Tag Archives: development

Going on tour

July 12, 2014

D:hive, a downtown welcome center assisting visitors and residents in finding what they’re looking for in Detroit, offers walking tours a couple times a week now through their new Detroit Experience Factory venture. I’d been meaning to go on one for years, so with a sunny day off and the sudden remembrance that these tours exist, off I went. Our guide this Saturday was Shawn, a funny, hyperbolic guy who noted that he was “in the zone” today as we set off, underscoring that with the claim that if he doesn’t know the answer to a question, he is happy to lie so well that you’ll never know it was a lie. It was oddly reassuring. Among other skills, it became clear that Shawn was very adept at walking backwards, seemingly necessary for pedestrian tour guides.

We hardly spoke during the tour, save to ask an occasional question, mostly letting Shawn soak our brains in trivia. There was a group of three German tourists, a pair of guys who didn’t say much but smiled often, a man and a woman who seemed to have come by themselves, and me. The loners turned out to be really great, a PhD candidate from London doing field work on the prevalence of guided tours for her dissertation on the revitalization and rebranding of downtown and Midtown, and a cool Midtown resident who drives for Uber and is studying up to become a tour guide himself. Shawn said that size of group was normal for a Saturday tour, though sometimes as many as 25 or so will attend.

Diversity of summery footwear.

Diversity of summery footwear.

We made it 353 feet down Woodward before Dan Gilbert’s name came up. Wondering how that narrative was going to play out, I was relieved when our guide mentioned that “though the long-term consequence of Dan Gilbert is debatable, in the meantime we welcome him,” offering out-of-towners a balanced view without the excessive cheerleading I’d suspect a place like d:hive of fostering. We spent a lot of time standing at pedestrian crossings, stillness being the only way to get enough earshot to convey information.

With a sandbox so grand, Quicken security detail probably has a dedicated cat division.

With a sandbox so grand, Quicken security detail probably has a dedicated cat division.

In Campus Martius, we sat for a while on benches, learning about its blacktop-infused demise and reinstatement as a public park in 2001, when it received a 20 million dollar overhaul for Detroit’s 300th birthday. As workers excavated the park, they stumbled upon Detroit’s official point of origin buried under the asphalt, which today was again half-covered by a sandwich board advertising the Fountain Bistro’s menu. I couldn’t help but admire how snazzy downtown’s parks were looking. Campus Martius, with its simulated beach and lavish fountains, almost (but never really) made up for the lack of adequate parks elsewhere in the city.

Shawn was darting effortlessly between past and present histories, gesticulating at things with a small segment of plastic straw he was carrying. I’d forgotten how much of history is shaped by military forces and felt a twinge of disappointment, though all battle lore was tempered with good humor, like poking fun Augustus Woodward’s thing for Roman culture.

Outside the Yamasaki building at one Woodward, where we stopped to do some distance-looking in the direction of the Spirit of Detroit sculpture across the street, Shawn informed us that we were next to another Dan Gilbert property — “You can tell by the piped-in music and the eyes in the sky!” The Renaissance Center sat blinking dumbly from the comfort of its own zip code, apparently the tallest building between New York and Chicago. Nearby, “the fist,” Shawn sighed, “is misunderstood.” I’m still nonplussed by it, but doubt that ongoing misunderstanding is attributable to Shawn.

At some point I noticed that one woman was periodically jotting things in a nice green notebook. “Good idea,” I said to her in the quiet of the Guardian building, which Shawn told us is due to noise-cancelling horsehair behind the sneaky painted canvas. Instead I took notes on my phone, which resulted in minimally coherent jibberish like “snuggles across point of origin” and “puppies in music” and “40 years of disinfectant.” Everybody else kind of looked at me like, ‘why is she constantly texting and not even looking at the pretty buildings what a waste,’ or however German idiom would shape that notion.

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Who knew that the Guardian building, with its individually-dyed bricks and marble from a defunct mine in Africa that was specially re-opened for the project, was completed in just seven months? “There’s a McDonald’s in my neighborhood that’s taken almost a year to build,” Shawn added glibly for perspective. As we crossed Michigan, Shawn indicated with his plastic straw some brightly colored chairs on the sidewalk. “More of that placemaking stuff.”

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By the time we got around to Capitol Park, the Germans had reverted to German and were talking about Chicago. There was a lovely diversity of pigeons that, like all signs of nature, went unmentioned. As we walked up Griswold, Shawn said, “That one’s a Dan Gilbert acquisition” about a million times, evidently the current heaviest layer of history on many of these old buildings. Just when I thought there couldn’t possibly be more and that he should probably take a break and have some water, he said, “Also coming up here on the left is another one.”

Outside the Albert, which is really "exciting" because it was built without subsidies -- commanding a high enough rental rate to justify kicking out all those seniors.

Outside the Albert, which is really “exciting” because it was built without subsidies — commanding a high enough rental rate to justify kicking out all those seniors.

Stevens T. Mason may have been the youngest governor ever, but that youthful invincibility doesn't make his effigy's head impervious to a spattering of bird poop.

Stevens T. Mason may have been the youngest governor ever, but that youthful invincibility doesn’t make his effigy’s head impervious to a spattering of bird poop.

Crossing Woodward to veer into Grand Circus Park, almost unrecognizable with its new furniture, I was the only participant who stopped to take a picture of the smushed pigeon in the crosswalk. “Euuuu,” said the Germans, sidestepping. About an hour and a half into the tour, loitering at the corner of Witherell and Woodward, we were discovered by another sandaled participant. “I’m a travel writer,” he said, delightedly squinting at us. “Who does these tours?” He was in town for the day writing about the M-1 rail project for a New Jersey publication targeted toward transit professionals. I hope that learning that the building housing Cheli’s Chili was once a women-only goods exchange, hosting a sort of black market, can aid in his report.

Hey, remember that time when the Broderick Tower apartments sold out in 48 hours? Shawn does.

Hey, remember that time when the Broderick Tower apartments sold out in 48 hours? Shawn does.

Grand Circus Park, the spitting image of Birmingham.

Grand Circus Park, the spitting image of Birmingham.

“The upside of forty years of disinvestment is having one of the largest collections of pre-Depression buildings in the country,” Shawn told us as we passed the Kahn-designed Detroit Athletic Club. “Where other cities bulldozed them and got their glass towers, ours got left alone and the modern stuff got built in the suburbs.” We jaywalked — not recommended by Shawn — across John R to get a better view of one of his favorite abandoned buildings, the interior of which had been deemed worthless after a lifetime of jeweller’s harsh chemicals, until just this week when its sale was announced.

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“I hope you’ve learned something new,” Shawn concluded sweetly as we lingered over a curb cut on Woodward at the end of our little 1.6 mile loop, “and if nothing else hopefully you’ve seen that the rumors of our demise are exaggerated.” All in all, with Shawn’s help I picked up a lot of downtown trivia that, as a Detroiter who cares about anything, I probably ought to know.

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It was a slow but entertaining tour. Its limited scope was kind of advantageous, giving visitors ideas for further explorations, like the riverfront that we talked about but, not crossing Jefferson, missed. Detroit Experience Factory holds that tour on Mondays, so why not build a little suspense?

The low price of foot soreness from extended loafing was negligible next to the benefit of this free tour. Thanks, Shawn! In keeping with my belief in holding onto a touristic curiosity and not taking things for granted, I’d like to do the tour again in winter and see how the focus changes.

Do you facilitate a walking tour in Detroit? Have any tour recommendations I should check out? Is there one for pre-1700 geography and geology? Please comment and let me know!

Park watch: Canfield & the Lodge

July 10, 2014

It’s a whole new week, and there are still no crosswalks on Second in Midtown.

This was actually only a minor bummer relative to the spectacle going on just west of the Canfield pedestrian bridge Tuesday afternoon. Crews of tree-trimmers were at work on the field next to the former Detroit Day School for the Deaf. The field was littered with trunks and limbs and leaves hither and thither. As I stood by, awestruck, a bicycling neighbor paused to offer some conjectures on the park’s plight. “I think they’re developing it,” he said, gesturing to the vinyl village of townhomes across the street.

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The field is used all summer for baseball games, and the adjacent recreation area, complete with quaint chess tables, concrete turtle, and pavilion, is a frequent site of big happy neighborhood barbeques. Personally, I’ve been enjoying my morning coffee with this turtle for the past nine years. The 3.2 acre space is owned by Detroit Public Schools. “If they’re developing it, they haven’t told us about it,” said the kind DPS representative I spoke with, which doesn’t seem unlikely in the slightest. Permission? Forgiveness? Bah. Just some tree-cutting, she said, as though turning to mulch every tree on the property were a regular operation. “Maybe they have some kind of disease,” she suggested.

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The dozens of tall black locusts populating the field seemed to have been in perfect health. The tree crews from Highland had no information on their assignment. “They just told us to clear out the trees,” one worker said. “Maybe they’re expanding the parking lot.” At least with these reductive operations, crews can’t leave their mark on Detroit turf as did the pavement-pouring outsiders who thought to imprint “SHELBY TWP” in Vinyl Village’s new sidewalks across the street. Guess we’re not in Kansas anymore.

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I feared the worst for this essential greenspace at Canfield and the Lodge, which could so easily go in the way of other recent problem parks.

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In a bright turn, rumors go unfounded. DPS leases the land to charter school Edmonson Elementary, which in turn leases an adjacent building to Woodbridge Community Youth. None of the three secretarial-types at desks in the Edmonson office had any idea that tree-trimming was noisily happening a few yards outside their door, but asking further, one employee knew of future work there. As we strolled outside Wednesday morning to see the ongoing devastation, he seemed excited to inform me that Woodbridge Community Youth has secured a grant for a new playground. It’s unfortunate that these healthy, mature trees need to go so that new, kid-friendly nature can be installed, but the Edmonson Academy representative said the parking lot was actually projected to get smaller.

The new playground is in partnership with KaBOOM!, a Washington, DC-based nonprofit dedicated to addressing the nation’s “play deficit” and “play deserts” by providing a place to play within walking distance of every child in America. Finally, some good news! No hints yet on when the project is expected to be complete. For now, tree removal crews will be out there “as long as it takes” to clear the site. Maybe they can use some of the resulting mulch on the new playscape, if real woodchips are an approved play substrate for the twenty-first century.

Oh, just calmly watching the destruction of my habitat!

Oh, just calmly watching the destruction of my habitat!

UPDATE: 1:11 PM

This is not a fun game of who’s-got-the-turtle.

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UPDATE: 07.13.14

A neighbor posting on the Woodbridge facebook group has unearthed this rendering of a new baseball field for the Woodbridge Eagles, set to be playable in August. Two weeks! But where is the playground?

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Problem parks

July 9, 2014

Although Detroit still has more parks than it can handle, after having leased Belle Isle to Michigan’s Department of Natural Resources and temporarily closing fifty of them last year, there is a persistent trend of Midtown parks lately coming under siege. Here are some troubled areas in the greater 7.2:

  • Redmond Plaza, fenced off and soon to be remodelled by Midtown Detroit, Inc., for benefit of new restaurant goers
  • Unofficial dogpark at Canfield and Trumbull, unfortunately developed this winter into bland rental units.
  • Current construction that has levelled the gangly tangles of art in the awkward slice of Wick Park at Martin Luther King, Jr. and Cass, handed over last October by CCNDC to Cass Plaza Apartments.
  • Imminent threat of development of the neglected city-owned Wigle Recreation Center at Selden and the Lodge, as vinyl village is rumored to soon seep across the highway. The city issued a Request for Proposals in 2011, stipulating that an experienced developer “renovate the existing recreation structure and/or construct a suitable development at the site.” Guess which one they’ll pick. Another RFP was issued last month. Competing rumors say that the park has been adopted by DTE Energy.
  • And, a close call this winter as Cass Park was nearly gifted to Mike Ilitch. Maybe, like a lot of retirees his age, he’s working toward a secret second career as a master gardener.

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The former Wick Park.

The former Wick Park.

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In return, we get a stinky greenway and a speck of Shinola-branded dog park that no pedestrians can look reasonable entering unless accompanied by a well-socialized dog. Not sure exactly what we’re supposed to do with those picnic tables within the park — obviously not for either human or canine use! Although one day I did see a woman eating an apple at one table while her dog obliviously romped.

At least they've got the important stuff.

At least they’ve got the important stuff.

The cool Adopt-a-Park program launched by Mayor Mike Duggan’s office this spring is evidently not applicable when development money is at stake, with none of Midtown’s green spaces on the list for adoption, despite the persuasive factors of density, need, desire, and money for parks. Midtown may not have as many kids as other neighborhoods in the city, but adults need green spaces, too. Parks are for everyone, not just children, drunks, and crackheads. Or dogs.

Fortunately, the park forecast overall is looking up, with Brennan Pools at Rouge Park reopening today after stagnating for two underfunded years. Imagine if Midtown’s crusty Louis Stone Pool complex were similarly revitalized!

Looking pretty sad as of March.

Looking pretty sad as of March.

Not a lot better today.

Not a lot better today.

UPDATE 07.10.14:
Turns out everybody else is keeping an eye on Detroit’s parks, too! WDET has launched Detroit Park Watch, a wonderful program to monitor the condition of city parks this summer after Mayor Duggan pledged to keep 250 of them open, almost ten times as many as were maintained last year.

By visiting a park and reporting its status either online or by text, contributors can enjoy their greenspaces and help keep government accountable. It’s all the best part, but the other best part is how WDET is keeping track of anecdotes reported by park visitors. “Beyond the data, we will actively look to tell stories about these parks (like why is Twork Park called Twork Park?) and those who are taking care of them,” says WDET’s Terry Parris Jr., coordinator of the project. The site also features a great map where you can search for your nearest parks and read reports on their status by WDET or citizen park-goers.

Smells of the Midtown Loop

June 29, 2014

Aside from wandering around, one of my favorite things to do is pore over maps, which is why I’m so fond of the diligently-updated DETROITography blog. When I awoke Friday morning to a post relating a psychogeographic approach to the Midtown Loop by Alex Hill, I was inspired to do some more deliberate psychogeography myself and replicate Hill’s walk.

Hill’s impression of the Midtown Loop in early June was heavy on the exhaust and diesel fumes, and he concluded by suggesting that reducing car use be a priority on a route that is supposed to be one of Detroit’s walkability showpieces. For the most part the Midtown Loop resembles your average street and sidewalk pairing, except with fancy pavement designs and noticeably upgraded landscaping near the Science Center. Hypothesizing that results of my walk would differ between night and day, I decided to travel the loop twice.

Day

Day

It was a more yogic walking experience than I’m used to, forced into awareness of my breath as I tried to detect some scents. On both walks I took, one on Friday around noon and another on Saturday around midnight, lovely winds rushed at me, especially on the long north-south stretches of Cass and John R. Many of these gentle gusts brought clean riverfront air, concealing native scents.

Night

Night

Daytime is much smellier for the Midtown Loop than night, with thirty-two scent events compared to eighteen after hours. While I wasn’t struck by its unpleasantness while walking, exhaust fumes were abundant on my daytime loop, accounting for eight scent events where traffic lined up at stoplights. The nighttime walk was dominated by five great woodsy whiffs of fresh mulch. More mysterious scents floated through the night air — chlorine, gasoline, and a funny plastic reek, none of which had an origin visually evident.

The lunchtime smells of fried food at La Palma, tempura outside of Wasabi, the meat and fried things at Warren and Cass, and a generic restaurant smell outside of the Whitney gave way in the night to a lone greasy odor at Woodward and Canfield. Predictably, the loop smelled of other pedestrians much more during the day than at night — smoking, cologne, deodorant, and laundry smells were as much a part of the experience as the landscape itself.

It was interesting how poorly scent mapped onto place, how dissociated an aroma might be from its origin. Without the usual visuals, I had no idea where I was. For all I could tell, the nasty barren lawn of the hospital complex may as well have been a forest trail, and the daylilies blooming along Canfield were invisible to the nose. One might conclude that the Midtown Loop was designed to be experienced less with the nose than the eyes.

Although it’s no joking matter, this may be the one way Detroit is safer for walking at night. The daytime air pollution from traffic that was so unappealing for Alex Hill during his walk dissipated at night. The relatively clear air after dark is a significant benefit for pedestrians uninterested in basking in noxious fumes and harmful particulates as they stroll along a greenway.

Losing ground

February 24, 2014

As the snowiest January on record drew to a bitter end and the news reported that even the middle class is now being priced out of apartments in highly desirable areas such as downtown and Midtown, construction crews broke ground just west of the M-10 the Lodge expressway in Woodbridge Farm, a historic neighborhood long feeling the push, if not the shove, of gentrification, or whatever you want to call it.

Woodbridge Farm, a thin ribbon of land designated historic by the city and the National Register of Historic Places, spans Trumbull and Lincoln from Canfield to Grand River. It is not included in the larger Woodbridge historic neighborhood designation, a boundary some residents think may benefit from expansion. With only two houses standing on its northernmost block, the surrounding empty lots have no grounds for historic designation, and in come the developers.

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This was a field I’d walked through many times before. Residents were shocked, outraged at the sudden appearance of workers cutting down tall, old trees in the park-like greenspace where many brought their dogs to romp. As bulldozers arrived, calls to the historic commission yielded nothing to help stop the destruction. The lots are rightly owned by Scripps Park Associates, the firm behind Woodbridge Estates, an enclave of generic, vinyl-sided new houses and townhomes situated between the freeway and Woodbridge Farm’s eastern boundary. Woodbridge Estates will be filling the block with more shoddy rent-to-own duplexes. Residents complain that construction within the original footprint of the development, aptly nicknamed Vinyl Village, has gone too slowly, leaving foundations capped for years. Why uproot more ground elsewhere when a reasonable density there hasn’t yet been achieved? The expiration of building permits knows no common sense.

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So it goes in the city. One thing gets knocked down to make room for another. Soon enough few will remember the fields that were there, just as I don’t remember the apartment buildings that once stood, fairly recently, on the same lot. Change is good, or so implies the mantra many Detroiters hear and repeat: we need neighbors. But do we need the neighbors to live in depressing, identical drab beige structures?

The staff in Woodbridge Estates’ rental office was unaware that the lots newly under development were in their jurisdiction until a grounds maintenance person wandered in while they were hemming and hawing. Overhearing our conversation, he exclaimed, “Yeah, I have to remove snow all the way up there now!” and directed me to the construction trailer, the nucleus of project operations. The trailer is warm and sunny, full of drawings and xerox machines and cold blueprints meting out what residents had thought was common ground. Nobody’s actually bought anything since 2007, the project manager told me on my third and most successful visit (on my second attempt, all but one worker had left shortly past noon to attend a retirement party).

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The project manager, an affable guy named Howard who lives in the cushy northwestern suburb of West Bloomfield, took time to talk with me about the duplexes, seeming genuinely curious that neighbors were concerned over the appearance of the planned buildings. When I asked about whether care had been taken to mesh the appearance of new housing with the existing neighborhood character, he said that they should match better than the ones standing in Woodbridge Estates, but that he didn’t have final renderings yet. In this case, he told me, the developer had asked the architect to drive through and pick out some paint colors that would be a better fit than their usual dirt-hued “neutral” palette. How strange, to begin construction when the people in charge of the project don’t even know how the buildings will look.

These lovely drafts are from Progressive Associates, Inc., architects based in Bloomfield Hills.

These lovely drafts are from Progressive Associates, Inc., architects based in Bloomfield Hills.

Had he seen much of Woodbridge himself?, I inquired. He seemed surprised. “I’ve driven through it a couple of times, yeah.” Howard was aware of the two “tenements” on the block, a baffling word choice for the two historic homes, among others, that his company is working to emulate visually. Whenever I walk by at lunchtime, the street is lined with the shiny trucks of construction personnel, idling, each guy eating his lunch in solitude as few yards as possible from the jobsite. I wonder if they ever explore the neighborhood, wander through these fields they’re digging up, or if they return promptly to their vinyl-sided paradise, leaving the “tenements” out of sight and mind.

The "tenements."

The “tenements.”

Walking to Woodbridge from the venerable Cass Cafe during yet another snowstorm, I said to a friend, “Hey, we’re at Canfield already!” “You mean, more like Can’t-field these days,” he said as we looked at the stark structures newly rising from pits hollowed in the ground.

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Perhaps it is just the way things will go, that all neighborhoods will have their own vinyl village, like elegant Brush Park with its unsightly rash of condos at the southern end. “With its suburban appearance and barren surroundings, the Woodward Place condo development isn’t exactly the pinnacle of the Detroit rental scene. Near so much architectural glory, many overlook the units in favor of something more loft-like,” says Curbed about one of the first and most successful developments near downtown. Even MOCAD is absurdly accompanied by its own vinyl ghost, the unfortunate Mike Kelley replica ranch, little more than a mean jab at Detroit’s citizens and circumstances veiled as a really exclusive library. To someone, this type of development must be voluntary, even desirable. Who?

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If only they all came with pedestrian walkways!

If only they all came with pedestrian walkways!

Watching the greying heads of the supervisors at the Woodbridge Estates jobsite, it doesn’t seem like a far stretch to speculate that these are the structures admired by an older generation, the people who fled the city and built burbs full of McMansions. As renovating old commercial spaces into airy lofts and rehabbing historic residences to their former grandeur has smitten my generation, it’s curious that buildings like these continue to go up. Will future generations see these repetitive, uninspired houses as something to cherish and protect, the way we feel about older, more architecturally-rich ones? Is it all a matter of perspective, or worse, fashion?

It just seems that we can do so much better than this. Why can’t more infill housing look like Briggs, where houses built in this century have, if not some of their own charm, then a neighborly benevolence toward the older structures with which they share blocks? They can. But with the plans already in place, what can be done about these lots? What can be done to protect other blocks in our neighborhoods from the dubiously-motivated interests of wealthy men from the burbs?

For the past month, the construction equipment has been parked in the middle of the field that once was, abjectly motionless, surrounded by mounds of dirt. On the remaining fringe of land, people still come to play fetch with their dogs. It’s hard to complain; Detroit certainly suffers from no dearth of fields yet. It’s ironic that the neighborhoods regarded as disadvantaged by most other measures become the envy of those receiving such well-monied attentions. When this field is gone, where will people take their dogs to play? Maybe when Dan Gilbert is done installing the new art district, he’ll put in a fancy dog park somewhere, and we can all just drive over there, because that’s how to create a vibrant community. Tough luck to everyone else who simply wanted a piece of greenspace in their neighborhood, leaves to crunch through in the fall, and in all seasons a rare local breath of fresh air.

Watch out, Weeping Willow Meadow! A name does not guarantee you'll be remembered.

Watch out, Weeping Willow Meadow! A name does not guarantee you’ll be remembered.

UPDATE: 03.08.14
This week, dump trucks have been arriving laden with heap after heap of dirt and gravel, the excavated foundations of housing elsewhere all over lots not slated to be developed until well into the future. Trees wait waist-deep in mud. It seems torturous. And this is a good use of greenspace, this hotbed of unfulfilled dreams.

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UPDATE: 03.11.14
Whew! Our friendly development cheerleaders have made it to the game. Curbed reports today on a new housing slated to break ground somewhere in “Southwest Midtown” by none other than the Slavik Management, part of the team of hole-diggers disturbing Woodbridge Farm with their foundation voids and willy-nilly accumulations. Curbed speculates that the new arm of Vinyl Village will go in at the sadly defunct Wigle Recreation Center on the east side of the Lodge, conveniently connected to Vinyl Village proper by the Selden pedestrian bridge. If Curbed is correct, this is devastating news not only for greenspace enthusiasts making the trek from Woodbridge to Midtown but also the teams who practice sports there all summer.

Far worse yet, Curbed references a Model D article that reads more like a press release happily penned by Slavik Development. Model D lays out the geography of Woodbridge Estates, then emits the following burp of nonsense:

“Woodbridge Farm, another Slavik development, runs directly adjacent to the west of Woodbridge Estates. Eight single-family house lots remain in that development. Gold says that these homes are being designed with the surrounding historic architecture in mind.”

Woodbridge Farm, a Slavik Development? A rambler comments, setting the story straight: “woodbridge farm is a neighborhood of 19th century Victorian homes that already exists. the prefab mess that’s currently going up on Trumbull is not woodbridge farm, it’s just more vinyl village. the plans look identical to the cookie-cutter houses where the streets have weird names east of Gibson.”

UPDATE 03.17.14:
Please see the comments for important notes regarding the boundaries of these historic districts and encroaching developments.

Construction fence unrolled to the brink of the sidewalk, this is the last time someone will stand on this ground, until we tear these down and do it all over again.

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Fake flowers

February 15, 2014

The park was erratically carpeted in rose petals. How quaint. They were clinging to the wet ground and flung up bright against the snowbanks. I hadn’t forgotten it was Valentine’s Day, but I wasn’t expecting to find evidence of the holiday in such abundance.

Someone had chalked a gigantic marriage proposal across the pavement, a mildly charming, low-budget way of posing the question. It was fitting that the ephemeral words marking something of supposed permanence, usually associated with the gift of a diamond, were left to smudge and fade away with an afternoon’s weather. Inspecting the petals more closely, they were all too uniform, each created in the identical likeness of the other, tawdry red polyester or some such silk stand-in. Nothing says ‘I love you’ like a bouquet of fake flowers. The sentiment was probably real; the flowers fake. Perhaps both are weatherproof.

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It’d be great if somebody would buy Detroit more than fake flowers, show some real love. Visitors keep gaily trying to gab my ear off about “Detroit coming back,” but it seems less like an organic blooming than a displacement, someone else’s Detroit looming, overshadowing the existing leaves and buds. The News reports that Showcase Collectibles, the wild little vintage shop at the corner of Cass and Peterboro, topsy-turvy full of every odd thing you can imagine, received their 30-day eviction notice yesterday on their $550-a-month space. Given the new owner’s great (and entirely understandable) haste to begin renovations, we probably won’t be left long walking past a sign like this, a sad reminder of the former Marwil Books just up the street at Cass and Warren.

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In Dan Gilbertland, Capitol Park residents have two weeks remaining in their eviction period. Metro Times pens a poignant farewell, quoting one resident: “We’ve had, like, a pretty vibrant artist community for a while, before we were here,” calling Gilbert’s art district plan “super ironic.” “You really can’t make that up,” he said. “It’s essentially becoming a company town. Like, where we own the company, we own the housing, we secure the streets.” While we’ll be out rambling tomorrow, the building will be hosting an open house/estate sale.

Meanwhile, Wayne State law professor Peter Hammer is calling the Detroit Future City plan a “deathblow” that will “re-organize Detroit out of existence.” He’ll explain further at a talk at Marygrove on February 25.

Sad times! It’s a lot, all at once.

Solstice

December 21, 2013

It’s the shortest day of the year; the longest, darkest night. The winter solstice is traditionally a time of turning inward to reflect on the cycles of nature. It’s an auspicious opportunity to take old familiar paths, pondering changes in the self and its environment. There have been many such changes.

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Last year, the warmth of good intent cut through the cold. Someone was tending a fire in a barrel in Redmond Plaza, a welcoming flame inviting anyone who walked through to linger and warm themselves. Today the park is empty, but not on account of the cold or precipitation. It was fenced off months ago, the shiny metal barrier enforcing its vacancy for no discernible reason. The park’s visibility and the absence of any construction make its inaccessibility infuriating. On a few rare occasions the gates have been unlocked and people will amble beyond them, but it’s unclear why they open these times and not others.

The concrete seal, an empty chair.

Snowy day with the concrete seal and an empty chair.

The weekend community barbeques that have been happening here for years are still scheduled to occur. A few folks gather around the perimeter, maybe in anticipation of this, sitting on the two chairs at the corner and perching on the concrete ledge. One of the only people I see often at the park these days is the guy who dances wildly in the crosswalk on Second, wearing headphones. He’s often preoccupied, but sometimes he notices me and militantly barks a greeting.

This is his corner.

This is his corner.

The lot belongs to the city recreation department, but it’s slated for redevelopment by Midtown, Inc. in the coming year. Next door we’ll get a new restaurant, but what good will come for the people who previously spent time in the park? I doubt I’ll be getting catcalled much anymore while travelling through that intersection, but who will be there to wish me a good morning with such exuberance? Neither is the domain of the hipster or young professional, the kind of “Detroit by Detroiters” for whom this development is taking place.

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It’s also one of my favorite corners for pigeons in the city, probably as many as at Rosa Parks Transit Center, but with fewer comings and goings, disruptions. They’re used to the presence of humans, seem to have a symbiosis with the people who hang out here. They’re not afraid of anything. If I stand there for a moment, sometimes they’ll all flutter down at once, landing close and inspecting my boots, maybe mistaking them for one of their own kind.

When, like Third last year, Second gets its makeover into a two-way street with fancy bike lanes, where will the pigeons go? Nobody really cares about pigeons (though you can usually find a good spread of birdseed nearby at Third and Alexandrine), but a place too busy for birds impacts foot traffic, too. Will we have to contend with cars coming fast from both directions? For all its increased bikeability, the revisions to Third fail when considering the lack of safe crosswalks for pedestrians.

Change afoot.

Change is afoot.

What will this intersection look like in a year? In ten? What will it look like then in our memories?

UPDATE:

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A week later, volunteers are setting up for the community barbeque, positioned in a line along the sidewalk. As others dither over whether to put the fruit next to the desserts, one man tending some coals tells me that they tried to get permission to continue using the park, but were turned down. “I don’t know why they don’t want us in there,” he says sadly. “We’re just out here having some fun, feeding people, doing God’s work.”