A Modern Farmhouse in Vermont

Photos (and drawings) provided by Susan and Ryan Hayes.A couple builds a smaller, affordable, “green” house

When I called Susan Hayes to talk to her about her new, affordable, “green” house in Williston, Vermont, one of the first things she said was, “We really wanted to respect the local vernacular…” She and her husband Ryan created what they call a “Modern Farmhouse”. The exterior was inspired by the farmhouse Ryan’s dairy-farming great grandparents’ owned, and “the inside is really sparse which is more of a Modern feel,” explains Susan. Their hybrid aesthetic is unusual for a “green” home.  The fact that it’s smaller is a “green” hallmark.

Smaller and greener
I found Susan and Ryan through their blog Building Green in Vermont in which they've documented their home’s “green” evolution. “We really weren’t that enlightened when we started,” admits Susan. But thanks, in part, to a lengthy local permitting process, they had time to research and educate themselves in efficient and sustainable design. Susan discovered that “size is absolutely critical.” After estimates for an initial design proved too expensive, she and Ryan realized they would need to downsize to keep the construction of their first house on budget and “green”. They scrapped plans for a 2200 sq. ft house (not including a finished, walk-out basement) for a 1568 sq. ft house (not including a finished, walk-out basement).

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Design Snapshot: Another sweet entry porch

You might classify this entry as an “integral” porch.  Unlike some porches which are applied to a home as a separate entity, this entry porch is integral to the house since there's living space above it. 

As part of a two-story bay of sorts, it projects toward the street and takes advantage of the space above it to give it greater prominence.  The scalloped shingle skirt, below the sills of the second-floor bay windows, helps announce the entry with a flair of flare.  The windows in the entry sidewall contribute a playful indoor/outdoor feel to this semi-enclosed entry porch.  Paneled half walls appear poised to embrace guests.  Chamfered post and panel details are enhanced by a dynamic paint-color scheme.  Together, the quirky elements of this diminutive entry suggest a storybook cheerfulness.

by Katie Hutchison for the House Enthusiast

Design snapshot: Siting inspiration

Click on this photo to see it in the KHS photo note cards/prints gallery.I imagine most folks associate Martha's Vineyard with summer.  Not me.  It’s a favorite winter place.  It’s quiet then, rugged and achingly beautiful.  When I came upon this frozen dinghy, cozying up to some rocks in Lobsterville, I was reminded why I’m so taken with the Vineyard this time of year.

Brimming with ice, the boat was parked almost as firmly on the beach as the dark, worn rocks it had chosen for company.  Frozen water had found level in the old beached vessel.  A pattern of lapping waves in the sand swirled around the boat’s bowed sides and neighboring rounded rocks.  By contrast, the square edges of the boat’s seats betrayed our often orthogonal constructs.  The combination of curves, both natural and man-made, and straight or level surfaces, both natural and man-made, transfixed me.

When I look at this photo today, it seems a model of sympathetic site design.  I will tuck it away in my visual memory to tap into when pondering how to create a future site design in which a human intervention resonates with its natural environment.

by Katie Hutchison for the House Enthusiast

The happiness of place

Last week, parked on Martha’s Vineyard in Menemsha facing the harbor on a grey, cold day, I was in a happy place.  My husband was interviewing some local fishermen in a nearby boat for a story he’s writing.  I was bundled in a down coat and polar-fleece hat, absorbing the waning heat from the car ride up Island.  I had a new novel to entertain me, which I’d bought the day before at the 50%-off end-of-season sale at Edgartown Books.  It was a pretty entertaining and somewhat ribald read (This Is Where I Leave You by Jonathan Tropper) about a dysfunctional, East-Coast family of adults sitting shiva for the family patriarch, an atheist. 

In between pages, I looked through the windshield at the battered fishing boat strapped to the dock below and the group of men huddled inside the wheel house.  I could see my husband’s wool-capped head bent over his reporter’s note pad.  A glance to my right revealed more of the nearly empty parking lot, wind-blown beach and frozen breakwater beyond.  Then back to my book.  This was cozy bliss.

We all know of places we associate with happiness.  It might be your childhood home, your kitchen, a garden, a town square, even a market.  I could make a long list.  I imagine sometimes we’re projecting what we feel on these places, and other times these places are projecting themselves on our feelings.  If we could decipher the specific qualities of the places which make us happy, then, surely, we could create places with incorporate those characteristics in order to foster our happiness.  This is, in part, the subject of Alain de Botton’s The Architecture of Happiness which I reviewed here.

When I apply my understanding of architectural space to my experience parked in Menemsha, I realize part of what appealed to me was my ability to experience a larger space or vista from within the comfort of a bordering, more intimate space.  At first thought, a car can seem like a pretty confining, aesthetically-cold environment.  Yet car interiors are designed specifically to accommodate human proportions and scale.  The seat hugs your form.  The glass is positioned to maximize view.  Controls are within arm’s reach.  It’s a personal container.  From within the car, I could observe the greater setting and another personal container, the boat my husband occupied.  I can imagine a house with a similar disposition: smaller spaces accommodating different activities, arranged within sight of each other, possibly at slightly different levels, and open to a shared common space within an expansive vista.  I think I would be happy there.

Lately, I’ve noticed a new wave of media interest in happiness.  Head Butler reviewed The Happiness Project by Gretchen Rubin just the other day.  PBS has been airing a NOVA/Vulcan Productions, Inc. series since Monday titled “This Emotional Life: In Search of Ourselves and Happiness” hosted by Daniel Gilbert, Harvard psychologist and author of Stumbling on Happiness.  Tonight’s episode, the third and last in the series, is titled Rethinking Happiness.  As in Gilbert’s book, it will likely touch on our frequent inability to properly predict what will make us happy. 

It seems to me that the first step toward happiness is recognizing it when we feel it.  Small moments can be full of happiness.  My recommendation: acknowledge and appreciate those moments; then take a step back and look at the factors contributing to the happiness you experience; build your life and home to capitalize on what you understand makes you happy.

After an hour or so in the car with my book, my husband returned for his camera, never expecting the interview with the fishermen to have taken so long.  “Are you cold?” he asked.  The heat from the car ride had dissipated, but I hadn’t noticed.  “No, not really,” I responded.  He said he would be back shortly and shut the door.  I smiled, watched him return to the boat, and adjusted the book in my lap to settle back in.  I was content on an Island, in a car reading, while my husband practiced his craft on a nearby vessel, in a familiar harbor.

by Katie Hutchison for House Enthusiast

Bonus link to some celebrity perspectives on the meaning of happiness from the "This Emotional Life" website.

Web tour: Design Observer: The architecture of snow

With snow showers reportedly en route here in New England again soon, architect Sergio Lopez-Piñeiro's essay in Design Observer about the architectural potential of snow got me thinking.  He writes, "Few architects and urban planners have considered the aesthetic, spatial or ambient qualities of the accumulation, organization and distribution of snow..."  How true.  Why not sculpt with design intent the snow covering our cities, villages, and neighborhoods?  Lopez-Piñeiro's slideshow captures the unintentional artistry of snow-plowed parking lots in Buffalo, New York. 

Imagine if we shaped the snow in our backyards, patios, or driveways to create inspired winter designs viewed from within our homes and experienced outside them.  Winter snow gardens are a largely untapped home-design opportunity.  Sounds like an idea that might appeal to the inner child within us all.  Let it snow.  Let it snow.  Let it snow.

by Katie Hutchison for House Enthusiast