masters of the vernacular, creating both seasonal and permanent dwellings from easily accessible materials. In our area, this includes the kekuli, an earthen pit house used as a winter dwelling by the Okanagan and Shuswap people. You can view a kekuli reconstruction on the main floor of the Okanagan Heritage Museum in Kelowna.
Later examples from early days of contact and settlement are numerous. Barns, log cabins, outhouses, pickers' cabins, treehouses, sheds and boathouses are all vernacular buildings, created from humble materials to meet a specific need. Dwellings and outbuildings at the Father Pandosy Mission site, and tobacco barns on agricultural land southeast of Kelowna's city centre are surviving testament to sound building materials and practices which have stood the test of time for a century or more.
These buildings are not, however, generally classified as 'architecture' and are probably better recognized by function than by any particular form. For this reason, it's unlikely that you will ever come across a Tudor Revival Outhouse. It's more likely to be called 'that fancy outhouse at Joe's place.' And one last thing: a vernacular building rarely involves the professional services of architects, contractors or decorators ... or at least, not until the advent of design magazines and reality television.
As Kelowna grew and prospered, vernacular architecture assumed both urban and rural forms. The Kelowna Heritage Foundation's website lists an inventory of over 200 buildings, with dozens of homes built from about 1905 to 1945 described as cottage vernacular, pioneer vernacular, or rural vernacular. There is a wide range of size, form, materials and decoration in this group, but to my untrained eye, the one shared trait is a certain modesty and simplicity. These are not glamorous condos assuming the guise of boathouses. They are what they are: a contained space, created with a particular function or a particular family in mind. They are, if you will, the built equivalent of someone in sensible shoes, with a promising twinkle-in-the-eye of a backstory waiting to be told.
This brings me back to my original musings. If we were to re-interpret Okanagan vernacular in a contemporary setting, what would that look like? I'm not sure that any one building or feature can provide an adequate expression of 'local' just as I am equally challenged to define 'Canadian cuisine.' That's part of diversity's beautiful conundrum. But it is possible to graze from a smorgasbord of features and elements which lend authenticity. Think of it as creating spaces and places with a backstory, one far more engaging than the tale of how much was spent to create it.
From humble beginnings: rammed earth walls (there is a splendid example at the Nk'Mip Desert Cultural Centre in Osoyoos, another model project by the Osoyoos Indian Band), beetle stained pine wood, straw bale construction (could this be our version of adobe?), salvaged or recycled materials, and restored or refitted older buildings all have unique stories to tell.
Meet your neighbours: front doors, windows, verandas, porches, patios, gardens, pathways and gates are all ways for a house to show a hospitable face which says a friendly 'hello' to the street. They are also opportunities for homeowners to express their individuality and personality. A big driveway and closed double garage door at the front, with the house attached like an afterthought at the back, says 'Cars welcome. People not so much.'
Sensible shoes leave a sensible footprint: the Okanagan climate staggers from crazy summer heat to soul-numbing winter grey with the occasional extreme weather event thrown in for good measure. We need to keep cool, but in other seasons we also need to get cozy. It's easier (and more energy efficient) to achieve both in houses with a smaller footprint. Our passion for extended season outdoor living is best accommodated by sheltered outdoor areas such as patios and courtyards, which, as luck would have it, could easily occupy space now taken up by water-sucking lawns and cedar hedges.
Real places for real people: let's name our streets and important buildings after people or animals or plants that have some local significance. Let's move beyond the obvious apple and grape varieties and learn a bit more about our natural and human history. Let's make room for First Nations stories too, with bilingual signage or place names from their local lore and legends.
Alain de Botton, in The Architecture of Happiness, cites John Ruskin in proposing that 'we seek two things of our buildings. We want them to shelter us. And we want them to speak to us‹to speak to us of whatever we find important and need to be reminded of.' Vernacular architecture reminds us that who we are is shaped by where and how we live even though we may believe it is the other way around. It's a homely truth, but it's the truth just the same.
Copyright © 2007 Sandra Kochan. All rights reserved.
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