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Newly open to the public, this secret garden on the property of an Asian-inspired home-goods shop named WA in
You almost forget you’re in the middle of a retail environment; the garden ornaments are for sale after all. Nonetheless, it’s a great example of the hidden potential in many shaded rear yards. Follow WA’s lead. Ditch the grass and bark mulch. Get creative.
by Katie Hutchison for the House Enthusiast
In the past decade or so, cable guardrail systems have grown in popularity. This is a good example why. With a flush-framed, cedar, top rail and posts, it’s a clean, fresh look. Many opt for cable when they seek an unobstructed view. Aesthetically, it’s a nod toward marine hardware and industrial minimalism. Together with a spare, painted, wood bracket and simple, painted fascia, this deck and rail carve an elegant silhouette. The arrangement of the white corner board flanked by courses of side-wall, cedar shingles, and a lower-level, cedar-slatted partition complements the assemblage of horizontals intersecting periodic verticals in the guardrail design. If you’re interested in creating a cable system for your deck, check out Cable Rail for components.
by Katie Hutchison for the House Enthusiast
At the Larz Anderson Auto Museum on Saturday, July 12, 2008
If you find yourself within driving distance of Brookline, Massachusetts Saturday, stop by and partake in Micro Mini Car Day. I attended this annual event five years ago and loved it. The playful ingenuity of participating cars from the 50’s, 60’s, and today is sure to delight folks this year as well. It's better than a hands-off show; rides are offered around the lawn in some of the pint-sized treasures. Don’t be surprised to see young and old lining up in anticipation.
Micro and mini cars were originally the genius of post World War II European engineers looking to devise modest cars that could be operated by injured veterans. To the industry’s surprise, these cars caught on with a far broader audience. Recognizing an opportunity, aircraft manufacturers, barred from aircraft design due to the Reparations Act, switched gears and began designing cars. Theirs was a fresh approach to devising an affordable mode of transportation. Micro cars with single-cylinder engines were capable of traveling up to 80 miles on a gallon of gas. They were highly maneuverable and most of all downright loveable.
Take the BMW Isetta (shown above). This microcar with 10” diameter wheels features a single, side-hinge entry door across the front that includes the dashboard and steering wheel. Outfitted with bug-eyed (or perhaps pug-eyed) headlights, two chrome bumper arms, and a flush snout, this two-seater has personality. In 1958 you could get an Isetta for around $1,000. Today, you can’t help but smile upon seeing one. These fuel-efficient wonders hint at not just the past, but the future. Go for a ride; you’ll see.
by Katie Hutchison for the House Enthusiast
You need to plan ahead, way ahead, to attend a tour of this legendary property in New Canaan, Connecticut. On a warm, sunny Saturday, nearly a year after I reserved tickets, my mother and I arrived at the downtown Glass House Visitor Center to embark on the tour. With my camera around my neck, I was informed at the front desk that photography would not be permitted during our visit. (I’ve since learned that tickets at a much steeper price allow their bearers to take pictures.) My disappointment was somewhat alleviated when the ticket taker gave us each an unexpected perk, a packet of 4 1/2 inch x 6 1/2 inch flashcards illustrated with images relating to the property on one side and explanatory information on the other. They were cleverly secured with a wide, silver rubber band, labeled “THE GLASS HOUSE” in elegant, black letters. My mother whispered to me that the rubber bands alone were worth the price of admission. Clearly she had pretty low expectations; she isn’t shy about dismissing Modernism.
We loaded into a van with eight others. Our tour mates had ordered tickets a year in advance too and were likely as determined as we were to see what the fuss is all about. Our guide, a pleasant grandmotherly type, in sensible shoes and a floppy hat, sat up front. She was a far cry from the young, fit, male guide, dressed in black, with thick-rimmed, fashion-forward glasses that you might imagine would lead such a tour. She was, however, a well-cast emissary for Modernism, setting the stage for a surprisingly non-threatening, intriguing, and even warm aesthetic. In several documentaries I’ve seen Philip Johnson do much the same.
A short ride later we came upon the property. You enter between tall brown, concrete pylons (which my mother described as tombstones) and below an enormous aluminum bar, triggered remotely, that travels vertically between the pylons. To me the gate felt like a retro vision of the future, which I suppose it was.
Click on the photo to see it in the note cards/prints gallery.This hardy little shack amidst rolling dunes, beach plums, and a cool mist transfixes me. It’s the star of Cynthia Huntington’s memoir The Salt House which I reviewed here. The weathered shingles, low-slope shed roof, and humble window pair speak of modest efficiency, purposeful living, and an independent spirit in conversation with an awesome landscape. I had planned to hike to this spot, but was warned by Provincetown locals that such a trip might prove more arduous than expected. So my group of fellow sight-seers found comfortable transport with Art’s Dune Tours. Standing on a dune not far from the shack, I can only imagine the mystery of a life embedded in the rhythms of the National Seashore. Someday I hope to do more than merely imagine it.
by Katie Hutchison for the House Enthusiast
