The Claypole Commons

<p>Growing up in Pittsburgh, D.J. Trischler noticed something interesting: the entire city was dressed in black and gold. Police cars, fire trucks, sports teams, bridges. Two regular old colors creating social cohesion across a whole city. That observation planted a seed. As a graphic designer and University of Cincinnati professor, D.J. started asking: how might we use design to connect people to their local ecologies?</p>

<p>He'd been sitting on the idea of a one-page printed newsletter for his block for years. Then earlier this year, there was a shooting on his street in Cincinnati. He saw two paths: everyone could close up their houses and buy cameras, or they could come together. He chose together.</p>

<p>The Claypole Commons is a hand-designed print newsletter for 25 houses — just his block. But it's not about the people. D.J. didn't want anyone to feel pressure to perform neighborliness. Instead, the newsletter is about the land they share: the cardinals that start chirping at 6:30 in the morning, the rooster that crows at 6:00, the goldenrods about to bloom and the asters coming soon. Recently, he stamped every copy with ink made from the pokeberry bush in his backyard — connecting each neighbor to the specific ecology of their shared place.</p>

<p>The newsletter became an invitation for conversation. Neighbors started approaching D.J. to ask about sunflower seeds or how to grow certain plants. He and his wife began hosting monthly events on the street. For "Meet the Chickens," they made a hand-printed poster and invited neighbors over to meet three new hens. Together — no vote, just natural consensus — they named the chickens Richard, Dolly, and Penny.</p>

<p>The changes have been tangible. A WhatsApp group formed. One neighbor started sharing footage from a bird feeder camera. People ask for sugar, check in after storms, report loose dogs. D.J. discovered his neighbor can fix bikes — after the neighbor started bringing compost to their pile. When D.J. offered to pay him back, the neighbor said something like: "We just love being a part of the ecology here. We think we want to get bees so we can contribute to the street."</p>

<p>There is something radical in what's happening on Claypole Avenue: choosing slowness over efficiency, thinking small over dreaming big, designing for a particular place rather than any place. The newsletter is becoming a cohesive symbol — like Pittsburgh's black and gold, but for 25 houses. People are starting to see themselves in it. D.J. describes it simply: he's designing inside his community, for inside his community.</p>

<p>When asked why this slow, small, hyper-local work matters, D.J. doesn't claim to be radical. He says he's most excited about seeing monarch caterpillars on his milkweed plants, about neighbors exchanging eggs or baked goods or seeds instead of buying them. Going slow invites more people in and lets small victories build on each other.</p>

<p>As D.J. puts it, sometimes it feels like the commons still exist — those old shared places where you found firewood, planted a garden, met your neighbors. Maybe, on Claypole Avenue, they do.</p>