NYC to temporarily pause compost fines for smaller buildings
Effective immediately, compost fines will not affect buildings under 30 units in New York City, according to the mayor's office.
More Local News
Buildings with more than 30 units that have received more than four warnings from the sanitation department will still be fined $100 for not composting, according to the mayor's office. This policy will be expanded to all buildings by the end of the year, city officials said.
However, the mayor's office stressed that composting is still 'mandatory,' despite the pause in fines for smaller buildings.
A spokesperson for the mayor's office released the following statement.
'Make no mistake: Composting continues to be mandatory in New York City. Mayor Adams has led by example on this issue and composts daily, whether he is at Gracie Mansion or at City Hall, but he has also heard from New Yorkers across all five boroughs — including at town halls — who still have questions about this extremely important program. In an effort to facilitate even higher participation, we will conduct additional outreach and education on composting before issuing fines to the most persistent offenders who repeatedly refuse to compost. Through the end of the year, we will be distributing additional education materials and holding more community events about how to sort out waste.'
Spokesperson for the Office of the Mayor of New York City
This is a developing story. Please refresh the page for updates.
Finn Hoogensen is a digital journalist who has covered local news for more than six years. He has been with PIX11 News since 2022. See more of his work here.
Copyright 2025 Nexstar Media, Inc. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.
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Miami Herald
2 hours ago
- Miami Herald
Raze or save? A fight over fate of home in flood-prone South Beach historic district
In South Beach's tranquil Palm View neighborhood, a once-stylish house gone shabby offers a case study in a complicated conflict facing many South Florida communities threatened by rising seas, tides and storm surge. It's historic preservation vs. flood protection. Anthony Accetta — an attorney who inherited three connected properties in a historic district of Miami Beach where some homes date back nearly a century — has been embroiled in a battle over a 1930's home with a colorful heritage that neighbors now call an eyesore. Two of his adjacent homes in a flood-prone area of the city have already been deemed unsafe and demolished. But the city's Historic Preservation Board has been pushing to save the last one. The board argues that the two-story home can be raised — or even restored where it sits under code exemptions intended to help preserve the character of historic neighborhoods. Accetta's engineer and architect insist a wrecking ball is the only practical option to prevent further damage to a tattered home in a flood zone. Accetta, who is open about his hope to sell the lots together to a developer, argues that retrofitting to modern standards isn't worth the trouble or expense for a home his hired consultants consider of scant historic importance. 'You could send someone to the moon – so yeah, you could do it. You could lift whatever you want. It's a value, cost thing,' said Accetta. 'They are telling me, 'Hey, you knock this house down, you can make another $2 or $3 million.' But instead I'm stuck with a house that shouldn't be raised, can't be demolished, and that no one should live in.' At a meeting earlier this month, preservation board member Ray Breslin acknowledged concern that approving the demolition of 1800 Michigan Avenue could cause a ripple effect in Palm View, a neighborhood of charming Art Deco and Mediterranean Revival homes not far from Lincoln Road and City Hall. 'You make a compelling argument to tear the building down because it doesn't meet any building standards, but neither do any of the other homes in the Palm View neighborhood. So you would be setting a precedent for everyone in the Palm View neighborhood to come and say 'Oh we need to tear our home down.' ' 'This is going to be a swamp.' Miami Beach has spent upwards of a half-billion dollars on elevating roads and installing pumps and other flood-control measures but some areas like Palm View still suffer periodic street flooding or worse — particularly during King Tides or heavy rains. Luz Lattore, one of Palm View's longest-tenured residents, confirmed chronic drainage issues. 'Sometimes it takes more than a day for it to fully drain,' she said. Flooding has long made the neighborhood a battleground between preservationists and owners and developers who argue they should have the right to build more resilient (and likely more profitable) homes. 'It's not something that happens once every 20 years. It's a very common,'' Accetta said. 'This is going to be a swamp.' His attorney, Michael Larkin, told the preservation board that the city's own data shows more flooding on the street over the last five years. He warned it could get even worse once the city raises the road and if other surrounding lots are developed or elevated, leaving Accetta's property sitting in a 'valley' where storm runoff would pool. Florida's building codes require new, more elevated construction to protect neighboring properties from storm runoff, using special drainage features like deeper yard swales and retaining walls. But across South Florida, residents have often complained that new elevated homes and roads inundate nearby structures. In one case, a group of Miami Beach homeowners sued the city after road elevation caused flooding on their properties. Read more: Miami Beach is raising roads for sea rise. Lawsuits say they're causing flooding too. One thing both sides seem to agree on: The best way to reduce flood risks would be to elevate whatever goes up on the site. The current building code for Palm View calls for at least four feet higher. But Accetta's engineer cautioned that potential fix could wind up destroying the fragile structure. Unlike many older homes with crawl spaces – which allow easier access – the Michigan Avenue house sits on a concrete slab. Experts say that makes elevating it far more difficult and expensive. During a structural assessment, engineer Youssef Hachem found the concrete foundation was 80% weaker than coastal buildings built today. 'To get it out of the flood zone, we're not confident due to the concrete weaknesses that we'd actually be able to lift the structure,' Hachem, who has 30 years of local experience, told board members. Still, it's possible. Jeff Trosclair, CEO of JAS Home Raising, who has raised more than 1,000 homes on the west coast of Florida — the company slogan is 'haven't dropped one yet' — isn't involved in the Miami Beach case. But he told the Miami Herald that many seemingly fragile homes can be safely raised. He's said he's lifting a similar old home now in St. Petersburg. 'Building officials, engineers and other builders who don't have much experience with lifting tend to assume that we will damage the structure,' Trosclair said. 'It's rare that a good experienced lifter damages anything.' The big hitch is that work also comes at a big cost. While a standard house lift runs $150 to $200 a square foot, poor structural conditions could double that. That's just the start. The house would also need a new roof, reinforced walls, new stronger foundation and the whole thing would need to be re-stuccoed. There is another alternative — using a special exemption that allows repairs to historic homes without raising them or upgrading everything to existing codes. But Accetta's attorney argued that would be a foolhardy investment given persistent flooding likely to get worse in coming decades. 'I see a future for the home that is bleak – and this is something that you all need to grapple with from time to time,' Larkin told the board. Some charm still evident Despite the decay and disrepair, city preservation experts say the home still displays historic appeal — most evident in its distinctive Mediterranean-style entryway with stone shelving and ornate hand-laid tiles that are signatures designs of its Texas-born architect, Carlos Schoeppl. The city also contends Accetta has largely dismissed calls to save at least some of the structure and instead has been focused on razing it. 'I understand what they were saying that the whole property might not be able to be raised, but demolition is a very high bar in a historic district,' Debbie Tackett, the chief historic preservation and architectural officer for the Miami Beach Historic District, told the Herald. 'Maybe a portion can be retained, and they never even, at least from talking to them, seriously explored that.' The board approves demolitions in rare cases, she said. But the board didn't feel it was appropriate for this one because the engineering report did not say it was at risk of imminent collapse. Years of neglect also have contributed to the structural problems, not just flooding issues. Cracks run along the walls and the roof is rotting in multiple places. Vines creep through broken windows onto the walls and ceilings, and red code enforcement citations are plastered across the front door. Illegal additions to the house are boarded up. In one, a tree that crashed through its roof now hosts a bee colony. A deal to benefit cancer victims There is another wrinkle to the dispute. As a trustee of the estate of the former owners, Accetta said he is pushing for the maximum value out of the properties because the sale is intended to help cancer victims. The story behind that leads to Rita Starr and Ivor Rose, a married couple who lived in the area for decades, buying and renting out numerous homes. Their presence is still visible at 1800 Michigan Avenue. 'Rita Ivar '64' is etched into concrete steps and driveway. A zebra statue adorned with Ivor's name in stick-on letters still stands in the yard. In 2019, two years before her death, Starr told the Miami Herald that the couple had once hoped to redevelop their triangle of homes in townhouses, but their plans were halted by the district's controversial historic designation in 1999. After that, the couple struggled with the expenses of maintaining their numerous properties. Accetta, a New York-born attorney who has lived in Miami for decades, met the couple in 2014 while representing them in a high-profile fraud case against disgraced developer named Michael Stern, who had forged Starr's named on mortgage documents. After her death, Accetta said he discovered she had named him and another attorney co-trustees of the properties — with a directive to sell the land for the highest possible price and donate the proceeds to families struggling with cancer, a disease that claimed her mother's life. READ MORE: Former Miami Beach developer Michael Stern faces more prison time in fraud plea 'The couple had no children of their own and instead decided to leave their estate in the hands of the two people they trusted the most to get the highest amount of funds on the property and give the rest to charity,' Larkin said. 'This is not a get-rich-quick process; this is two professionals that are charged with carrying out the last wishes of Rita and Ivor.' For him, the ideal scenario would be to sell the land to a developer to build four new single-family homes designed in line with the city's historic guidelines. Accetta says he is puzzled over the fight over the last home, since the city already agreed to demolish an adjacent property listed as of 'exceptional historical significance.' That canal-front home was once the studio of Henry Hubbell, an artist employed by the federal government to paint portraits, including one of President Franklin D. Roosevelt. The home was even featured on vintage postcards titled 'A bit of Venice in Miami Beach,' complete with gondolas. City reports show those structures were in far worse condition. Breaks in the seawall caused water to come up through the foundation, eroding it so badly that the Miami Beach's building department issued an emergency demolition order before the Historic Preservation Board ever weighed in. Accetta, who says he has spent hundreds of thousands on battle over the home, argues that if the board wants the house saved, the city should take financial responsibility for doing so. 'From a lawyer's perspective, there's what they call eminent domain,' he said. 'If your house is where the government wants to build a highway, they have to pay you the reasonable value of the property. I think that's fair. Give me the option.' Debate still divides neighborhood The battle over 1800 Michigan Avenue echoes a long-running debate that still divides Palm View residents. In 2019, some homeowners mounted a campaign to rescind a designation applied to a triangle of blocks bounded by Dade Boulevard, Meridian Avenue, 17th Street and Lenox Court. Longtime resident Lattore called the process arbitrary and restrictive. 'I couldn't rebuild a home big enough to fit my family,' she said. 'Just a few blocks away, people are putting up huge modern buildings. This neighborhood is so small, it doesn't affect the look of the city. I think everyone should have the freedom to tear down their home and build something new.' Others say its the architectural history that makes Palm View such an attractive place to live in a city full of high-rises. Dillion Elizer, a neighborhood association board member, told the Herald her personal opinion was that it wasn't fair for 'out-of-town attorneys' with no personal ties to the neighborhood to try to circumvent the preservation rules. 'All of us that live in the neighborhood have to jump through all these hoops with the preservation board to keep structures from like 1937, and these guys get to just bypass it,' Eliezer said. Members of the Miami Design Preservation League also 'strongly oppose' demolition. 'This appears to be a case of demolition by neglect, where the owners are intentionally allowing the property to deteriorate to justify demolition,' the preservation league's statement said. 'If aging concrete and standard maintenance issues such as moisture intrusion justify demolition, then virtually every historic property in the city becomes vulnerable. This would set an extremely dangerous precedent.' Jay Levy, another homeowner in Palm View, said climate change wasn't on the agenda a quarter century ago when historic designations and its building code rules were first approved. 'When I first moved to South Beach in 1990, we all thought, oh, that's a good thing. It's allowing us to keep these historic properties,' Levy said. 'And now, in retrospect, I realize that wasn't a good thing, that was actually pulling the wool over everybody's eyes.' Ashley Miznazi is a climate change reporter for the Miami Herald funded by the Lynn and Louis Wolfson II Family Foundation and MSC Cruises in partnership with Journalism Funding Partners.
Vogue
4 days ago
- Vogue
The Simple Pleasures of a Stoop Vegetable Garden
During World War II, American families grew 'victory gardens' in their backyard—a patriotic way to fight food shortages and help troops by diverting the need for fresh fruits, veggies, and herbs. In a way, the collection of plants currently sitting on the stoop of my Brooklyn apartment is its own little kind of victory garden. A concerted effort to care for something tangible, that also may just feed me at some point this summer (as long as I stick to my watering schedule). Earlier this year, I interviewed a series of New Yorkers about what they were buying ahead of Trump's potential incoming tariffs. Julia Fox, star of Uncut Gems and girl about town, told me, 'I bought seeds to plant my own food, just in case.' At a time when everything seems to be a recession indicator, a vegetable garden may be the most hopeful one to consider. This isn't my first summer spent trying to keep plants alive on my porch. Last year, my tomato plant limped along as I went out of town, only to come back and revive it at the last possible moment. I ended the season having enjoyed exactly five juicy little tomatoes. But they were undoubtedly delicious—sun warmed and bursting with flavor. As I've seen more people in my online universe talk both jokingly and semi-seriously about curating a vegetable garden of their own in particularly insecure times, I thought it might be a nice occasion to brush up on a few tips and tricks in caring for your own little collection of pots and planters with the help of Corey Blant, the director of urban agriculture at New York Restoration Project (a program which, fun fact, was founded by Bette Midler in 1995). NYRP works in partnership with communities all over New York City to create and preserve community gardens and green spaces. It's never too late to start Each winter, I tell myself that I'll start early on my planting projects, but the reality is life often gets in the way of planting seeds early in the season. The good news, according to Blant, is that it's never too late to start on something. 'Not two hours ago, I planted zucchini from seed at a garden in Astoria,' he tells me over FaceTime, his face tan and his fingers dusty from a day in the soil. While he notes that at this point in the season, it's too late to plant delicate lettuces, it's prime time for squash, eggplant, and zucchini, all of which thrive in summer heat. Blant adds that herbs are a great option no matter what point in the season—'mint is going to be super vigorous, [as well as] sage and basil.' Come mid-August, you can even start to plant seeds for cold-loving veggies like cauliflower and kale. If planting straight from seed is intimidating, head to your local hardware store and pick up a few starts (baby plants ready to go into the ground), which can be a little more forgiving. This year, I've set out my pots with a mix of tomatoes, habanero peppers, and basil, and despite the current temps climbing towards 100 degrees, I've been faithfully watering them and watching as my first little veggies begin to appear. Make the most of what you have Whether you have a backyard plot, a free stoop or a little space on your fire escape, make the most of your space. If you're building a garden in a yard, go for a raised bed with quality soil or compost. 'Start with that super high quality, super nutrient dense soil,' Blant says. Soil, sun, water… if you give the plants as much of that as possible, you're setting them up for success from the jump.' On my stoop, I use a mix of pots that I've amassed over the year, using the bigger ones for plants that I know tend to take over, like tomatoes. Smaller pots house basil and herbs. I try to use pots that have holes in the bottom for drainage, along with a saucer to catch the water that tends to spill out when I douse them. I picked up soil from my local hardware store, and also take the chance to grab NYC-made compost when I come across it at a farmer's market or other local event (as an ardent composter, it's a full circle moment!).
Los Angeles Times
4 days ago
- Los Angeles Times
My last garden
Someday we will leave this house where we've lived, incredibly, for close to 45 years. Maybe a new McMansion will push us away, looming over us and blocking the winter sunrise I watch from our living room, cup of coffee in hand. Maybe we'll decide to move near the kids, instead of visiting them for stretches. Or maybe my husband or I will take a bad fall, making even the three steps to our front door insurmountable. Maybe that will be the moment we go. My mother stayed in her house past the point of being able to disperse a lifetime of family photos, books and the rest. So, like Egyptian royalty, she cocooned with it all. Neat stacks of New Yorkers she 'intended' to read filled an entire bookcase in her bedroom. The 1940s Toby jugs she collected in Victoria, Canada, as a young Navy WAVE officer nestled, bubble-wrapped, in a closet, some carefully glued back together after the 1994 Northridge earthquake. So much 'sparked joy' for her, or at least a duty to preserve. I'm determined to live lighter — certainly to die with less — and I have made some progress giving things away. But my husband and I struggle with the bigger decision of moving: knowing when and to where, that's the trick. Our ruminations and the recent deaths of friends infuse our life here in Los Angeles with a preciousness which, as summer rises, centers on my small garden. The Meyer lemons have ripened into big, juicy softballs. The Valencia blossoms have morphed into countless tiny green oranges. That tree predated us in this house and remains so prolific that in some years local food-bank gleaners have bagged 500 pounds of ripe fruit. Jasmine flowers spill over our brick planters. The trumpet tree's exotic scent lures nocturnal moths into its bright yellow cone petals. Taking out the trash after dark sometimes feels like a visit to Bloomingdale's fragrance counter. My night-blooming cereus, once a small potted plant, now the size of Audrey II from 'Little Shop of Horrors,' is on its third round of buds. Pollinators come calling as dusk descends and the 8-inch flowers languidly unfurl their white petals. Sometimes a dozen or more blooms open over an evening — like the Hollywood Bowl's Fourth of July fireworks finale, minus the '1812 Overture.' Of course, I can buy fresh lemons and flowers wherever we end up living. But there is such quotidian joy for me in these lemons and those flowers. I'm a negligent gardener. Rainstorms invariably seed a carpet of weeds; my winter lettuce bolts before I notice. Bare spots need new plants. I should spend a solid week out there, plucking, fertilizing and replanting. Even so, things mostly grow. I would miss the trees in our 1948 tract. Jacaranda blooms a couple of blocks over dust cars and make a canopy of lavender. In fall, tiny yellow blossoms from the golden rain trees carpet our street. Still, my husband and I are beginning to feel old here. Young families replace neighbors who've died or moved. Little girls in pink leotards twirl on their lawns. Halloween is a big deal on our street again. All as it should be. Our fellow seniors, some longtime friends, still briskly walk the streets. But ramps for wheelchairs and sturdy railings have appeared on some front porches. Local real-estate agents pester us long-timers to sell. Simplify your life, they helpfully suggest. Move to a condo or near your children before it's 'too late.' I'm still upright, yet each year I feel the decision drawing closer. The kids and young grandchildren live in the Northwest, which we love, and being there full time we'd be more a part of their lives. However, at our age, moving means giving up not just this house but, realistically, any house and, likely, a garden. How I will miss my weedy little Giverny. An older neighbor planted sweet peas every year so that the vines wound up her chain link fence. The spring after she died, her house vacant and her presence sorely missed, a mass of flowers reappeared, all color and delicious scent. Whenever we move on, I hope the next gardener will delight in the magenta alstroemeria flowers that emerge every spring, unbidden. Or perhaps as the agapanthus blooms — those swaying lavender balls — knock gently against her family's car as she backs out of the driveway, she'll shake her head at the magic of it all. Molly Selvin, a former staff writer for the Los Angeles Times and editor-in-chief of the California Supreme Court Historical Society's Review, writes for Blueprint magazine and other publications. This article was produced in partnership with Zócalo Public Square.
