Laying The Foundation the Tower Of Eden (AKA: The Paper)

It's a warm summer day. I'm standing next to Jaime, my eldest sister, atop the seven-story parking complex that provides short-term residence for cars visiting The Mall of America. She stands, smoking a Camel Red, asking me how life is going. I pause for a moment to think. Not much exciting has happened to me this summer. When things become dull and mundane, I spend my time hidden away beneath my skull, mulling over ways to change the the world without. This empty time has been made more plentiful by my decision to spend less time with my friends; it has been weeks since I crossed paths with any of them. But I am not entirely isolated.

Although the world around me slowly ticks away, carrying on with its same routine, inside my head synapses fire to form a thunderstorm of ideas that plead to be united with each-other and molded into something truly amazing. I'm sure as this is taking place internally (between my sister's question and my answer) Jaime is growing impatient. I am undoubtedly staring blankly at an endless void obstructed only by the second largest mall in existence .

The asphalt painted space around me sets loose a train of thought that heads towards all the great things that come to a city. In a city, there is efficient apartment housing, grocery stores, restaurants, and businesses all packed neatly into highrise-skyscrapers. So what is there that a small town has that a city doesn't? A long drive through rural South Dakota gives one the answer. Traveling west on I-90, you will undoubtedly tire from the scenery: when you look out the driver's side window you'll see fields of corn reaching to the southern horizon, when you look out the passenger side window you'll see fields of soybeans reaching to the northern horizon. Farms are everywhere, except in dense metropolitan areas. Food must be shipped cross-country to feed all the hungry little urbanites. It isn't feasible to build farms in the heart of a city. Is it? This question is on my mind as my sister ashes her cigarette and then returns it to her lips. Instead of answering her question, I pose one of my own. "If all other basic necessities have been brought to the Metropolis, why not the most basic: food?" She brings up the same pre-industrial age problem. "There isn't enough space." Using the traditional methods one would not be able to run a farm on a city lot between the Empire State Building and the Chrysler Building. To make this crazy idea work, farming methods would have to be rethought.

I challenge my imagination to find a solution to this difficult task. To my knowledge, nobody has attempted to do this on a grand scale. People have built community gardens on vacant lots and small greenhouses on rooftops. These are projects that are built as hobbies or in a community building effort. In order to provide a substantial food source a much larger and more efficient project would need to be built. Current food operations don't provide enough space. Thinking two dimensionally, we can only grow plants in the area provided by a plot's width and length. There must be a way to attain more space.

And then I realize the solution is staring me right in the face . Why would one construct a garden between skyscrapers, when they could build it inside one? After all, high-rise buildings were created to provide more space while maintaining a small footprint. I see one critical problem. Skyscrapers are designed for people. Regardless of what the building's purpose is, it is designed to bring people up to a certain floor and then return them to the ground. If a pre-existing building were used, equipment, produce, and workers would need to be transported using elevators. This model would require larger freight elevators that would take up much of the space required for growing. Also if one of these elevators broke down the whole operation would be put on hold.

I tell all this to my sister. She agrees with my argument and is as lost for a solution as I. The floor design of current skyscrapers is not adequate for mass production. We attempt to find the missing puzzle piece to this game of thought, as we both lean against the concrete guard railing, that keeps us from falling to our certain end. I realize how far up I've gotten myself. And then how I got here.

Jaime had no luck finding parking on the floor dubbed New York. So she had continued up the spiraling ramp towards Florida. Still no luck. Then we had past through Tennessee which was also full. Finally continuing up the circling path, we made it to the roof, Hawaii. I find my answer. Parking ramps wouldn't work if their layout was similar to that of a regular building. I can't imagine how cramped it would get if they depended on lifts. But someone had already found a way to make them work. By connecting the levels with coiling ramps it was made possible for one to freely drive to the top and then exit by continuing on their path.

If a skyscraper were to use a similar model, moving equipment and produce would be much easier. The trouble is in connecting the floors. A colossal parking ramp style skyscraper might work. But it's rather chaotic, I am seeking something more elegant. The idea comes to me rather simply. Instead of connecting with ramps, make the whole building one continuous sloping floor. As long as the slope is steep enough there could be head room for the story bellow. There would be no stories just complete rotations. After circling around 360 degrees one would have risen an amount equal to one story. All of this seems to be falling into place. It may be possible to create more usable space for agriculture within a city.

As the gears and cogs, set delicately in my cranium, spin wildly they began to slip (there's a missing part). How will these plants be grown? It's not common for anything more than a potted plant atop the desk of an office worker, to grow closed off from the outside world on the forty-second floor of a high-rise. This model would be taking a similar space and using it for a much greater growth. Traditional farms till, plant, and harvest on soil laden fields using diesel equipment. This method is unfit for a building. A building would collapse under such weight. Not to mention that a soil based operation would not produce enough food within the limitations of space inside a building. It's fortunate that I'm somewhat of a nerd, because I already know of an alternate method of growing produce. The answer here is hydroponics.

Now, what exactly is hydroponics? Well the word itself is Greek. "Hydro" of course means water and the "ponics" part is derived from the word "ponos" which means labor. This would have been an intelligent thing to say to my sister, but instead I find myself muttering something like, "What about growing plants with that hydro-thingy? You know where you can grow anything you want in water without soil or anything. And you can use lamps so they don't even need to be outside." Luckily she doesn't know much about hydroponics either, so she thinks it is a brilliant idea.

We had left some things out. In hydroponics you do grow plants in water, but not just water. First off, plants need support for their roots, some sort of medium (such as rocks, Leca, or perlite) to anchor to. Secondly the "water" they are grown in is full of l chemical nutrients that must be added to actually feed the plants. All of this so far doesn't interfere with my master plan. But there is one critical bit of information that could cripple my whole scheme. You can't grow anything you want using hydroponics. In fact the selection is rather limited. It wouldn't be possible to grow all the food for a city within such a structure. Thankfully I don't know this tid-bit of knowledge yet.

Jaime and I continue with our game of thought. And ignorantly being under the assumption that we had found the last piece to the puzzle we stepped back to see the whole picture. I gaze off into the distance again--but this time with intent. I imagine this theoretical structure is built there. As I point, tracing the outline, it begins to take form for my sister too. We are startled by the height of this figment towering over us. In Illinois the Chicago Spire under construction is going to rise two-thousand feet. My tower could potentially be that tall. That could mean two-hundred floors corkscrewing up. One-hundred acres of plants could easily be coiled inside such a structure. All of the space would be taken up by plants--which I come to later learn would mostly likely be tomatoes, lettuce, herbs, melons, or strawberries. These plant would be grown year round, with numerous harvests . And most likely with a higher yield and density. They could be harvested using machines that run on ceiling mounted rails. After being brought below street level they could be transported around the city using subway trains. All of this would run like clockwork.

The image of the building slowly fades as I ramble on about the benefits this type of infrastructure may give. It will bring food directly to the city guaranteeing freshness. This also cuts back on fossil fuel consumption. I once heard that 19% percent of the United States fossil fuel is used for the food system. The building itself could be constructed for efficiency. Solar panels could be mounted on the outside. A water tower could be place on the top to act as a reservoir for for the plants. Weather such as droughts or floods would not effect growth. There would be few insects or weeds, so pesticides and herbicides wouldn't need to be used. It would provide jobs. Such a model could be used in areas with a low amount of food, such as Dubai. It could be built in an aesthetically pleasing way that would improve the skyline. Such an idea could revolutionize the way we think of food.

My tangent, although valid, has gone on too long. My sister's cigarette had gone out long ago. And as she continues to agree with and rebuke my ideas I detect impatience. The sun has calmly sneaked below the horizon. I was so lost in conversation that I had forgotten why we came here. The third X-Men movie has just come out and we planned to see it at the movie theater packed in between the stores, the restaurants, and the indoor theme park. For some unknown reason she and I always go to see super hero movies together. It has gotten late and the movie is about to start. We walk down the stairs, go across the skyway, pass Hooters, and stop in front of the ticket booth. I pay for my ticket and skip the popcorn. The line for concessions is too long and I don't want to miss the credits. I plop down in front of the silver screen, lean back, and rest my feet atop the vacant chair ahead of me. It is time to put away my cape and thinking cap and let the X-Team have a go at saving the world. After all, redesigning the metropolitan food system can wait another day.