I’ve been thinking a lot about this lately – you know when something clicks in your head and suddenly you can’t unsee it everywhere? That happened to me about three years ago when I was consulting on a residential project, and now every time I drive through any neighborhood built after 1970, I just shake my head.
The project was this couple’s house in Southeast Portland, Mike and Linda, who’d been living there for eight years and couldn’t figure out why their energy bills kept climbing. They’d call me frustrated, saying their house was “broken” somehow. When I walked through it the first time, I knew exactly what was wrong, but I also knew they weren’t going to like what I had to tell them.
Their 1990s ranch was basically designed to fail in our Pacific Northwest climate. Not maliciously, mind you – just completely ignorantly. Like whoever designed it had never actually lived in Oregon, never experienced our wet winters and surprisingly hot summers, never noticed which way the rain comes from or where the sun sits in December versus July.
The whole thing was oriented wrong, first off. Main living spaces faced north, which meant they were dim and cold most of the year. The south side, where you’d want to capture winter sun for passive heating? That’s where they stuck the garage and a couple of rarely-used bedrooms. Meanwhile, these massive windows on the west side got hammered by afternoon sun in summer, turning their family room into a greenhouse by 3 PM.
I mean, it’s basic stuff. Solar orientation costs nothing to get right during design, but somehow we’ve just… forgotten how to do it? Or maybe never learned in the first place.
What really got me thinking was how simple it would be to design buildings that actually work with natural systems instead of fighting them constantly. This isn’t revolutionary thinking – people have been doing it for thousands of years. We’re the weird ones, building houses that ignore climate and then wondering why they’re expensive and uncomfortable to live in.
Mike kept apologizing for calling me out for what seemed like such a simple problem. “I feel stupid,” he said, “but we just can’t figure out why this house costs so much to heat and cool.” I had to stop him right there. This wasn’t their fault – their house had been designed to perform poorly, and they were just dealing with the consequences fifteen years later.
Traditional building approaches understood something we’ve apparently forgotten: work with natural forces, don’t fight them. In our climate, that means capturing winter sun for heating, blocking summer sun to prevent overheating, managing moisture without creating mold problems, and using thermal mass to moderate temperature swings.
Linda and Mike’s house did none of these things. Zero thermal mass – just wood framing and drywall everywhere, so indoor temperatures fluctuated wildly with outdoor conditions. No passive solar design, so they were heating entirely with their furnace even on sunny winter days when they should’ve been getting significant free heat through properly oriented windows. And the summer overheating situation was just brutal.
We ended up doing a pretty extensive renovation, but the principles behind it were straightforward. Add thermal mass where it makes sense – we put in a concrete floor in their main living area and added some masonry features that store heat during the day and release it slowly at night. Rearrange interior spaces so daily living happens on the south side where there’s natural light and solar gain. Add proper shading on the west side to prevent summer overheating.
The natural ventilation thing was huge. Their original house was basically sealed shut, which might make sense in climates with extreme temperatures year-round, but here? We have months of perfectly pleasant weather when you shouldn’t need any mechanical heating or cooling. We added operable windows positioned to catch prevailing summer breezes, created cross-ventilation pathways, and designed outdoor spaces that extend the home’s usable area without requiring conditioning.
After the renovation, their energy bills dropped by about 60%, but honestly, the comfort improvement was even more dramatic. No more cold spots in winter, no more overheating in summer, better air quality, spaces that actually feel pleasant to be in. Linda told me six months later that they’d started entertaining again because their house finally felt welcoming instead of just… functional.
Here’s what drives me crazy about this whole situation: everything we did was based on principles that have been understood for centuries. Pueblo architecture in the Southwest, traditional New England farmhouses, vernacular buildings everywhere – they all demonstrate sophisticated responses to local climate conditions. These weren’t accidents; they were refined over generations of people paying attention to what worked.
Somehow, modern construction has lost that connection entirely. We design buildings as if they exist in some generic, climate-free environment, then try to force comfort with mechanical systems. It’s expensive, energy-intensive, and often doesn’t even work very well.
The materials situation is equally frustrating. Mike and Linda’s original house used materials chosen purely for cost and availability, with zero consideration for performance in our specific climate. Dark roof that absorbed heat all summer, minimal insulation, windows that were basically thermal bridges connecting interior and exterior temperatures.
During renovation, we switched to materials that actually make sense here: light-colored metal roofing that reflects summer heat, properly detailed insulation that manages moisture without trapping it, windows with appropriate glazing for each orientation. Not exotic stuff – just intelligent material selection based on how buildings actually perform in real conditions.
The whole experience got me thinking about what I call the “natural systems approach” – designing buildings that recognize and respond to the environmental forces acting on them rather than trying to overpower those forces with mechanical systems. It’s not about going back to some primitive building methods; it’s about applying traditional wisdom using modern materials and techniques.
When I explain this to clients, I use the analogy of swimming. You can fight against a current and exhaust yourself getting nowhere, or you can work with the current and reach your destination efficiently. Most buildings are designed to fight their environment constantly, which is why they’re expensive to operate and often uncomfortable despite all that energy consumption.
The really encouraging thing is how quickly people get it once they see examples. Mike and Linda have become total evangelists for climate-responsive design, showing off their renovated house to anyone who’ll listen. Their neighbors have started asking questions about why their own energy bills are so high, whether similar improvements would work for their houses.
That’s how change happens, I think. Not through top-down mandates or technological breakthroughs, but through people experiencing better ways of doing things and sharing that knowledge. Every building that demonstrates intelligent climate response makes the case more convincingly than any amount of theoretical discussion.
I’ve started incorporating these principles into all my projects now, regardless of scope or budget. Sometimes it’s major moves like reorienting spaces or adding thermal mass. Sometimes it’s smaller interventions like strategic shading or improved natural ventilation. But always, it’s about working with natural systems rather than against them.
The ironic thing is that these approaches often save money during construction, not just operation. Proper orientation reduces mechanical system requirements. Natural ventilation strategies can eliminate or downsize HVAC equipment. Thermal mass and solar gain reduce heating needs. But convincing people requires demonstrating results, not just explaining theory.
Anyway, that’s why I keep taking on projects like Mike and Linda’s house, even though renovations are more complicated than new construction. Each one becomes a proof of concept that buildings can actually enhance human comfort while consuming dramatically less energy. And maybe, eventually, enough people will experience better approaches that we’ll stop building houses designed to fight the very climates they exist within.
Samantha’s an architect who believes buildings should age well and waste little. She writes about thoughtful design, honest materials, and finding beauty in simplicity—no greenwashing, just good sense and craftsmanship.
