Lots and Lots of fun with Lots!!!

So it's done! Jason, Leigh and Kaia's great adventure has found an exciting new destination....a little scrap of red earth nestled between the shadows of Daisy Mountain and Pyramid Peak. It's only 300 feet wide by 165 feet deep, but the potential is limitless. The views seem infinite and if you stop and listen, reach out with your entire body you can feel the earth moving under your feet. The only noises come from the rustling deer grasses stirred by the constant wind that gently sweeps the valley. A great big old windmill turns its lopsided blades embracing the power of the rushing air.

Sometimes I feel haunted by the visions of structures rising out of the ground. Spaces that overwhelm the senses or comfort the spirit. My mind is consumed with the possibilities of a challenging site, unique materials and a set of requirements that only I can envisage a solution for. It’s like living in another universe that only I can see, and when I try to communicate the beauty of the revelation I’ve experienced I am unable to convey the possibilities. This is the consciousness of an architect; one who spends most of his time dwelling on the realm of possibility and fighting the unenlightened to accomplish that dream. I have experienced the realization of these concepts. When you know where every stick of lumber belongs before it’s placed; the required installation of every fastener has been memorized; the feel and texture of finishes are known even before they’ve been ordered. It’s like dejavu or walking through a lucid dreamscape. The subconscious mind has already encountered this reality endless times.

"The mother art is architecture. Without an architecture of our own we have no soul of our own civilization.

Organic architecture seeks superior sense of use and a finer sense of comfort, expressed in organic simplicity.

Buildings, too, are children of Earth and Sun"

Frank Lloyd Wright

It is everywhere, it is all around us. Even now, in this very room. You can see it when you look out your window, or when you turn on your television. You can feel it when you go to work, or when go to church or when you pay your taxes. It is the world that has been pulled over your eyes to blind you from the truth.

What truth?

That you are a slave. Like everyone else, you were born into bondage, born inside a prison that you cannot smell, taste, or touch. A prison for your mind. Unfortunately, no one can be told what it is. You have to see it for yourself. This is your last chance. After this, there is no turning back.

You take the blue pill and the story ends. You wake in your bed and believe whatever you want to believe. You take the red pill and you stay in Wonderland and I show you how deep the rabbit-hole goes. Remember -- all I am offering is the truth, nothing more.

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Well everyone….I just took the red pill. Leigh and I made an offer on a one acre parcel of dirt in the foothills north of Phoenix. It was a frustrating process, sorting through the deceptive listings, researching county records and flood maps, trying to realize the vision of my family enjoying a home I designed on this land.

This sprawling metropolis we call the Valley of the Sun was once a city of another sort. The ancient Hohokam Indians once populated this valley in a thriving city of 400,000 people. They learned to live in harmony with nature, moving water through hundreds of miles of canals to irrigate the arid environment. The Native Americans did not believe man could own the land; it was part of the circle of life and should be respected.

So here I am, hundreds of years later, hoping some title company will deem this parcel worthy of my borrowed money, allowing me to indulge in a fantasy few even know exist: building one’s own home, with the freedom to express and break convention. And not just for the sake of appearance, or status, but to look back into the reflections of a culture whose footsteps still lie faintly on these desert sands, paying homage to their hardships and lessons learned over generations. The contractors, design review boards, lending companies, realtors, and accepted standards have no say in what happens here.

I’m searching for the truth, where everything has a purpose and intent; people, actions, objects, and our domain. As the process continues, I will record the progress, the principles of the design, and my reflections here.

Where Will Our Children Live...

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A lonesome warrior stands in fear of what the future brings,

he will never hear the beating drums or the songs his brothers sing.

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Our many nations once stood tall and ranged from shore to shore

but most are gone and few remain and the buffalo roam no more.

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We shared our food and our land and gave with open hearts,

We wanted peace and love and hope, but all were torn apart.

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All this was taken because we did not know what the white man had in store,

They killed our people and raped our lands and the buffalo roam no more.

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But those of us who still remain hold our heads up high,

and the spirits of the elders flow through us as if they never died.

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Our dreams will live on forever and our nations will be reborn,

our bone and beads and feathers all will be proudly worn.

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If you listen close you will hear the drums and songs upon the winds,

and inthe distance you will see....the buffalo roam again.

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Tommy Flamewalker Manasco

A Year at Taliesin

I have lived in Arizona for 20 years. When I was 12 years old my parents took me to the Scottsdale Center for the Arts to view an exhibit on Frank Lloyd Wright. I was so infatuated with the visions and ideas before me I stayed until the museum closed, letting my imagination indulge in the fantastic environment presented by the drawings and photographs. From that moment on I knew my calling in life was architecture. Since Mr. Wright was my first introduction to this form of art, philosophy and the built environment I placed his work on a pedestal. When I was informed a few years later about the Frank Lloyd Wright School of Architecture, I knew what my path to the profession of architecture would be. During my studies through high school and undergrad, I kept a close eye on the school, making regular visits to the campus at Taliesin West. I was enamored with the balance of experiential learning and communal living all encompassed in one of Mr. Wrights most ambition works.

During the spring of 2003 I decided the time was finally right to chase after this dream. I had studied architecture as a student at local community colleges as well as Arizona State University. I had 6 years worth of experience working for different architects. Now I would put myself to the test. I applied in May, 2003 and was finally granted an interview in March of 2004. This was a long tedious process, but with the prospect of attending a world renowned innovative architecture college as the outcome, I persevered. During my three day immersive interview as a prospective apprentice, I engaged in all manners of community life, sat in on lectures, attended a filed trip, and participated in studio discussions. Multiple interviews were conducted with the administration (John Wyatt, Jay Pace, and James Scalise) who I came to respect. It was made clear that should I feel I could benefit from the program, I was welcome to join the apprentice population in the fall. The administration admitted me into the Masters of Architecture program under a provision that allowed applicants with exceptional experience to achieve the professional degree without an undergrad degree. That day was April 1st, 2004.

I now had less than six months to make the transition from a full time project manager at a Phoenix based firm, husband, and home owner to a minimal life as a full-time student, numerous community responsibilities, and no income. Only ten days after being accepted into the school, I learned through a newspaper article that many changes were underway at the School. The Frank Lloyd Wright Foundation CEO was asked to leave, multiple faculty members had resigned, and apprentice enrolment eventually plummeted to almost a third of what I had experienced while interviewing.

I contacted the administration, who had also lost staff, and asked what my standing at the school was. They assured me everything would be maintained and I should continue planning on a fall arrival date.

Eventually I bid farewell to my workmates of 6 years, sold my first house, and migrated across town to live and work under the legacy of Frank Lloyd Wright. The married housing provided to my wife and I was in a sorry state of disrepair. Nearly twenty years of remodeling and experimenting by dozens of tenants had left it inhabitable. I made a proposal to the Director of Facilities outlining a budget, time schedule and design concept. After some review it was accepted, allowing for reimbursement of the modest budget; my labor was donated. My first goal was to demolish the interior of the apartment, turning it into a clean slate. It was a great learning experience for me, giving hands on training in electrical, plumbing, framing, drywall, and finish carpentry. When the dust cleared I had created a small oasis of Mid-century modernism within the confines of the 60+ year old organic masterpiece.

While dividing my time between school studies, community work lists, and the construction projects, I received numerous visits from remaining and outgoing apprentices. I received similar warnings from all about the instability of the current administration. I believed the advice didn’t apply to me as I was making a fresh entry and tried to look at the positives. At every step in the education process new ground was being made, replacing departed faculty and developing a new curriculum. Lacking a Dean of Architecture and other core faculty members, the apprentices definitely felt the strain on the school. Eventually news of an unscheduled visit from the Higher Learning Commission rippled through the school. Pressure was placed on the apprentices to document the programs they were enrolled in and shore up the future of the school. After days of interviews, reviews and meetings, the HLC determined there were fundamental deficiencies in the school’s ability to meet the Commision standards.

This eventually led to the exodus of more apprentices and personnel changes in the Frank Lloyd Wright Foundation. I began to personally question my future at the school when my advisors and other faculty members began backtracking on the agreement to allow me to earn a Master’s Degree, although all of my mentors and instructors consistently stated that I was performing at the M. Arch level.

During the summer of 2005 my wife gave birth to our first child. It was a magical time for us and dozens of visiting family members to welcome a new member to our family and the Taliesin Community. Unfortunately certain persons involved with the Senior Fellowship took advantage of my temporary absence from the community and destroyed a large metal sculpture I had been working on for nearly six months. No written notice, or even verbal warning was given regarding the destruction of my personal expression and hard work. I immediately contacted advisors and faculty members at both campuses (Spring Green & Scottsdale). A large event in Spring Green, Wisconsin prevented a quick response and lack of faculty in Arizona left me with no options for recourse. I had personal property stolen from my studio space, and eventually my computer was illegally accessed by another apprentice and multiple files stolen. All of these grievances went unanswered by the administration, amongst mine and other apprentices concern for the quality of our education. Eventually during one of my reviews when I asked that the matter of my enrollment in the Master of Architecture program be addressed, the faculty was unable to provide me with a decisive indication of my specific status in the program. With a young family, finances and future of my career at the hands of an under qualified, under staffed, wavering institution whose standards were now under investigation by the accrediting board, I reluctantly withdrew from the Frank Lloyd Wright School of Architecture. Was this the culmination of nearly half a life’s admiration of a great man’s work? Probably the most disappointing aspect of my time as an Apprentice at the Frank Lloyd Wright School of Architecture is that I knew the school had potential for greatness. I had seen it evolve over the years, and experienced it first-hand while interviewing. Most alumni and other associates of the school would probably admit that the school was at its pinnacle under the direction of John Wyatt, Jay Pace and Jim Scalise, excluding of course when Mr. Wright was alive.

When asked weather I regret the year I spent at the unconventional architecture school, I honestly can’t say that I do. I grew as a person, my breadth of knowledge was expanded exponentially, I met many interesting people, and I lived and worked in one of Frank Lloyd Wright’s masterworks. I just give very little credit to the school for my accomplishments over that year. The environment and circumstances enabled me to develop, not the school itself. Although that is precisely the philosophy of the Frank Lloyd Wright School of Architecture, the organization as it exists now hiders that exploration more than encourages it.

Where do I Belong?

This has been an interesting summer for me. I’ve become a father, I transitioned from one of the new apprentices to one of the senior apprentices, and I’ve taken one step closer to becoming a registered architect. I read the Whirling Arrow (FLLW newsletter) and see all the activities I’ve missed out on while staying at Taliesin West, but then again, I had the privilege of witnessing the birth of my daughter and first ten weeks of her life. While the campus in Scottsdale is a bit quiet, I’ve been able to focus on my school work without some of the other distractions associated with college life. Speaking of college life, it seems to have always eluded me, or maybe I’ve eluded it. It’s never really appealed to me, the idea of hitting the bar scene, or doing the weekend party hopping. I don’t think I’ve pulled an all-nighter since high-school, and I never had to live in a dorm. But at the same time, I feel I’ve missed out on some of the camaraderie that goes along with the collegiate atmosphere. After all, I’m 27 years old, married and now a father. I’ve made half a decade’s worth of mortgage payments, twice that much time working full time, most of it in the architectural field, and qualify to sit for the Arizona Board of Technical Registration for Architecture; not a typical load of baggage for a college student. I feel this pull to fulfill so many roles. Am I the fun loving architecture student who hangs out in the studio until all hours of the night? Do I get up early to take care of the baby so Leigh gets a couple extra hours of much needed sleep? How much longer can I sit on the sidelines doing fictitious projects, when I’m so anxious to get out into the profession and prove myself? I just have to keep reminding myself, I’m still young and have a long life ahead of me to accomplish my growing list of goals. Maybe I’ll get around to that ‘round the world sailboat trip when I hit 100!

Traditions

Tonight everyone gathered at Evansville’s social nucleus: Hacienda. I always joke that every time we visit there is always a meeting of friends and family at this crossroad of Mexican culinary delight and Midwest family values. And every meeting is concluded with the traditional sharing of the Mud Slide. This is an ongoing challenge where a steaming skillet of chocolate chip cookie, ice cream, and hot fudge is presented to the bevy of diners, spoons (and sometimes forks) poised to shovel the tasty concoction into their mouths. As if defending foreign soil, utensils clash and froth flies, all in the name of good old fashioned sibling rivalry. The Ritchie kids, all five of them, have been raised in the competitive environment that is a side effect of granting each individual only a 20% stake in the family direction. Sometimes alliances are forged and decisions come easy, while at other times it’s every person for themselves. You’d think these feelings of self preservation would have eased as each of the kids reached adulthood, but the rivalry simply found new outlets over the years.

It’s fun to participate in these inconsequential contests, but soon I realized most are rooted in long family traditions. The mud slide is a great example of this. There are so many family traditions that invoke the spirited combat, but always draw the family closer as well. This idea is so important to a family, and the more members there are to enjoy it, the richer the experience. Here are just a few practiced by the Ritchies:
Tippy Canoe
The heart of the Christmas tree
The “pants”
Donks
Bonfires
Mud Slides
Last touch
Cynthiana stop sign
Washington Airport Weenie Roasts
All night Risk tournaments
Dog Piles
Go to heck

Go to Heck

Go to Heck

If you’ve never played this game before, you’ve got to try it. Gather a bunch of friends or family. Groups of 4 or more offer more excitement. Then find a deck of cards, a piece of paper and pencil, elect someone to keep score and deal out the cards. This morning, the house was left to the kids (eight + Kaia in all) and it was surprisingly quiet. After a late night round of spirited Monopoly, it seems the gaming carnage had died down after a good night’s sleep. So the suggestion for a round of go to heck was made with the hopes it would heat things up. Only five (all the guys) answered the call to play this spiteful card game, and sure enough, before long losers were complaining and victors were grinning. It seems the two weeks of college has already made a difference as Bobby ran away with the game, nearly achieving a perfect score.

I also had the urge to do a little washing up. The Jeep had been accumulating months of desert dust. It usually gets the warm clean comforts of a garage, but since moving to T. West it has to make do under a shielded canopy. This in combination with the long trip behind the motorhome had enveloped its usually happy disposition under a fine grey mist. So I replaced the top, and gave my big blue friend a good soaking, sudsing and thorough drying, revealing the deep steel blue sheen that first caught my attention when I bought it new.

Next I moved onto my other all-terrain buddy, J.P. He had gone through some pretty rough terrain and undergrowth on the previous day’s hike, so I needed scrub him down before I let him back into the RV. So I got him all soapy too and gave him a good bath. He loved it and didn’t smell as much like a stinky dog anymore.

With everyone feeling so fresh and so clean, we repacked the motorhome for our next leg east, towards Grams house. Craig rode along to get home early and the travelers were off. I was first to spot the arch, and four hours later we rolled onto Rita’s street at dusk. Everyone was happy to see Grandma Ritchie and we made ourselves at home in no time. I’ve got a magic bed with my name on it, so that’s it for today. G’Nite!

Journeys

Is it really the journey or the destination?

Today I woke up early determined to try my second geocache. I read a description of some of the local offerings, consulted with Bob and the flight charts of the local area, took the top off the dusty Jeep, and gathered anyone willing to go for a little adventure. We ended up with six adults and JP ready to take on the expedition. We looked for a good place to start from the roads, but never managed to get more than 2.5 miles to the target. We looked at the bearing and terrain and decided it was a great day for a hike. So we headed into the woods on this warm Labor day weekend. As the terrain changed and the temperature climbed slightly, about 1 mile in we lost our first traveler, Aunt Ree who was prepared to make camp along the trail and wait for the rest of us to complete the task. We crossed the Little Lost Creek and used this as our guide towards the objective. Another mile and a half and we were in deep forest. A very large hill was before us with another half a mile to go. Billy and Tiffany stayed put while Craig, Bob myself and of course JP forged onward up the very steep hillside. At the top we stayed on the ridge and crossed a clearing with less than a 1000 feet to our destination. Continuing on, now down the other side of the hill, the number steadily decreased until we had reached the zero point marker. Now it was a mater a finding the very well hidden clear plastic container. The footing was very loose and steep and keeping upright was a challenge. About fifteen minutes of overturning rock piles and scouring the earth and spirits were low. I think each one of us felt as if we’d been defeated after such a long hard hike without a sign of the cache. Then as Bob traversed the slope 30 ft downhill from Craig and I, he yelled out “I found it!” We scurried down to look at the very well camouflaged container sheltered against a rock outcropping, and about 90% covered by rocks and vegetation. You have to understand we were in the middle of absolute nowhere, and if we didn’t have the GPS coordinates and the determination to not come back empty handed there would have been no way of finding this site. So with renewed energy and excitement we all peered into the small container sifting through the meaningless contents; a ’57 Chevy Hotwheels, glow in the dark fish, ying yang sign, keychain, golf multi-tool, used lottery ticket, and of course the log book with many signatures and comments from previous cachers. I had pulled a little rubber bouncy ball with a miniature $100 bill from Bobby’s room and now placed it in the container. I signed the guestbook and we replaced the container after removing one small insignificant item; a Dekalb County Police rubber keychain. It was totally fulfilling to have found this place, after so much hard work. Anyone who has experienced a geocache knows it’s absolutely not about what’s inside but the path that takes you hear. We ended up hiking over six miles, barely finding Tiff and Billy on our way back, running through some torturous burning needle plant, nearly running out of water, and just plain wearing ourselves out all for a worthless little trinket? But we DID IT! That’s what was really important.

This really is a perfect example of a lesson I learned about a couple of months ago. Kaia came to us in a very unique and special way. She was perfectly healthy and a very happy baby, but the pregnancy, labor and birthing process was quite a journey for Leigh, myself, and those closest to us. Our daughter is the most important person in our lives and we feel the way we choose to welcome her into this period of her existence is extremely important. What we did learn is that maybe she chooses her path in order to teach us about ourselves. There was so much magic that night and although trivial, this little adventure of ours today is another example how the journey itself often holds more value than the final destination.