A once proud elevation facing the lake—photo by William E. Evans, ©2011

Here’s where we stood at the beginning: insult on insult.

I had no idea what image the original 50s builder had been working toward, but it had been seriously corrupted after he and his good crew were long gone. The giveaway is the rotten bit where an later insult of bad windows and doors, plus a deck torn away, left so much to be desired. Note the awning window winking in lower left.

**Enclosure!** Photo by William E. Evans, ©2012

Looking both ways, I was happy the day I shot these—or happily expectant. Closing in the beast, I wanted to celebrate, even with the old wall and windows still in place.

View toward a future entrance—photo by William E. Evans, ©2012

With glass in place, though missing a front door.

Bridge with no railing—photo by William E. Evans, ©2012

Minus railings, but who needs those? Even our closest friends didn’t want to cross, though the dogs thought ‘what’s a little vertigo?’

In the office loft perched on scaffolding—photo by William E. Evans, ©2012

Office loft taking shape—photo by William E. Evans, ©2012

The newly shipped door leaning against the wall was for the deck just behind me. Layla regularly works that door these days while D works just inside.

Living the life—photo by William E. Evans, ©2012

This was our all-in-one living and dining area during the renovation—like trailer life only shrunk. Beyond are the demising walls keeping the workmen at bay. Maddie seemed startled, and Molly (aka Black Dog) was always suspicious when I pointed a camera her way, though she never left D’s side. Molly was ninety muscular pounds, and Maddie, at half her weight, still ruled.

It had been an eight-year slog from design through construction. From site permit to completion, two years. We moved into the addition shortly after fleeing to the Outer Banks while the crew laid down the hardwood floor, blending it into the existing, sanding and finishing the floor throughout the addition. On our return, we entered to that sweet smell of new hardwood floors.

The glu-lam beams had been sealed with a light cherry stain imitating the kitchen cabinets and the credenza between the dining and living areas. The new kitchen cabinetry had been built by an eccentric Eastern European and his crew. He liked to tell us how great his work was—and we agreed to keep him working, but it was.

The same master artisan also constructed our new entry door and side panel from my details. There are a dozen or more door manufacturers, but what options they offered were overpriced or under-designed or both. The residential market is plagued with pseudo-this and imitation-that; very little is straightforward modern.

We kept the original, well made kitchen cabinet boxes, though D insisted we replace the cabinet doors to match the new ones in the extended kitchen. D picked out the granite countertop in a warehouse stocking 4x8 and 5x10 slabs of every variety of stone from around the world, like going into Santa’s shop. It took us most of one day, plus a return trip to settle on it. Gabe’s stone craftsman cut it to order.

Counter slab—photo by William E. Evans, ©2012

The greenish stone has an amazing pattern of black to blue highlights, iridescent at different angles, that sits happily on the cherry cabinet base cabinets. The cabinet pulls are by Häfele. And the Jerusalem stone running from countertop to overhead cabinets gets washed by the LED undercabinet lights, so much so we hardly ever use the general overhead downlights.

Gabe sold us on black onyx-like granite for the credenza countertop—and the hearth stone at the fireplace.

A word about the credenza: I had designed a wall there, delineating dining from living room, for our teak china cabinet to go against—with ample passage either side. My reasoning (yes, it was reasoned) was, given the size of the other rooms, defining these two as separate spaces continued the look. D’s contention was, being the clean modernist, she wanted a more opened expression.

One morning before heading to work, coming into the just enclosed addition now joined and opened to the pre-existing living room, I had to admit I liked the feel of it. The demising wall separating the rump kitchen still remained in place, but enough of the final space was already there.

So if the PSL (parallel strand lumber) column sitting lonely at the original corner of the house supporting the mansard floor above wasn’t to be encased in drywall as planned, it would need to be wrapped—the only wrapped structural element, save for the main glu-lam beam being carried by the column. Exposing all of these meant more finish work. I asked Gabe’s lead carpenter, “Adelio, do you suppose you might put a chamfer on the end of that one cantilevered beam?” pointing. Coming home that evening, the deed was done—with a chain saw and lots of skill. With all the inconveniences of living through the construction, being able to confer daily with the crew was a singular benefit.

Chamfered glu-lam—photo by William E. Evans, ©2012

If you squint, you’ll note the white floor joists above—no ceilings in the cottage when it was first built.

Each of the floor joists were temporarily jacked while the new support beam and hangers—replacing the rotten one—see above—were installed. Even more subtle, the cantilevered beam is left free of the one running left to right in the photo—Randy wanted to deal with any settlement between old and new. You can’t train a person to think like he does.

With deciding to leave this joint exposed, I needed to quickly design a credenza to replace the china cabinet, get a quote, and have it built in time. I wanted the side of the credenza facing the living room to be only wood, with a center flush overlay door section to house a stereo system, and sliding glass sections facing the dining room with pullout drawers for serving stuff, the whole thing engaging the PSL column—and raised on stainless steel legs from Doug Mockett—a go-to source for incidental finish hardware, network raceways, adjustable height workstations, etc. I’d used designing custom library furniture. With the credenza floating above, the hardwood floor would continue beneath.

The lighting came from Alliance Lighting, Mark Devries’s firm, who I’d worked with longer than any other lighting distributor for two reasons: one, Mark has a clean design sense, and two, Louis Poulsen.

Two hand-blown glass pendent fixtures hang above the dining room table, three Saturn walls sconces replaced the fake bugle horns (honest) in the family room. The Artichoke by Poulsen hangs in a place of honor over the front entry. When we were deciding between the white and copper versions, and asked Mark which, without hesitation he came back with “with all the exposed wood, it’s copper, no question.” He was right.

Artichoke in Winter—photo by William E. Evans, ©2015

This was occurring just as the LED fixtures were just coming on the market. The recessed downlights and focus lights by Whitegoods are halogen, though the same fixtures are probably available in LED. No trim to these babies; the ceiling drywall comes right to the openings like any number of modern architects have dreamed about for decades.

Lesson for those planning to use LED: The power supplies (drivers) in some cases will come with the individual fixtures (as in the Whitegoods downlights) and others require homes tucked out of sight, such as the undercabinet fixtures—long as you can get to them. Plan ahead.

…

Because the structural wood roof deck (2x6 tongue & groove deck) is exposed to the interior happily joined to the glu-lam beams and rafters, the roof insulation is inverted, above rather below the roof deck, a trick I’d worked out over several public libraries in a bit of a signature move. But instead of batt insulation, closed-cell spray foam insulation gains a higher R-value and a total air seal.

Though if it’s all exposed to view, there’s no easy way to go back after the fact. Thus the art lights mounted to the side of the loft, once Jose (another of Gabe’s best) had fed the wiring from the wall, Adelio wrapped it all in wood to match the face of the glu-lam beam the fixtures are mounted to.

If we ever get back to Mendocino, I might return to the store that sold us the wood and hand-blown glass floor lamp for better reading light. That or string white Christmas lights across the ceiling.

…

Anticipating the pre-existing windows facing the lake would be demo’d once the addition was in place, we’d been holding off replacing the remaining windows to be done at the same time. The 50s single pane double-hung windows were past due for replacement.

The generous ground floor window openings in the family room and bedroom deserved casements—without divided lites to interrupt the view—thus casement it was.

We had only infrequently wrestled with the balky storm windows. Throwing open the entire house on nice days is a joy we’ve not yet tired of.

Though I struggled over what to do with the large bedroom bay window. A serious craftsman had built casement windows flanking a central fixed unit all by hand. Each window consisted of two tangental sections, each fitting six stacked glass lites. The windows’ sills and heads were curved, and, being closely spaced, the tangental sections were angled subtly, making the whole assembly appear to be semicircular.

It hurt to demolish that bay window, but instead of caring for its craftsmanship, the wood had been left to rot in place. If the wood had been cared for, I would have been able to retrofit insulated lites. As the frames were close to sawdust, I really wasn’t left with a choice. Even Marvin—who claim they love custom work—refused my request to replace the bay in kind. The Lincoln replacement bay, done in four tangent sections, two fixed and two operable, while sturdy with insulated glass, just isn’t as appealing.

Pre-existing bay window—photo by William E. Evans, ©2012

The tall windows beneath the bay were another project. At one point these had been French doors—the hinges still visible—going to the ground. Since doors weren’t on the agenda, a knee wall was added to receive new casement windows. Unlike the bay above, this was an upgrade in all respects, and the guest bedroom still receives wonderful daylight—the azaleas blocking the window were transplanted out into the yard where they’re thriving still.

Pre-existing French doors—photo by William E. Evans, ©2012

Part Two—Interiors

After taking a several year breather—and I was working to extend it—D announced it was time to finish the rest of the house. Back in the 80s, best guess, the previous owners had merged two bedrooms into a single, larger one with a tight walk-in closet and bathroom. The closet was OK, provided the second bedroom’s closet was available for what didn’t fit. I hated the bathroom with its oversized pseudo-jacuzzi and undersized shower wedged in the corner behind the door so that the shower door and the bathroom door collided—regularly. The jacuzzi we rarely used and the 3x3 shower we regularly did. The key word here is ‘regularly.’

I also intensely disliked the cheap laminated plastic doors that had been installed throughout in the 80s ‘renovation.’ The doors were on my short list to be replaced.

Downstairs was the true challenge. The family room was perfect, except that the massive fireplace needed work; it was too large for the room and to be ignored. Gas logs wouldn’t make it; at one point we discussed employing two sets, side by side to span the entire hearth. What we needed was something like a linear flame stretching the five foot width of it. In the first phase, the chimney had been relined and heightened for a better draw once the higher addition rose beside it. The smaller dining room fireplace received glass doors. Extending a gas line from the ground floor wasn’t happening without major surgery, so we opted to keep that fireplace a working wood affair. Gabe found a manufacturer of ‘flame bars’ sized for the downstairs fireplace that puts out sufficient heat. It only took six months to get it in that length.

But the larger problem was the remainder of the ground floor, with its impossible to find bathroom resembling one in a house trailer next to the barely functional laundry cum utility room, another room with no windows we’d converted to the dog cage room—now with three large cages draped with drying towels when it rained. Oh yeah, and in the far corner of the basement, the incoming service and main electrical panel inside a closet barely larger, itself inside another closet, like one of those Russian dolls doll schemes. The electrical panel dated from the original house, and it was mounted to an outside wall so if ever the wall was to leak…

First order of business was to demo most of this area and move the bathroom closer to the family room to better serve the family room instead of offering guests maps on how to find the old one. The trick was to stretch the bathroom adding doors at each end so it could continue to serve the guest bedroom.

Which looked good on paper.

When the interior walls came down, we learned things we hadn’t known before—like the minor declivity in the former entry foyer was a cracked, subsident concrete slab. Gabe said no problem; since we were moving the plumbing with the bathroom, he’d just jackhammer a larger area—becoming nearly half the area. The upstairs plumbing chase and water lines likewise had to find new homes descending to the ground floor. We were living upstairs while the downstairs was being ripped apart, so the switchover for the sewer, water and electric lines needed to be well timed.

When the worn-by-dog carpet was pulled up in the family room, we beheld a second large declivity in that part of the slab—I’m convinced the reason carpet costs less than hardwood is because builders don’t have to work as hard to level things with carpet as a disguise. Seems the only thing still standing tall were the exterior masonry walls and that 4x7 masonry chimney.

Concrete dust settled everywhere in my dreams, and in any other empty spaces it could find. We wiped down the kitchen counter before every meal. I’m told, chicken peck at sand for a digestif; they should taste a good concrete dust salad. It settles well.

Once the slab was demo’d, the water line running under the slab accidently struck was repaired, new plumbing lines laid, and new concrete poured—nothing like fresh smelling concrete in the morning—the ground floor was as livable as the rest of the house. This became our sanctuary as they moved into the second phase of the second renovation—rebuilding the upstairs bathrooms and the stair.

Oh, how could I forget the stair?

Some genius thought it great fun to send people down a black diamond slope with no headroom, hitting an outside wall then turning left or right to make that last descent. Mojo had learned the major part of descending was to body slam himself against the wall to get turned. I could show you the smudged proof, but the wall’s been repainted since then. Layla does a more graceful pirouette on the landing and steps daintily toward the porch door to visit the yard.

Gabe’s new finish carpenter, an amazing man with wood, rebuilt that stair best the geometry let him, but beautiful as his work is, the stair is still steeper than any but dancing huskies will appreciate. Looking back, we’d have done better to blow out the wall and install a new stair. In my defense, I was burned out thinking about it by the time we’d reached that point. I wonder what a structurally glazed glass tower set in the corner might look like…

The original heating system was hydronic (hot water) running through a mishmash of baseboard units whose time had come. Years previously, I’d found Runtal hydronic heaters—another way the Europeans were ahead of us, mainly because when the U.S. was rushing to make everything electric, they held onto hot water systems. The icing was Runtal offers hydronic units disguised as towel warmers for the renovated bathroom.

Which brings us back to the main floor bathrooms. Two bathrooms were reconfigured, shrinking the small second bath to a hall toilet and sink, aka ‘powder room’ and donating the jacuzzi, opting instead for a two person shower. The new bathroom has its own entrance into a real walk-in closet. A third full bathroom was added above on the mansard level. No headroom for NBA players, but a dormer window lets in nice light.

The casework for the master bathroom arrived on schedule, mirrored medicine cabinets and all. I got a call at work saying that the narrow bit of glass set at a modest 6 feet height running atop the bathroom counter was lower than the medicine cabinets were tall. I think Gabe called on that one. We now own a design feature so unique it will never be repeated. Because the outside wall is thicker there, the top of the medicine cabinets rise several inches above the window sill, and but an inch inside the glass. Nice feature.

What doors I could adapt became pocket doors hung on Häfele tracks. The ones that needed to stay swinging were replaced with new solid-core doors matching the pocket doors. A pair of pocket doors between the main bathroom and closet were twinned to a single track: open one and its twin opens on the opposite side. Sweet—and at the far end of the closet is the window from the former bedroom cum closet.

And a shoutout to Swedish sensibilities. Häfele makes door hardware the likes of which isn’t seen much in the States.

Buried in the exterior wall (spray foam solid) is a gas line extension for the porch, lest we ever have a wild hair for an outdoor fireplace—and IT cabling in the living room wall which only will be found two thousand years hence. I did not ask Randy to support a hot tub just off the loft, keeping the beam sizes down, but what a view of the lake! The hard choices we make.

Major surgery was applied throughout the interior renovation, and more of Mark’s best recessed lights, now including half inch LED ceiling strips installed flush delivered the light above the bathroom sinks.

It seemed at the time, with three rambunctious dogs, best we stay put through the whole affair. Our neighbors next door moved out for their renovation, only it was just the two of them. It saved us money on rent but took away years from us all—and the dogs didn’t even have suffrage rights. None of them had more than months to live in the new abode. So I wrote a book of poetry to memorialize them.

Such is life as we mortals can see of it. The James Webb telescope was launched Christmas Day and I read today this replica of our best intentions successfully spread its sun shield somewhere between heaven and earth. I’m comin, Elizabeth!

Beauty Shots

What follows is a presentation submitted for AIA awards—that went nowhere. All photos that follow are by Eric Taylor, ©2014, taken prior to the second interior renovation project. The drawings are by the author, ©2014.

Part Two—Interiors

Beauty Shots

Dreaming of a Beach House

Summer Home

House Take 3

It's All About the Light

4th of July, '23