Digging through old planning documents in Seattle’s archives always makes me think about how dramatically our approach to building has changed. Last month I was researching development patterns from the 1960s for a zoning reform project, and I found this promotional brochure for a subdivision that bragged about “climate control in every room” and “maintenance-free living.” The whole marketing pitch was about defeating nature through technology – bigger air conditioners, sealed windows, synthetic materials that would never need replacement.
That subdivision still exists, by the way. I drive through it sometimes when I’m reviewing permit applications in that area. Those houses are energy nightmares now – single-pane windows, minimal insulation, HVAC systems that are constantly fighting the building envelope instead of working with it. The original developers treated the Pacific Northwest climate like something to be conquered rather than something to design around.
But you know what’s interesting? Even back then, there were people questioning this approach. Not many, and they weren’t getting much attention, but they existed. I came across some meeting minutes from 1967 where one planning commissioner suggested that maybe new subdivisions should consider solar orientation when laying out streets. The other commissioners basically laughed at him. Solar orientation! What a weird hippie idea.
My own introduction to sustainable design came through a professor at UW who’d worked with some of those early pioneers in the 1970s. She used to tell stories about visiting experimental solar houses that were fascinating disasters – brilliant concepts executed with whatever materials and knowledge were available at the time. One place she described had a huge south-facing wall of water-filled barrels painted black to collect and store solar heat. Worked great in theory. In practice, the barrels leaked, created humidity problems, and the whole system was basically uncontrollable.
Those early experiments matter though, even the failures. They were asking the right questions at a time when most of the building industry wasn’t asking any questions at all. How do you heat a house with the sun? How do you cool it without air conditioning? How do you build something that works with natural systems instead of fighting them constantly?
The 1973 oil crisis changed everything almost overnight. I’ve talked to older architects and engineers who lived through that period, and they describe it as the moment when energy efficiency stopped being a curiosity and became an economic necessity. Suddenly clients who’d never asked about insulation were demanding detailed energy calculations. Builders who’d ignored building science for decades were scrambling to understand thermal performance.
That’s when sustainable design really became a movement rather than just isolated experiments by a few visionaries. The federal government started offering tax credits for solar installations. Universities launched building science programs. Professional organizations began developing energy efficiency standards. It wasn’t just back-to-the-land types anymore – it was becoming legitimate professional practice.
But here’s the thing about those early days: a lot of the “energy efficient” building was terrible. I’ve audited houses from the late 1970s that were built with good intentions but poor understanding of building science. They’d have solar collectors on the roof but no thermal mass to store the collected heat. They’d add tons of insulation but ignore air sealing, creating moisture problems that are still causing issues today.
There’s this house in Ballard I worked on a few years ago that perfectly captures this era. Built in 1978 by an owner-builder who was really committed to energy efficiency. He’d read about passive solar design and thermal mass and natural ventilation, but he didn’t understand how all these systems needed to work together. The place had beautiful south-facing windows for solar gain, but he’d used single-pane glass and provided almost no thermal mass. It would overheat on sunny winter days and be freezing cold at night. Classic case of understanding individual concepts while missing the bigger picture of how buildings actually work as systems.
The 1980s brought more systematic approaches as building science evolved from enthusiastic experimentation into an actual discipline. Researchers developed testing methods to measure air leakage and thermal performance. Computer modeling made it possible to predict building behavior before construction. Standards organizations created guidelines based on actual data rather than theoretical ideals.
I still reference some of the building science research from that period because the fundamental principles haven’t changed. Thermal bridging still matters. Air sealing is still crucial. Moisture management is still essential. But the tools and materials available now are so much better than what those early pioneers had to work with.
The green building certification programs that emerged in the 1990s were game changers for mainstream adoption. LEED launched in 2000, but before that there were regional programs that established market recognition for sustainable building practices. Suddenly there was a way to verify and communicate building performance beyond just “trust me, it’s green.”
I remember working on some of the early LEED projects in Seattle in the mid-2000s. The paperwork was incredible – every credit required extensive documentation, and some of the requirements seemed pretty arbitrary. But it forced everyone involved to think systematically about environmental impacts in ways they’d never done before. Architects had to collaborate with engineers differently. Contractors had to document material choices they’d never tracked. Clients had to make decisions based on lifecycle costs rather than just upfront prices.
What’s remarkable is how much the technology has improved since then. LED lighting that was experimental and expensive in 2005 is now standard and cheap. Heat pump systems that barely existed fifteen years ago are becoming mainstream. Solar panels that cost $8 per watt in 1990 now cost under $3 per watt installed, which has completely changed the economics of renewable energy for buildings.
But technology is only part of the story. The bigger change has been in how people think about buildings and energy use. When I started doing energy efficiency work in the early 2000s, most homeowners had no idea how their house actually worked as a system. They’d complain about high utility bills or comfort problems but couldn’t connect those issues to building performance.
Now I routinely work with clients who understand concepts like thermal bridging and blower door tests better than many contractors did twenty years ago. They’ve watched YouTube videos about air sealing. They’ve read about heat recovery ventilators. They ask informed questions about insulation R-values and window U-factors. The internet has democratized building science knowledge in ways that seemed impossible when I was starting my career.
Climate change has added urgency to sustainable design that wasn’t there in the early days. When the movement started, energy efficiency was mainly about saving money on utility bills. Now it’s also about reducing carbon emissions and creating buildings that can handle more extreme weather patterns. Houses need to stay livable during longer heat waves, more intense storms, and power grid failures.
This has pushed sustainable design beyond just efficiency toward resilience and adaptability. Passive house standards that originated in Germany are gaining traction here because they create buildings that remain comfortable even when mechanical systems fail. Battery storage systems are becoming common not just for cost savings but to maintain power during outages. We’re selecting materials based on durability in extreme weather, not just initial cost.
The movement has also broadened beyond environmental concerns to include health and social equity issues. Indoor air quality gets as much attention now as energy efficiency. Affordable housing developers are incorporating sustainable design because it reduces operating costs for low-income residents. There’s growing recognition that sustainable building isn’t just about environmental protection – it’s about creating healthier, more affordable, more resilient communities.
Looking at where we are now compared to those 1960s subdivision brochures I mentioned, the transformation has been remarkable. Sustainable design has moved from fringe experimentation to mainstream practice. Building codes now mandate efficiency levels that would have been considered extreme twenty years ago. New homes routinely include features – solar panels, heat pumps, high-performance windows – that were rare specialties not long ago.
Yet there’s still enormous room for improvement, especially in cities like Seattle where most of the building stock is decades old. The gap between what’s possible with current technology and what’s typical in actual construction remains frustratingly large. Too many builders still prioritize lowest first cost over lifecycle performance. Too many homeowners still don’t understand how to operate their houses efficiently.
But the trajectory is clear, and it gives me hope in my planning work. Each generation of builders knows more about building science than the last. Each wave of new products performs better than what came before. Each iteration of building codes pushes baseline performance higher. What started as scattered experiments by a few visionaries has become an unstoppable movement toward buildings that work better for people and the planet.
Albert’s a Bristol-based planner who cares about cities that actually work for people. He writes about sustainability from street level—messy, real, and full of heart.
