A Gap in the Shade

This past week, a local news outlet reported on infighting between the mayor and city council over the establishment of a cooling center in a close-in suburb of Charlotte, NC. While May was surprisingly cool and rainy this year, in true Mid-South fashion, the mercury began creeping up in June, along with the dreaded humidity, and July has been full-on blazing.

Climate change and increasing weather hazards aside (a topic for another day- a phrase I’m well aware I say too often on this platform), the need for shelter becomes nearly, if not more, dire in the summer than during the increasingly mild winters we’ve come to expect in this part of the country.

But shelter doesn’t always mean a roof and four walls. Sometimes, it’s a tree canopy. Sometimes, it’s a bus stop awning, a shaded sidewalk, or a park with permeable surfaces and even a little breeze. In the thick of summer, shade is infrastructure, and our cities often fail to treat it that way.

We talk a lot in design circles about infrastructure that moves- cars, buses, bikes, water, electricity, and the like. But the infrastructure that allows people to simply exist safely outdoors- to walk to work, wait for the bus, take a lunch break, or just live without risking heat exhaustion- often gets deprioritized. And when cities do invest in shade, it’s not always done equitably.

Neighborhood-level differences in tree canopy coverage are well-documented across the U.S. In many cities, formerly redlined areas, home to predominantly Black, Latino, and low-income residents, have far less shade and far more pavement per square foot than wealthier, leafier parts of town. These same areas often have higher rates of chronic health conditions, lower air quality, and limited access to cooling infrastructure. The result? Urban heat islands that don’t just make summer uncomfortable, they make it dangerous.

From an urban design perspective, the solutions aren’t mysterious. We know that increasing tree canopy, using lighter-colored or porous paving materials, retrofitting public spaces with shade structures, and creating cooling corridors can all make a significant difference. Even simple interventions like adding shade sails to playgrounds or prioritizing shaded bus stops can improve daily comfort and long-term health outcomes.

But these interventions take political will, funding, and ongoing care. Tree planting, for example, is often celebrated with ribbon cuttings and Instagrammable shovel photos, but the years of maintenance that follow like watering, pruning, and stewardship, rarely get the same attention. And without thoughtful, community-informed planning, even well-intentioned greening efforts can lead to displacement or gentrification pressure.

As heat seasons lengthen and climate risks escalate, we need to reframe how we think about thermal comfort in our cities. Shade shouldn’t be considered a beautification bonus, it’s critical infrastructure for public health and equity. And like any infrastructure, it needs to be planned, funded, maintained, and distributed fairly.

So when we talk about cooling centers, yes, let’s make sure we have places for people to go when it’s dangerously hot. But let’s also design cities where fewer people have to escape in the first place. Where shade is built into the blocks, not just applied in emergency response. Where every neighborhood, not just the lucky ones, gets to breathe a little easier in the summer.