CL02 Cabin / VinkluSave this picture!© Razvan DrinceanuCabins & Lodges•Valea lui Enache, Romania Architects: Vinklu Area Area of this architecture project Area:  55 m² Year Completion year of this architecture project Year:  2025 Photographs Photographs:Razvan Drinceanu Manufacturers Brands with products used in this architecture project Manufacturers:  DÉCOR SEBMOB, ENIPAU, MIRADEX, MM THERM, PRO METAL CONT 2004, Topciment Lead Architects: Stefan Pavaluta More SpecsLess Specs Save this picture! Text description provided by the architects. An ideal rural scenario, well-oriented and connected, tries to outline the premises of a seasonal residence. I first had contact with O&A online, having been recommended by a good acquaintance from London, the clients being in the central area of ​​Europe, I in Bucharest, and the construction site in Arges. The kind of equation that always attracts me, if the intentions are aligned. The situation at that time had the wreckage of a first failed attempt, already erected on the ground, and a small annex at the bottom of the lot, at the highest point of the area. The decision was for a full project, but with a phased implementation. So we started with the small body, in order to have better control and a final evaluation of our collaboration, but also of the executors. Being a more rural area, the expectations regarding the quality of the result had to be proportionate from the start. The annex was a construction with a small footprint, maximum 25 sqm, built in the past by the family, with vaulted walls bordered by a wooden structure at the top that served as a lantern. During the dismantling stage, we discovered that it had no pillars at the corners (or in general), and the concrete slab with a large belly in the middle. In the end, only the walls remained, which were reinforced with interior-exterior mesh.Save this picture!Save this picture!Save this picture!Save this picture!Leaving aside the condition of the construction and the poor materials, the position and proportion of the annex were harmonious, and the intention was to preserve these aspects from the start. The solution proposed an extension with an interior staircase area and a reconfiguration of the gaps/orientations from the inside to the outside. Structurally, the base remains intact, reinforced, and the superstructure is timber-framed. Finally, the exterior finish in black autoclaved wood completes and reveals the proposed scenario. The height and dimensions slightly exceed the initial image. The choice of exterior color is a direct response to the context, offering different images and visual relationships depending on the season. The entrance porch mediates the relationship between the module and the exterior through a fine metal structure, proportionate to the tall surrounding vegetation. The slats and semi-circular areas spatially define the moments of approaching the house. In the same tone, the rest of the functional areas inside are supported by their own connections to the exterior. The veranda pergola transforms into a deep balcony for the living area, and the foundation of the house articulates into a small terrace for the night area.Save this picture!Functionally, downstairs is the entrance with the night area, and upstairs the entire living area with kitchen, dining, living room, and a small bathroom. Along the same lines, downstairs we have smaller gaps, and there is a panoramic orientation of some windows of considerable size, which offers a cinematic sensation in direct relation to the exterior. The house being well-positioned among the trees, any movement and change of nature can be watched, studied, and heard. Continuing the space-function relationship, the ground floor offers regular, intimate spaces, while the staircase opens the living area with a generous space and a gabled ceiling. The context being the main "reason", the finishes are clean, neutral, to further strengthen this relationship. In the living area, the furniture pieces define the micro-functions necessary for living, and are combined in a balanced way through proportion, color, and materiality.Save this picture!Save this picture!Save this picture!By reconverting the annex and using natural materials, local teams, off-site construction methods, we tried, in the true and local sense of the expression – minimal impact on the environment and sustainable architecture. The "design" itself is a direct result of the architectural process and the context, a stratification of functional and architectural solutions permanently correlated with proportions and materiality.Save this picture! Project gallerySee allShow less Project locationAddress:Valea lui Enache, RomaniaLocation to be used only as a reference. It could indicate city/country but not exact address.About this officeVinkluOffice••• MaterialWoodMaterials and TagsPublished on June 01, 2025Cite: "CL02 Cabin / Vinklu" 01 Jun 2025. ArchDaily. Accessed . <https://www.archdaily.com/1030468/cl02-cabin-vinklu&gt ISSN 0719-8884Save世界上最受欢迎的建筑网站现已推出你的母语版本!想浏览ArchDaily中国吗?是否 You've started following your first account!Did you know?You'll now receive updates based on what you follow! Personalize your stream and start following your favorite authors, offices and users.Go to my stream

Given their abundance in American backyards, gardens and highway corridors these days, it may be surprising to learn that white-tailed deer were nearly extinct about a century ago. While they currently number somewhere in the range of 30 million to 35 million, at the turn of the 20th century, there were as few as 300,000 whitetails across the entire continent: just 1% of the current population. This near-disappearance of deer was much discussed at the time. In 1854, Henry David Thoreau had written that no deer had been hunted near Concord, Massachusetts, for a generation. In his famous “Walden,” he reported: “One man still preserves the horns of the last deer that was killed in this vicinity, and another has told me the particulars of the hunt in which his uncle was engaged. The hunters were formerly a numerous and merry crew here.” But what happened to white-tailed deer? What drove them nearly to extinction, and then what brought them back from the brink? As a historical ecologist and environmental archaeologist, I have made it my job to answer these questions. Over the past decade, I’ve studied white-tailed deer bones from archaeological sites across the eastern United States, as well as historical records and ecological data, to help piece together the story of this species. Precolonial rise of deer populations White-tailed deer have been hunted from the earliest migrations of people into North America, more than 15,000 years ago. The species was far from the most important food resource at that time, though. Archaeological evidence suggests that white-tailed deer abundance only began to increase after the extinction of megafauna species like mammoths and mastodons opened up ecological niches for deer to fill. Deer bones become very common in archaeological sites from about 6,000 years ago onward, reflecting the economic and cultural importance of the species for Indigenous peoples. Despite being so frequently hunted, deer populations do not seem to have appreciably declined due to Indigenous hunting prior to AD 1600. Unlike elk or sturgeon, whose numbers were reduced by Indigenous hunters and fishers, white-tailed deer seem to have been resilient to human predation. While archaeologists have found some evidence for human-caused declines in certain parts of North America, other cases are more ambiguous, and deer certainly remained abundant throughout the past several millennia. Human use of fire could partly explain why white-tailed deer may have been resilient to hunting. Indigenous peoples across North America have long used controlled burning to promote ecosystem health, disturbing old vegetation to promote new growth. Deer love this sort of successional vegetation for food and cover, and thus thrive in previously burned habitats. Indigenous people may have therefore facilitated deer population growth, counteracting any harmful hunting pressure. More research is needed, but even though some hunting pressure is evident, the general picture from the precolonial era is that deer seem to have been doing just fine for thousands of years. Ecologists estimate that there were roughly 30 million white-tailed deer in North America on the eve of European colonization—about the same number as today. A 16th-century engraving depicts Indigenous Floridians hunting deer while disguised in deerskins. [Photo: Theodor de Bry/DEA Picture Library/De Agostini/Getty Images] Colonial-era fall of deer numbers To better understand how deer populations changed in the colonial era, I recently analyzed deer bones from two archaeological sites in what is now Connecticut. My analysis suggests that hunting pressure on white-tailed deer increased almost as soon as European colonists arrived. At one site dated to the 11th to 14th centuries (before European colonization) I found that only about 7% to 10% of the deer killed were juveniles. Hunters generally don’t take juvenile deer if they’re frequently encountering adults, since adult deer tend to be larger, offering more meat and bigger hides. Additionally, hunting increases mortality on a deer herd but doesn’t directly affect fertility, so deer populations experiencing hunting pressure end up with juvenile-skewed age structures. For these reasons, this low percentage of juvenile deer prior to European colonization indicates minimal hunting pressure on local herds. However, at a nearby site occupied during the 17th century—just after European colonization—between 22% and 31% of the deer hunted were juveniles, suggesting a substantial increase in hunting pressure. This elevated hunting pressure likely resulted from the transformation of deer into a commodity for the first time. Venison, antlers and deerskins may have long been exchanged within Indigenous trade networks, but things changed drastically in the 17th century. European colonists integrated North America into a trans-Atlantic mercantile capitalist economic system with no precedent in Indigenous society. This applied new pressures to the continent’s natural resources. Deer—particularly their skins—were commodified and sold in markets in the colonies initially and, by the 18th century, in Europe as well. Deer were now being exploited by traders, merchants and manufacturers desiring profit, not simply hunters desiring meat or leather. It was the resulting hunting pressure that drove the species toward its extinction. 20th-century rebound of white-tailed deer Thanks to the rise of the conservation movement in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, white-tailed deer survived their brush with extinction. Concerned citizens and outdoorsmen feared for the fate of deer and other wildlife, and pushed for new legislative protections. The Lacey Act of 1900, for example, banned interstate transport of poached game and—in combination with state-level protections—helped end commercial deer hunting by effectively de-commodifying the species. Aided by conservation-oriented hunting practices and reintroductions of deer from surviving populations to areas where they had been extirpated, white-tailed deer rebounded. The story of white-tailed deer underscores an important fact: Humans are not inherently damaging to the environment. Hunting from the 17th through 19th centuries threatened the existence of white-tailed deer, but precolonial Indigenous hunting and environmental management appear to have been relatively sustainable, and modern regulatory governance in the 20th century forestalled and reversed their looming extinction. Elic Weitzel, Peter Buck Postdoctoral Research Fellow, Smithsonian Institution This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

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html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.0 Transitional//EN" "http://www.w3.org/TR/REC-html40/loose.dtd" Architectural visualization artist and tools developer Antoine Bagattini has released Baga River Generator, a new tool for rivers to 3D scenes in Blender.The add-on, co-created with artist Laura Mercadal, lets users create detailed rivers simply by drawing freehand paths in the viewport. Add good-looking 3D rivers to Blender scenes by drawing them in freehand To judge from the promo video embedded above, workflow in Baga River Generator is pretty much as simple as selecting a preset, then drawing a path in the viewport.The add-on then generates a detailed 3D river along the course of the path, complete with water, banks, and surrounding terrain, populated with rocks and plants. There are four presets available – a desert environment, and three with surrounding vegetation – and the add-on comes with over 30 different readymade environment assets. If you want to create your own looks, the terrain is fully parametric, making it possible to adjust the width and depth of the river channel and height of the surrounding land. You can also create or edit scatter layers, to control how the environment assets are distributed. There are some limitations in the initial release – the vegetation isn’t animated, and the water doesn’t have any foam or turbulence – but the results in the video look pretty good, and the output can be rendered with both the Cycles and Eevee render engines. Price and system requirements Baga River Generator is compatible with Blender 4.2+. It costs $12.To install it, you need the GeoPack system in BagaPie, Bagattini’s free Blender modifier, which is now available as an Extension directly inside Blender. Read more about Baga River Generator on the plugin’s Superhive page Have your say on this story by following CG Channel on Facebook, Instagram and X (formerly Twitter). As well as being able to comment on stories, followers of our social media accounts can see videos we don’t post on the site itself, including making-ofs for the latest VFX movies, animations, games cinematics and motion graphics projects.

Mark Whaling and a crew raced up and down a hill in a tanker truck as they battled a wildfire in Los Angeles County, scrambling to get water from a street hydrant in time to stay ahead of flames moving up a ridge. A helicopter flew in to drop water, but it had to fly a long distance to refill—and a fire that might have been stopped went on to destroy homes. As they fought that early 2000s blaze, Whaling says, he spotted a sealed, million-gallon water tank nearby that firefighters had no way of accessing. He thought that was ridiculous. “We don’t tell fire engines, ‘Protect the city and go find your own water.’ We put fire hydrants every 600 feet all around cities,” said Whaling, who has since retired from the county fire department. “But when it comes to the helicopters, we weren’t supporting them as robustly as we should.” His frustration sparked an idea: the Heli-Hydrant, a relatively small, open tank that can be rapidly filled with water, enabling helicopters to fill up faster for urban fires rather than flying to sometimes distant lakes or ponds. As wildfires become more frequent, Whaling’s invention is getting the attention of officials eager to boost preparedness. First used for the 2020 Blue Ridge Fire in Yorba Linda, 10 Heli-Hydrants have been built across Southern California and 16 more are in progress, according to Whaling. Helicopters are essential for firefighting. They can drop 1,000 gallons (about 3,785 liters) of water at once—some much more. That is far more than hoses can get on a fire all at once, and can be the best way to attack fires that are difficult for ground crews to reach. But pilots sometimes have to fly a long way to scoop up water. And in drought-prone areas, natural sources can sometimes dry up or diminish, so they’re hard to draw from. In Southern California’s Riverside County, helicopters have had to fly up to 10 miles (about 16 kilometers) to find water, eating critical time from battling fires. An innovative solution On a remote plot in the Southern California town of Cabazon, contractor Glenn Chavez stood on a ladder and peered into an empty Heli-Hydrant. A radio in hand, he clicked a button to activate the system and watched as water roared into the tank. In about six minutes, it filled with 8,500 gallons (32,176 liters). Chavez, a general contractor, was testing the Cabazon Water District’s latest investment—a second Heli-Hydrant that local officials are counting on to help protect the town. At $300,000, it cost slightly less than the average price of a single home in Cabazon. “Living in a beautiful desert community, you’re going to have risks of fire,” said Michael Pollack, the district’s general manager. “And to have these Heli-Hydrants is a major advantage. People will have a little bit of comfort knowing that they have another tool for fighting fires in their community.” Pilots can remotely activate the tanks from half a mile away, with the tank typically filling quickly from a city’s water system. Helicopters can fill up in less than a minute. Once it’s activated, solar panels and backup batteries ensure the system can still be used during power outages. And at night, lights from the tank and a tower nearby guide pilots toward it. In November, fire responders in San Diego put the product to the test when the 48-acre Garden Fire in Fallbrook, a community known for its avocado groves, prompted evacuation orders and warnings. Helicopters tapped the tank nearly 40 times. Pilot Ben Brown said its proximity to the fire saved not just time but fuel. “They’re great for when you don’t have other water sources,” he said. “The more dip sites, especially in some of the more arid environments in the county, the better.” But they don’t always help Heli-Hydrants have raised some concerns about their placement in urban areas where houses, buildings, and power lines can be obstacles to flight and they might have to squeeze into tighter spaces. In those cases, firefighters may choose to fly farther to a natural source that gives the helicopter more room, said Warren Voth, a deputy pilot with the San Diego County Sheriff’s Department. A pilot’s goal is to always to face the wind while entering and exiting an area, for safety, and they need room to accomplish that. In some cases, the municipal systems needed to fill Heli-Hydrants could go empty during major fires. As the Palisades Fire in Los Angeles burned, three 1-million gallon tanks that helped pressurize city hydrants in the Pacific Palisades ran dry as demand soared and burning pipes leaked water. Other times, helicopters just can’t access them. When winds are fierce, flying is nearly impossible; hurricane-force winds that supercharged the Los Angeles infernos initially grounded firefighting aircraft. When multiple helicopters respond to large blazes, they can’t all use the Heli-Hydrant. And smoke can make it hard to see it. Portable water tanks can accomplish some of the things that Heli-Hydrants do, but can require time, people, and equipment to set up. A Heli-Hydrant gives one community hope Areas where wildland vegetation intersects with human development have always been vulnerable to fires, but more people are living in them today, and climate change is creating conditions that can make these regions drier and more flammable. Jake Wiley has seen intensifying wildfires devastate his community. Two blazes—in 2007 and 2017—collectively scorched more than 400 structures in San Diego. The last one forced Wiley, now general manager for the Rainbow Municipal Water District, to evacuate. That fire also prompted local agencies to install a Heli-Hydrant—and when the Garden Fire erupted in November, it played a big role helping firefighters protect homes. “It seems like when you’ve seen the worst, you haven’t yet,” Wiley said. “Anything we can do helps.” The Associated Press receives support from the Walton Family Foundation for coverage of water and environmental policy. The AP is solely responsible for all content. For all of AP’s environmental coverage, visit https://apnews.com/hub/climate-and-environment. —By Dorany Pineda and Brittany Peterson, Associated Press

Peace Garden at UNESCO | © INFGM Located within the headquarters of UNESCO in Paris, the Peace Garden by Isamu Noguchi emerges not merely as a landscape installation but as a profound meditation on postwar diplomacy and cultural synthesis. Commissioned in the mid-1950s, the garden symbolizes the United Nations’ commitment to peace through mutual understanding and cultural dialogue. Peace Garden at UNESCO Technical Information Artist1-2: Isamu Noguchi Location: 7 Place de Fontenoy, 75352 Paris, France Client: Marcel Breuer / UNESCO Area: 2,400 m2 | 25,800 Sq. Ft. Project Year: 1958 Photographs: © INFGM and Flick Users, See Caption Details It should be a quiet, moving place. – Isamu Noguchi 3 Peace Garden at UNESCO Photographs © INFGM © INFGM © INFGM © INFGM © INFGM © INFGM © bbonthebrink, Flickr User © Patrice Todisco © bbonthebrink, Flickr User © bbonthebrink, Flickr User © Dalbera, Flckr user © Dalbera, Flckr user Park View Park View Context and Commission Noguchi, a Japanese-American sculptor and designer, was a poignant choice for the task. His biography embodies a convergence of East and West, as well as a lifelong engagement with public space as a vehicle for social commentary. By the time of his UNESCO commission, Noguchi had already engaged with landscape-scale sculptures, memorials, and playgrounds. The Peace Garden offered an opportunity to distill these threads into a singular work situated at the crossroads of global diplomacy. His selection was shaped by the broader architectural ethos of the UNESCO campus, designed by an international team including Marcel Breuer, Pier Luigi Nervi, and Bernard Zehrfuss. The ensemble called for a complementary but ideologically rich intervention, a space that could resonate as much with symbolic gravitas as with formal clarity. This garden was Noguchi’s first realized landscape design, and its execution was made possible through a personal introduction from Marcel Breuer, the chief architect of the UNESCO headquarters. Breuer not only facilitated the commission but also supported Noguchi’s experimental vision, which would challenge prevailing notions of diplomatic landscaping. Notably, the garden was completed in 1958 and spans approximately 2,400 square meters. It was constructed by renowned Kyoto-based master gardener Sano Toemon, marking a cross-cultural collaboration between modernist sculpture and traditional Japanese craftsmanship. Design Philosophy and Symbolic Intent Noguchi approached the Peace Garden as both sculptor and spatial thinker. He resisted creating a traditional memorial or a didactic allegory of peace. Instead, he crafted a contemplative void, a space that, through its absence of overt narrative, invited personal reflection and multiple interpretations. Drawing on the vocabulary of Japanese rock gardens and Zen traditions, Noguchi created a space of abstract expression that nonetheless maintained universal accessibility. The garden is composed of roughly hewn granite stones, a central water basin, and minimal vegetation. Each element is carefully positioned, creating an orchestrated tension between natural materiality and deliberate composition. This spatial language evokes notions of impermanence, balance, and introspection. The garden does not dictate how peace should be understood; rather, it sets a stage for experiencing peace as a spatial and emotional condition. In Noguchi’s words, the garden was to be “a quiet, moving place” rather than a monument. While inspired by Japanese garden typologies, particularly the stroll garden (池泉回遊式), Noguchi chose not to replicate tradition. Instead, he abstracted and reinterpreted elements such as Mt. Horai rock formations, stepping stones, and a crouching basin. These forms subtly allude to symbolic motifs without prescribing a singular reading. Noguchi negotiated directly with the Japanese government to secure donations of ten tons of stone and plant materials including camellias, maples, cherry trees, and bamboo. This act itself underscored the garden’s role as a diplomatic gesture, embedding it with botanical references to Japanese identity while maintaining a universal design language. Material and Spatial Composition Set at the base of the UNESCO building, the Peace Garden establishes a counterpoint to the architectural massing surrounding it. Its recessed layout forms a kind of spatial cloister, shielding visitors from the city’s rhythm and inviting a slower, more inward pace. The materials, chiefly unpolished granite, gravel, and water, speak to both permanence and mutability. The granite stones, irregular yet intentional in placement, recall tectonic forms and ancient spiritual markers. The central water feature introduces subtle movement and sound, enhancing the sensory richness of the space. The garden’s compositional core is its sculptural use of stone, each placement a spatial decision echoing both tectonic memory and sculptural intentionality. Noguchi collaborated on-site with Sano Toemon, whose craftsmanship adapted in real-time to the artist’s rapidly evolving vision. According to Sano, it was only after intense on-site dialogue and shared experience that he could fully comprehend and execute Noguchi’s aesthetic strategy, a testament to the garden’s improvisational and relational genesis. Spatially, the garden is organized not around pathways but around moments. There is no linear procession or axial symmetry; instead, it offers a field of relationships. Voids and solids, shadows and reflections, horizontality and vertical interruptions all work together to create a space that must be experienced slowly and from multiple vantage points. The absence of overt hierarchy in the layout allows users to construct their own narratives. It is a non-prescriptive space in which silence, texture, and light become the principal mediums of meaning. Peace Garden at UNESCO Plans Floor Plan | © Isamu Noguchi Floor Plan | © Isamu Noguchi Peace Garden at UNESCO Image Gallery About Isamu Noguchi Isamu Noguchi (1904–1988) was a Japanese-American sculptor, landscape architect, and designer renowned for his fusion of Eastern and Western aesthetics. Trained under Constantin Brâncuși and deeply influenced by Japanese traditions, Noguchi’s work spanned sculpture, furniture, stage sets, and public spaces. His practice was rooted in a belief that art should be integrated into everyday life, often blurring the boundaries between art, architecture, and landscape. Notable for his minimal yet emotionally resonant forms, Noguchi’s legacy includes iconic works such as the Noguchi Table, the UNESCO Peace Garden in Paris, and the Isamu Noguchi Garden Museum in New York. Credits and Additional Notes Style: Stroll Garden, Contemporary Japanese Garden Main Contractor: Sano Toemon, in collaboration with Uetō Zōen Listening to Stone: The Art and Life of Isamu Noguchi by Hayden Herrera Torres, Ana Maria. Isamu Noguchi: Studies in Space. Tokyo: Marumo Publishing, 2000. pp. 96–109. Sasaki, Yōji. “What Isamu Noguchi Left Behind.” Japan Landscape, no. 16, Process Architecture, 1990, p. 87. Treib, Marc. Noguchi in Paris: The UNESCO Garden. San Francisco: William Stout Publishers and UNESCO Publishing, 2004. Overseas Japanese Gardens Database. “UNESCO Garden.” Accessed May 2025.