Curb. Kerb. Querb.

I've spent many an hour in my life being poked fun at from my architect contemporaries over landscape architect conventions like curbs, sidewalks, bollards, benches, etc, etc. And most of the time I agree with them. In some ways there is nothing more banal than a curb - that small rise of concrete that separates toxic car debris from other environments beyond, directs all the water that makes it to earth to some undisclosed underground hiding place, provides a barrier between the potential harmful actions of a vehicle toward the pedestrian milieu, and ultimately creates a micro-groundplane.

In a very short period of time practicing landscape architecture in New York City, I've come to the conclusion that the state of a city's curbs is an indicator of it's greater social mores. Yesterday at work I asked a general question of my colleagues about the height of a roll curb. "A roll curb? What is that?" No one knew the answer. No one even knew what a roll curb is. So I quickly assumed it to be yet another Canadian practice that I haven't yet learned the American equivalent. I'm finding a lot of Canadianisms in my practice and sometimes I feel like I learned landscape architecture in a different language. I did some research on 'roll curbs' on the web and discovered it's not at all explicitly Canadian, but it's certainly not New York.

In New York the curbs come in two sorts: thick steel faced concrete, and 1'x1' granite. That's right, a 1' rise from the street. And yes, most curbs need a big fat steel edge to keep them intact:





In Vancouver, many curbs in new development are roll curbs: 3-4" tall with a very nice soft roll sometimes rendering them almost indistinguishable:
















In New York, curbs are tough, industrial, in your face but very functional.
In Vancouver, curbs are precious and suburban.