At the outset of Rosslyn’s icehouse rehab, I envisioned posting weekly summaries, highlighting the team’s accomplishments in 7-day installments. Noble vision. Ignoble follow through. Among the many overlooked episodes, one especially significant accomplishment stands out: building interior structure for the loft, bathroom, mechanical room, etc. So today, months after construction was completed, I offer you an icehouse framing flashback.
Much belated but nevertheless heartfelt thanks to Pam, Hroth, Matt, and Justin for transforming Tiho’s interior plans into the skeleton around and upon which the reimagined icehouse will take shape. It’s slightly surreal to reflect back from the finish phase. Mere months ago the rudiments were still taking shape. The internal volumes and flow were being defined. The former utility building purpose built to preserve ice cut from Lake Champlain was beginning to resemble the newly relevant work+play space now coming into focus. Adaptive reuse was perhaps no more clearly articulated than this interstitial moment when a voluminous interior was being reconfigured into distinct zones serving distinct functions. Hurrah!
As we hurdle toward the homestretch on the icehouse rehab I find myself re-visiting and fine-tuning finish details to accommodate subtle discrepancies between plans and field conditions. Or sometimes it’s just a matter of little tweaks that pop up as envisioned and imagined circumstances metamorphose into reality. Today I’ve sketched a new iteration, a little bit of experimentation with the built-in coffee bar cabinetry.
Details, details, details… Making micro adjustments up until the last moment. But it’s almost time to fabricate the coffee bar built-ins, so it’s the last chance for fine tuning!
Coffee Bar Cabinetry, As Drawn (Source: Tiho Dimitrov)
I’ve cropped the detail above from Tiho’s plans so you can identify the coffee bar cabinetry near the bottom middle. The opportunity and challenge with custom carpentry/cabinetry is to tailor the design precisely to the larger aesthetic context and the specific needs. Integration, cohesion, and function in perfect harmony! It’s all in the details, and it’s starting to feel pretty close.
Coffee Bar Cabinetry, Fine Tuning… (Source: Geo Davis)
My quick field sketch above alters the right niche from 2 to 3 shelves, and the left niche gets enclosed with a cabinet door similar to the one beneath the bar sink. And under the countertop, I am reconfiguring the spaces spacing to accommodate a small bar fridge. Under the counter, I’m reconfiguring spacing to accommodate a small bar fridge instead of microwave. We are relocating an historic cherry China cabinet from the house into the icehouse, and it will be located exactly where the fridge was originally intended yo be. This small change simplifies design and streamlines space flow, so it’s a win-win-win. Or so it seems for now. I’ll take another swipe at it tomorrow and make a final decision.
Chronicler or Artist I: waterfront variations (Photo: Geo Davis)
I really *should* post an update on our loft flooring “research”, copper flashing (aka drip edge) installation, east elevation gable window framing, revised drawings from Tiho that address a few outstanding items like column, stairway, railing, and other trim details (plus lighting, electric, and mechanicals),… But I’m going to postpone these already postponed updates a little longer to talk instead about a recurring subplot in recent months.
Okay, maybe it’s unfair to dub it a subplot since so far it’s defied definition. At heart it’s a grappling with mission. And permission. As I pour over sixteen years’ worth of memories and plans and artifacts and notes and photos and stories and poems and intertwined lives and ephemera there’s an inner struggle at work. Am I simply gathering the strings of a vast collection, curating its diverse snippets into a sort of chronicle, a history, a retrospective map? Or am I creating from these fragments something new and unique? Am I more of an historian or a mosaic maker? Am I chronicler or artist?
Chronicler or Artist II: waterfront variations (Photo: Geo Davis)
“He chooses; he synthesizes; in short, he has ceased to be the chronicler; he has become an artist.” — Virginia Woolf (Source: The Art of Biography)
There’s an inevitable tensions between the duty of stewardship and the affinity for storytelling and poetic truth. Between the responsibility to document important details for future Rosslyn homeowners and the creative freedom to explore textures and layers, melodies and harmonies, whimsical what-ifs and errant adventures.
But it’s more than this. It’s verisimilitude. Veracity…
I believe that there are different kinds of accuracy. I am a storyteller, not an historian, and though I strive for verisimilitude, some truths are more effectively preserved and conveyed through stories than history or vaults. (Source: Remembering and Recounting)
And so I pendulum between two muses, each jealous of the other, both second guessing, both casting aspersions.
Some days I toil like an archeologist amidst a midden heap of artifacts, rewinding time’s mysteries, deciphering the prior summer’s garden vegetables from this season’s rich, dark compost. Other days I seduce and charm and coerce the artifacts to share longer forgotten truths. (Source: Remembering and Recounting)
Chronicler or Artist III: waterfront variations (Photo: Geo Davis)
And there’s the not too subtle complication of recollection. My memory muddles — more of the composting variety than the austere archival variety — appreciating the possibilities of parallax, and grafting whimsical paisley’s onto sturdier scions to ensure that they survive the tempestuous toils of time.
I am startled to discover that these precise, unambiguous reference points frequently contradict my recollection. Dramatic events indelibly etched into my brain at the time have already blurred despite the brief lapse of time. I curse my mischievous mind and then accept that 100% accuracy will inevitably elude me. My mind’s imperfect cataloging at once humbles and liberates me. Though an unreliable historian, I am a chronicler and curator of stories, not facts. (Source: Remembering and Recounting)
So there it is. I’ve flirted with this truth before, and I double down today. Caveat emptor. Ask not of me the court stenographer’s unblinking authority. And I’ll not ask of you the jury’s verdict or the judges conviction.
According to Garcia Marquez life is not only the experiences, the moments lived. Life is also the rendering of those experiences into stories, the recollecting, the filtering, the imagining, the sharing. (Source: Remembering and Recounting)
Recollecting, filtering, imagining, choosing, curating, synthesizing, sharing,… This is the map I use. Chronicler or artist? Yes, but mostly the latter.
Perhaps even with history we become overconfident that the facts are irrefutable… Absent an omnipresent video camera that documents my life as I bump along, capturing every minute detail precisely, permanently, Garcia Marquez’s perspective offers reassuring guidance. Though I frequently daydream about a collaborative memoir comprised of the recollections of everyone who participated in the rebirth of Rosslyn, my story is an eclectic nexus of personal experiences, filtered, aggregated and cobbled into narrative cohesion by me. (Source: Remembering and Recounting)
Chronicler or Artist IV: waterfront variations (Photo: Geo Davis)
And yet the challenge of a dual mission permeates this 16-year exercise. There’s an inevitable tendency, a responsibility even, to document. To archive. To showcase. And there’s the omnipresent siren song of wonder and whimsy. While I still endeavor to provide a responsible accounting of our life, love, and toil at/with Rosslyn, I’m succumbing to the beguiling song of the sirens.
My quest for permission needn’t require such wayward roving. It is first and foremost my own consent I’m questing after. And part of accepting this is granting myself permission to embrace art above chronicle. I’ve suspected this. Dithered. Wondered. Worried. But this morning a confident confluence is flowing. And I’m ready… (Source: Quest for Permission)
Fair warning, then, while I dive into the reflective waters simultaneously mirroring the misty morning and revealing the pebbly depths. I’ll be back. Soon.
Rendering for Icehouse Rehabilitation: East Elevation Gable Window (Source: Tiho Dimitrov)
I mentioned recently that framing for the expansive gable window in the west elevation of Rosslyn’s icehouse was completed, and the change was monumental. Now we’re on hold, anticipating the big reveal in a few months when the new windows arrive and the sheathing can be trimmed. For now that facade is concealed behind a plane of green ZIP paneling, effectively shrouding the dramatic transformation until springtime. Anticipation, I tell my dog, is have the pleasure…
Today, however, I’m able to update you on Hroth‘s gable window framing for the *east elevation*. Hurrah! As you can see in Tiho‘s rendering above, the openings on the lake-facing facade will remain virtually unchanged except for a shift from opaque (solid wood openings) to transparent (glass window and door). But the the east elevation gable window will be integrated into a whimsical Essex sunburst motif that echoes the same detail on the third story, west elevation gable end of the main house. I will focus on this detail separately once we’ve made a little more progress.
In short, we’ve endeavored to maintain the public view shed much as it has appeared in recent decades albeit with a reimagined sunburst embellishment that weaves the icehouse together with the main house, the gates, and multiple additional sunburst motifs throughout Essex and the Champlain Valley.
Envisioning the icehouse rehab from within, the photo below helps orient the new window as it will be experienced from the loft (still not framed) and, to a lesser degree, the main room. Morning light will illuminate the interior, offering a restrained prelude to the magnificent afternoon lighting that will bath the icehouse as the sun sets into the Adirondack foothills.
Icehouse Interior, East elevation gable window (Photo: Hroth Ottosen)
The closeup below captures Hroth at the end of a long day of carriage barn carpentry looking a more than a little bit ready for some heat and a more comfortable perch. But it also captures the just completed window framing below the header, perfectly echoing the slope of the icehouse roof.
Another closeup, gets a little closer to imagining the perspective when standing on the future loft floor.
Icehouse Interior, East elevation gable window (Photo: Hroth Ottosen)
Framing East Gable Window
Shortly this aperture will be concealed behind insulated paneling much like the west elevation, but for a fleeting moment longer we can appreciate the natural light entering through the east elevation gable window framing, and we can try to imagine the daybreak view of Lake Champlain, warm sunlight illuminating the north elevation of the main house as it rises up into the summer sky.
A new perspective is emerging as Hroth frames my future office window (from the icehouse loft). Looking east (actually southeast in this photo), this will be my morning view. Panning to the left 10 to 15° the view will be filtered through the enormous American Linden (basswood) tree and across the upper lawn, through the ancient ginkgo tree and across the front lawn to Lake Champlain. (Source: Loft Office View)
Holes in walls. Such rudimentary changes to a building envelope. And yet such profound transformation!
By strategically introducing apertures and maximizing transparency in this small structure we’re endeavoring to dilate the living experience beyond the finite building envelope, to challenge the confines of walls and roof, and when possible and esthetically judicious, to improve porosity with abundant new fenestration, dynamic interior-exterior interplay, subtle but impactful landscaping changes (including a new deck) that will work in concert to amplify the breathability of the interior and temptingly invite insiders outside. (Source: Gable End Window in West Elevation)
The photo below hints at the future porosity of the this space. Imagine the window near bottom right once it is glass.
Icehouse Interior, East elevation gable window (Photo: Hroth Ottosen)
Of course, framing in the balcony and eventually adding blisters will shift add interesting layers, shadows, textures, and other nuances to the transparency looking east from within. Perhaps an interior rendering or two will help imagine forward…
At the root of Rosslyn Redux is a question. What makes a house a home?
Simple question. Less simple answer. More precisely, the answers to what makes a house a home are diverse and possibly even evolving — slowly, perpetually — as we live our lives. What defines “homeness” as a child likely differs as a young, independent adult, nesting for the first time. And our first autonomous forays into homemaking likely morph as we live through our twenties and into subsequent decades, family and lifestyle changes, etc.
Let’s start with a playful poem by Edgar Albert Guest.
Ye’ve got t’ sing an’ dance fer years, ye’ve got t’ romp an’ play,
An’ learn t’ love the things ye have by usin’ ’em each day;
[…]
Ye’ve got t’ love each brick an’ stone from cellar up t’ dome:
It takes a heap o’ livin’ in a house t’ make it home.
— Edgar Albert Guest, “Home” (Source: Poetry Foundation)
If you haven’t read this Edgar Albert Guest poem, I recommend it. And I strongly suggest you read it out loud!
I start with Guest’s insights because they’re thoughtful despite the playful affect. They capture both the breadth and the subjectivity of answering the question, what makes a house a home? And they hint at the protean nature of this inquiry.
Love Makes a House a Home (Photo: Geo Davis)
An Evolving Recipe
Just when I think I’ve narrowed down a reliable recipe for what makes a house a home, I question it. Whether catalyzed by a conversation with another homemaker, exposure to an especially compelling or innovative home, or a eureka moment totally unrelated to “homeness” (recently, sailboat design of 35-50′ sloops), my reliable recipe is suddenly less reliable. It needs a few tweaks. I remove ingredients less essential than previously believed, and I introduce new ingredients. A teaspoon of this, an ounce of that. Season to taste…
The mercurial nature of “homeness” is not really that surprising given the subjectivity of our residential tastes, needs, means, ambitions, and limitations. The rise of a thriving van life culture in recent years offers a healthy reminder of how little is actually needed for many individuals to feel at home. And yet, the proliferation of van life blogs and social media streams celebrate the individuality and subjectivity shaping perspectives on what makes a house a home. Overlanding in a tricked out van, living aboard a wind and water washed boat, or nesting on an anchored spot of terra firma, it turns out that what makes a house a home is profoundly personal.
One of the joys of homeownership lies in expressing ourselves through our surroundings… Most of us can hardly wait to put our personal stamp on our living spaces. It is, after all, part of the process of turning a house into a home. (New England Home)
The process of transforming a house into a home — fixed or mobile — inevitably encounters elements and conditions that shape the nesting process. In other words, our will and whim are only part of the equation.
Once upon a time
this handsome old house
became our new home,
and along with it
almost two hundred
years of backstory,
lives, styles, and lifestyles…
Snipped from my short poem about repurposing Rosslyn into our home, I’m acknowledging the property’s history and preexisting conditions. It’s a nod to inputs outside of Susan and my personal needs and desires. Just as these inherited inputs can be hurdles or challenges, often they introduce character and richness, add depth and texture, and even invest an aesthetic or programmatic cohesion that might otherwise be lacking.
I’ve frequently joked that no detail of Rosslyn’s rehabilitation escaped our fingerprints, [but] much attention was paid throughout to preserving the buildings’ unique heritage. My bride and I were far less preoccupied with our own personal stamp than we were with finding Rosslyn’s personal stamp, her DNA, and reawakening it to guide our renovation. (Reawakening Rosslyn)
I suspect that there’s often an even more abstract but profoundly important force at work in making a house a home. Intersecting our needs and appetites and the preexisting conditions, there exists an ineffable consciousness, even a conviction, that we feel at home. Can it be a sanctuary where we feel safe, happy, calm, nourished, revitalized, and creative? Can the house, as our home, become an oasis nurturing the sort of life that is indispensable to our wellbeing?
House of Dreams: Gaston Bachelard (Source: The Poetics of Space)
I understand that this wonderful old, living and breathing home provides for us in innumerable ways every day. I know that Rosslyn is a house of dreams and daydreamers. And for this I am extremely grateful. (House of Dreams)
This consciousness or conviction is totally subjective and deeply personal. Clearly articulating it can prove elusive. But we recognize the feeling when we’re fortunate enough to come across it. Sometimes the pull can be so powerful that we yield despite logical and practical considerations, and even despite obvious counterindications.
We had joked about how much time and money it would take to make Rosslyn habitable, categorically dismissing it as an investment. And yet it clearly had captured our hearts. If it were our home and not a short term investment, then maybe the criteria were different. Maybe the potential was different. Maybe the risk was different. (We Could Live at Rosslyn)
Many of us have found ourselves in this push-pull between the abiding rules and paradigms we use to navigate most of our life’s decisions and the sometimes conflicting passion we feel for a potential home. Over the last decade and a half that I’ve been trying to understand “homeness” and the curious exceptions that some of us are willing to make when it comes to our homes, I’ve picked the brains of family, friends, and total strangers when opportunities arose. And sometimes when they didn’t! I’ve been struck as much by the overlaps as the distinctions. There do seem to be some almost universal notions of what makes a house a home, and yet a beautiful bounty of unique attributes are at least as important to the individuals creating (and sometimes recreating) their homes.
Personal Mementos Make a House a Home (Photo: Geo Davis)
Vox Populi, An Introduction
Rather than pretending I’ve distilled the perfect formula, I’m going to showcase a relatively random but recent collection of perspectives and opinions gathered from family, close friends, and several contributors to our current projects. That’s right, I’m going to sidestep the tempting trap of defining what makes a house a home in lieu of broadening and diversifying consideration. Or, put differently, I’ll bypass my own bias by crowdsourcing the question.
I reached out a few days ago to a couple people with whom I’ve discussed this topic before. I asked them all some version of the following.
I have a quick challenge-type-question for you. I’m drafting a blog post about “homeness”, and I’ve reached out to a handful of people that I think might offer interesting perspectives. If you have 30 seconds, I’d love to include your thoughts. If not, no worries. No deep thinking. No fancy answers. No pressure. Just a spontaneous, off-the-cuff, candid response to the question: what does it mean to make a house a home? In other words, what transforms a house into a home?
I was so enthralled with the first few responses that I decided to postpone the post in order to solicit even more perspectives. What follows is a fascinating array of responses, starting with several collaborators on Rosslyn’s icehouse project (Tiho, architecture; Hroth and Eric, construction/carpentry; and Pam, project/property management) and Mike, a carpenter who works for us in Santa Fe (as does Hroth, although we’ve been fortunate to have his expertise at Rosslyn as well since July.)
Tiho Dimitrov: What makes a house a home? For me, it’s my books, my guitars, and the odd pieces of art that I own. It’s the art and the books that bring a sense of me or a sense of my spirit. Combine that with the smell of freshly brewed coffee, and you have a home. It’s the imperfections of a place that make it perfect.
Hroth Ottosen: Off the top of my head the difference between a house and a home would be family. But that doesn’t apply to my life. My circumstances are extremely exceptional. I consider my house in Mora, New Mexico my home because I built it from scratch without much help from anybody, and to my own specifications and desires. Not many people can say that. (Later…) While making dinner I thought about what makes a house a home. A name doesn’t hurt. I consider Rosslyn my home right now!
Eric Crowningshield: Home is the place where I feel proud and comfortable being! I joke around saying we are the dream makers because we try to take homeowners’ dreams and turn them into a reality!
Pamuela Murphy: A house is a house, but a home is where the love is. It takes love, hard work, and teamwork to make a house a home.
Mike Hall: To me it it means cozy and comfortable and someone to share that with. This popped into my head because my wife and I are at the Bosque del Apache celebrating our 31 anniversary!
Homegrown Food Makes a House a Home (Photo: Geo Davis)
My next pollees are family members, starting with my beautiful bride (Susan), then on to my parents (Melissa and Gordon), one of my nieces (Frances), one of my nephews (Christoph), and my cousin (Lucy).
Susan Bacot-Davis: It’s easy to see Rosslyn as my home. We’ve invested sixteen years of our life reimagining, renovating, and sharing her. But I learned in Côte d’Ivoire where I lived in 1989 and 1990 that home can be a place very foreign to me. I came to my village wondering how I would ever be comfortable there. I departed almost a year later wondering how I could ever bear to leave. It was my neighbors, my friends and colleagues, my community, and my sense of belonging within that community, not the concrete hut within which I dwelled, that embraced me and made me feel safe and nurtured.
Melissa Davis: I’d say home needs comfortable spaces for you to do the things that you like to do. That means you need to know what those things are! So I need a place to sit and write, draw, type, pay bills, and address Christmas cards. And I need a place for the related “stuff”. And homeness means music in the places I do my activities as well as space to actually do the activities (room for yoga mat, comfortable chair/bed to read paper and books, do crossword puzzles, and drink coffee). House becomes home with enough outdoor space to grow something to eat! Eventually a home has memories throughout it which solidifies its homeness, and that requires people who are important to us.
Gordon Davis: Takes a heap a livin’ to make a house a home. And snacks.
Frances Davis: What makes a house a home in my mind is the few mementos that hold special memories or are sentimental for any reason, which we bring with us to each new place we live in. For example, random mugs collected over the years, or certain books, or even a sweater that we wore after high school grad. Whatever they are, these items carry significance in our hearts and bring our past into whatever new building we’re in to make it our home.
Christoph Aigner: Home is a place that draws people in, a space that makes one feel comfortable and at peace. It is familiar to those who call it home, and it reflects a person’s or family’s values and the life they live.
Lucy Haynes: Bringing the outdoors in – branches, plants. Living things. Also – antiques and pieces that have been used. And enjoyed.
On to friends, diverse personalities with whom we’ve fortunately become acquainted across the years.
Kevin Raines: The word home has it’s roots in the old English word ‘ham’ and means a place where souls are gathered. I like that idea because as a house is lived in it grows rich in memories that welcome and enrich the inhabitants and guests who frequent the structure. Through the gathering of souls space becomes an extension of self, past, present, and into the future.
Lisa Fisher: Home is not the house where you live but your relationship to it. If within the space you feel comfortable, yourself. To be “at home” is to have a sense of belonging — to a place, to the world you have made within it. I think it was Heidegger who came up with the notion of individual worlds, meaning the stuff we surround ourselves with, including ideas and beliefs, but also our physical realm. Homenesss speaks to the human element of habitation: the inhabiting of a space.
Alexander Davit: The stories that are created while people are living there.
Miriam Klipper: House is the structure. A home is all the things you’ve put in it — including memories. By the way, memories include selecting every painting, carpet (remember our visit in Turkey?), crafting the most beautiful house, every perfect detail…
Amy Guglielmo: What makes a house a home? For me it’s comfort and color! Soft natural textures, local art and touches. Softness, coziness, calmness. Always views for us. Aspirational space to dream. And accessibility to community. Beach, pool, recreation. Close proximity to nature. We’re wrapping up designing our new home in Ixtapa, Mexico, and we’re only missing books and games at this point. But I think we nailed the rest!
Roger Newton: Love.
Jennifer Isaacson: Surrounding yourself with things/objects that hold a history and meaning to you.
Lee Maxey: What transforms a house into a home… One word “life”. Living things, people, animals, plants, and any items that support or enhance life. Cooking implements, cozy blankets, music, well read books on a bookshelf, and signs of soul. Today is the 2nd anniversary of my mom’s passing. I have just spent a couple hours going through photos and crying and writing in my journal. One of the things I miss most are the smells. Our smells make a house our home.
Denise Wilson Davis: For me, simply, what makes a house a home is the feeling that love resides there. That, as an owner you’ve put love into it… from the care and fixing to the furnishings and found objects that bring joy or remembrance. Home is an intimacy — a reflection of your heart and creative soul — that welcomes guests and makes them comfortable.
David Howson: This is similar to the saying, “at home”. When one feels “at home”, they mean they feel a certain kind of comfort and peace. One wouldn’t say, I feel “at house”. I fondly remember the first night I stayed at Rosslyn. While it wasn’t my house, you and Susan certainly made me feel “at home”.
Ana June: I think of home as curated and designed. It is a space where your heart is visible in your environment.
I’m profoundly grateful to everyone who offered their quick thoughts. And I was warmly surprised by how many wanted to expand the exchange into a lengthier conversation. So many intriguing notions of “homeness” and personal perspectives on what uniquely distinguish their own living space. Often relationships, shared experiences, and love wove their way into our discussions. I’ve abbreviated this post, and yet I realize that I’d like to dive in a little deeper with many of those I’ve quoted here. With luck I’ll revisit again in the near future.
Pets Make a House a Home: Griffin, April 16, 2012 (Photo: Geo Davis)
Until then, I’d like to weave in one additional thread that I personally consider an indispensable component of our home. Pets.
While Susan is the beating heart around which our small nuclear family orbits, we’ve never been without a dog for more than a few months. For us family and home are intrinsically connected with Tasha, Griffin, and Carley. Although Tasha and Griffin are chasing balls in the Elysian Fields, they remain with us, surfacing every day in our memories and conversations. They’ve left their imprints in the ways we live and play and entertain and in the way that we raise our current Labrador Retriever, Carley. On occasions when our little threesome is temporarily divided, for example this past October while I was away in California while Susan and Carley were in Santa Fe for a couple of weeks, our home felt incomplete. Despite good adventures with good people, Susan and I both acknowledged the voids we were feeling. Our home was temporarily divided. Returning to my bride and my dog instantly made me feel complete once again. So, for us, an important part of what makes a house a home is all of the beings — human and not-so-human (although our dogs differ on the distinction!) —that inhabit and visit our dwelling.
Ssshhh… We’ve been keeping a little secret. Very, very soon we’ll be launching another vacation rental on the Adirondack Coast. A little north of Rosslyn and directly adjacent to our existing ADK Oasis Lakeside vacation rental we’ve been working on an exciting project that we call ADK Oasis Lakeside. With four bedrooms (max 8 people), 3.5 bathrooms, a super accommodating kitchen, window filled living room with a handsome stone fireplace, a dedicated office, an outdoor hot tub overlooking Lake Champlain and sooo many decks (and a master bedroom balcony), our visitors will be pampered from the moment they arrive.
We’ve been beavering away since last summer, 2-3 shifts of contractors daily, often 7-days a week, to meet an ambitious timeline. And we’re down to the final weeks!
It’s premature to share photographs yet, but I will soon. Until then, enjoy these renderings by our friend and architectural draftsman extraordinaire, Tiho Dimitrov (www.dimitrovdesignstudio.com).
The first / top image above shows you what awaits you when you descend the private treelike driveway. Just before you arrive at the shore of Lake Champlain, you’ll pull at at a gravel circle in front of this welcoming property. The second / lower image is looking back up at the property from the lakeside lawn. Intrigued? We hope so!
If you’ve been following along over the last couple of months, observing from afar as we rehabilitate and repurpose Rosslyn’s icehouse, then perhaps a vision is beginning to take shape in your imagination? Or maybe you’re struggling to envision the future of this handsome but understated utility building? I’ll be sharing design and structural plans piecemeal in the months ahead, but today I’d like to show you a couple of slightly whimsical renderings of the icehouse as it *might* (see note below) appear when rehabilitation is complete. The work of friend and frequent architectural design collaborator, Tiho Dimitrov, these illustrative previews are an enjoyable way to fertilize the team’s imagination as they progress.
Rendering for Icehouse Rehabilitation, East Elevation (Source: Tiho Dimitrov)
The image above depicts the east elevation, the most visible to passersby who happen to glance west, beyond the house, past the stone wall and the linden tree, to where a pair of “barns” —actually a carriage barn and an icehouse — are backlit by the setting sun. This east-facing icehouse façade was the primary focus in our meetings with the Town of Essex Planning Board. Because of the impact it has on the historic viewshed, we have endeavored to minimize changes, even repurposing/recreating the former icehouse door as a storm door per the encouragement of several board members.
Rendering for Icehouse Rehabilitation, North Elevation (Source: Tiho Dimitrov)
The second rendering of the icehouse as viewed from the north is notably absent the carriage barn (located directly south of the icehouse.) Although this might initially seem misleading, there’s potentially an intentional and beneficial consideration as explained below. Of note in this view (not visible from the public viewshed) is a change to the original fenestration. Only a single window, the one furthest to the left, likely dates to the building’s construction in the late 19th century. This 3-lite window, along with an identical window south side, have served as the template for three windows in the rehabilitation plan. When we purchased the property a massive window had been cut into this wall, but we removed it during the initial phase of structural rehabilitation in 2006-7. It is visible in the photo below, taken by the previous owners’ son, Jason McNulty.
Icehouse, North Side (Source: Jason McNulty)
It’s also evident in the following photo taken by Jason McNulty. Both photographs were recorded on November 8, 2004.
Icehouse, North Side (Source: Jason McNulty)
The three six-over-six double hung windows in Tiho’s rendering have been templated from the carriage barn, and the three small windows above are templated from similar windows in the carriage barn that were originally installed in rack of the horse stalls. They are visible in one of the photos I shared recently in the post, “Local Lumber& Fall Foliage”.
As It Might Appear?
I qualified my statement above about these renderings illustrating how Rosslyn’s icehouse will/might appear after rehabilitation is complete. Why, you ask? Architectural renderings are a powerful tool for visualizing designs and structural plans, but they are subjective. For example, in the renderings above, attention is focused on the icehouse to the exclusion of other conditions (ie. the carriage barn located mere feet to the south of the icehouse). There’s something romantic, even misleading when we isolate a specific subject from its broader context, and that is certainly the case with these delightful renderings. Colorful and capricious, they are extremely effective tools for catalyzing imagination for the future of this rehabilitation project. But there’s much more at stake as we adapt the northwest quadrant of Rosslyn’s public property (as opposed to the meadows and fields to the west of the gardens and orchard). I’ve chronicled in other recent posts concurrent site work to the north and west of the icehouse, removing some of the topographical changes introduced early in the 20th century when a clay tennis court was installed. We will be reintegrating the landscaping in the immediate vicinity of the icehouse with elements already present on the property in order to restore greater cohesion and balance to the landscape design.
Columns in previous owner’s workshop, present day dining room (Photo: Geo Davis)
It’s time for another architectural salvage update, this time focusing on the Greek Revival columns that we salvaged from Rosslyn’s future dining room back in 2006 in the early days or our renovation project. Let’s dive right in with that photograph above, but first a quick semantic note. For the sake of this post (and others) let’s assume that “adaptive reuse” and “repurposing” are sufficiently equivalent to be used interchangeably. There are those who restrict use of the former for buildings and use the latter for both buildings and materials, design elements, etc. I use the two interchangeably, not limiting “adaptive reuse” to buildings.
Some of you may recognize the photograph at the top of this post as the workshop of Rosslyn’s previous owner, George McNulty. Others of you know this same space — originally a pair of parlors and later dining rooms when the property was operated as the Sherwood Inn — as Susan and my principal dining room. (To avoid confusion, the qualifier is intended to distinguish the space from our front parlor which we use as a smaller dining room and the morning room or north porch which we use as our informal dining room.)
Deconstruction & Salvage
Although similar to the photograph above, this next set of visual benchmarks were made about half a year later. In the first photo the well equipped wood shop was still ready for creative carpentry and historic preservation, active pursuits of the previous owner for decades. But in the photograph below renovations are well underway and this room is virtually empty and deconstructed to the studs and brick.
Soon-to-be repurposed column during September 2006 deconstruction in Rosslyn’s future dining room (Photo: Geo Davis)
All of the trim in this room had already been meticulously documented by McNulty, but we salvaged everything that we could for reuse and to template from in order to bring this room back to its previous condition. It’s worth noting that we originally had hoped to be able to minimize repairs to this room, but it turned out to be a sifting sand trap. Each element we tackled revealed two underlying problems and so on. The floor was failing, the ceiling was failing, the fireplace was failing, the columns and beam which separated the space into two rooms was not original, and there was a window — bricked up and concealed within a closet — that was begging to be opened. Needless to say this room, our future dining room, was one of many that mushroomed in deconstruction and rehabilitation. The scope of work dilated day after day after day for weeks and then months and eventually years. But, I’m getting ahead of myself.
To refocus on the columns, lets start by taking a good look at the southern column (above) and the northern column (below) and then let’s get a little boost from the good folks at Britannica on the anatomy of a Greek column.
Soon-to-be repurposed column during September 2006 deconstruction in Rosslyn’s future dining room (Photo: Geo Davis)
The simplicity of these columns, only minimally embellished, lead me to consider them of the Doric order. And the following overview serves us well with one subtle revision. Both in their original location and in their future icehouse location, these repurposed columns will rest on the floor. In other words, the floor serves as the stylobate.
There are many separate elements that make up a complete column and entablature. At the bottom of the column is the stylobate; this is a continuous flat pavement on which a row of columns is supported. Rising out of the stylobate is the plinth, a square or circular block that is the lowest part of the base. Atop the plinth and forming the remainder of the base are one or more circular moldings that have varying profiles; these may include a torus (a convex molding that is semicircular in profile), a scotia (with a concave profile), and one or more fillets, or narrow bands.
The shaft, which rests upon the base, is a long, narrow, vertical cylinder that in some orders is articulated with fluting (vertical grooves). The shaft may also taper inward slightly so that it is wider at the bottom than at the top.
Atop the shaft is the capital, which serves to concentrate the weight of the entablature on the shaft and also acts as an aesthetic transition between those two elements. In its simplest form (the Doric), the capital consists (in ascending order) of three parts; the necking, which is a continuation of the shaft but which is set off from it visually by one or more narrow grooves; the echinus, a circular block that bulges outward at its uppermost portion in order to better support the abacus; and the abacus itself, a square block that directly supports the entablature above and transmits its weight to the rest of the column below. (Source: Britannica)
You’ll be quizzed on this later. Maybe. Or not.
Repurposed Columns
Now armed with some targeted vocabulary we can fast forward to about a week ago when Pam, Hroth, and Tony extracted the columns from the hay loft of the carriage barn where they’ve been stored for about sixteen years. I won’t pretend they’re tidy, but they’re intact, well preserved and ready for repurposing as a whimsical-but-structural design element supporting the new icehouse loft.
Hroth surveying soon-to-be repurposed columns from carriage barn hayloft to icehouse (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
In the photo above we’re looking over Hroth’s shoulder at the soon-to-be repurposed columns. Yes. Big. Eight feet from the bottom of the plinth to the top of the capital. Hroth’s a tall fellow, but these stately columns tower above him. I’m bringing this up to allow for critics to suggest that these columns just *might* be out of scale with the diminutive icehouse. It’s a reasonable suggestion. But we’re not undertaking an historic preservation. Instead we’re rehabilitating a utility space, a once-upon-a-time storage barn for ice, into a contemporary mixed-use office, studio, lifestyle space. Relevance is driving the program and adaptive reuse with a whimsical nod to the past is guiding the design choices. There are some incongruities baked into the vision for sure, but we’re gambling that they’ll prove charming rather than unsettling. Fingers crossed!
Hroth transporting repurposed columns from carriage barn hayloft to icehouse. (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
After a decade and a half of dusty hibernation in the carriage barn’s hayloft, these artifacts of once again seeing the light of day. Tony (upstairs, inside) and Hroth (outside) tenderly liberated the columns from the veritable warehouse of architectural salvage — windows, doors, moldings, trims, shutters, fireplace surrounds, mantlepieces, and various miscellanea — to begin rehabilitating them.
Hroth and Tony transporting repurposed columns from carriage barn hayloft to icehouse. (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
It’s worth noting that I played with the perspective on the photo above in order to best view the column emerging from the carriage barn. Hoth’s face and figure suffered slightly Silly Putty disfigurement in the process. Please forgive me, Hroth!
Capital from column that will be reused in the icehouse rehab (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
The capitals are not connected to the columns, perhaps because installation is more convenient. Or perhaps as a casualty of our 2006 deconstruction (or sixteen years of getting bumped into while in storage?) But the elements are intact and ready for cleanup and reassembly. I’ll update the repurposed column progress as they move forward on their journey toward installation.
Capital from column that will be reused in the icehouse rehab (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
Although it’s still a little premature to photograph the columns inside the icehouse, and since we have some long overdue cleaning and refinishing to undertake before these towering twins are ready to preside over their new environment, it’s helpful to imagine where we’re headed. To that end I’ll conclude with the most recent interior elevations that include the columns. There are inevitably tweaks that will emerge in the weeks and even months ahead and we massage the icehouse rehab into shape, but these drawings might sate your curiosity for a while.
Icehouse interior elevations including repurposed columns, as of November 11, 2022 (Credit: Tiho Dimitrov)
In closing, thank you Hroth and Tony for recovering the repurposed columns with such care. Thank you, Pam, for months of dimension documentation and photographs to ensure that Tiho was able to integrate these into the plan. Thank you, Tiho, for your perennial willingness to accommodate our sometimes challenging guidance and requests. And thank you, Rosslyn, for providing and supporting and nurturing our vision(s). Your gifts are without end.
Our first full workweek is in the rearview mirror, so Rosslyn’s icehouse rehabilitation is officially underway. No gold plated spade plunged into the earth, no glossy speeches, and no hoopla aside from a collective sigh of relief, some well earned rest today, and an antique ice hook. A what?!?! More about the ice hook in a moment.
Let the photo above be proof that clean-out and demo are now complete. It’s time to commemorate the ceremonial starting point for our long anticipated quest to rehabilitate Rosslyn’s historic utility building into a functionally relevant utility building for the 21st century. In the weeks ahead we’ll share the vision, introduce the team transforming this vision into reality, and invite you into the collaborative creative process.
Week 01 Recap
https://www.instagram.com/reel/CjcS50UA2nu/
The short videos above and below offer the best insight into progress and present conditions.
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Although last week was the first *official* foray into this project, it was made possible by several weeks of preliminary work completed by Pam and Tony (emptying the contents of the building, inventorying the architectural salvage and building materials that will be repurposed in this project, transporting and storing everything into the carriage barn and a rented storage container parked west of the barns for the duration of the project.) There’s always a lot more to launching a new construction project than expected, and ample credit is due to everyone — Pam, Hroth, Tony, Eric, Andrew, Justin — who successfully tackled the site prep. And behind the scenes, Tiho Dimitrov spent the week fine-tuning construction plans in conjunction with Thomas Weber who’s responsible for engineering the structural plan. All of these committed collaborators have gotten us to the starting gate.
The Ice Hook
I mentioned above an antique ice hook, and the photograph below illustrates exactly what I was referring to. Disinterred by Tony while cleaning out and grading the dirt floor of the icehouse, this badly corroded artifact bears an uncanny resemblsnce to a common tool of yesteryear: the handheld hook. This implement was most often used for 1) grabbing and hauling ice blocks and/or 2) carrying hay bales. The location where this relic was discovered (as well as plenty of examples uncovered by quick research online) strongly suggest that this is an antique ice hook. What do you think?
Rendering for Icehouse Rehabilitation, West Elevation with Gable End Window (Source: Tiho Dimitrov)
Bar none, the west elevation of Rosslyn’s icehouse is undergoing the most consequential transformation of all four facades. From clapboard, clapboard, clapboard (except for the second story access door) and minimalist-but-classic barn vernacular architecture, to a veritable wall of glass at ground level and a picturesque gable end window above, the metamorphosis is a sweeping reimagination of an environment often disregarded (perhaps simply overlooked) en route to the vegetable gardens, orchard, back meadows, etc.
To be 100% unequivocal, this understated facade was incredibly pleasing to the eye long before the icehouse rehab was launched.
Icehouse, West Elevation (Photo: Geo Davis)
Even in the dead of winter, when Rosslyn’s lawns and gardens swaddled in snow, this facade is captivating.
Icehouse, West Elevation (Photo: Geo Davis)
And when viewed as a 2-part barn duo with the carriage barn — after all, the impression from most vantage points on Rosslyn’s front property is of both barns’ collective architectural massing — the relationship of scale and perfect classical proportions makes is mesmerizing.
Icehouse and Carriage Barn, from Northwest (Photo: Geo Davis)
I don’t pretend that we’re making a silk purse out of a sow’s ear, but I’m at once optimistic and increasingly confident that our vision, nurtured into a plan by Tiho Dimitrov (architect) with structural oversight of Thomas Weber (engineer), will by late springtime have added a worthy new dimension to this timeless sanctuary.
Framing West Gable End Window
This afternoon’s icehouse rehab update needs few words to convey the impact of Hroth’s progress, framing in the gable end window that will open up breathtaking sunset views from within and will reflect those same spellbinding riots of color onto the large expanses of glass.
Icehouse Gable End Window, West Elevation, Exterior View (Photo: Hroth Ottosen)
By strategically introducing apertures and maximizing transparency in this small structure we’re endeavoring to dilate the living experience beyond the finite building envelope, to challenge the confines of walls and roof, and when possible and esthetically judicious, to improve porosity with abundant new fenestration, dynamic interior-exterior interplay, subtle but impactful landscaping changes (including a new deck) that will work in concert to amplify the breathability of the interior and temptingly invite insiders outside.
Icehouse Gable End Window, West Elevation, Interior View (Photo: Hroth Ottosen)
If you missed the previous west elevation progress report which captured the lower section when it was opened (closed with weatherproofing in the photo above), then it may be a little difficult to imagine the impact of this interior view when BOTH the 1st story glass AND the gable end window are installed. For now you can allow your mind to synthesize the photographs, but within months we’ll be able to show you the new views from the icehouse out to the orchard and beyond.
Rendering for Icehouse Rehabilitation, West Elevation (Source: Tiho Dimitrov)
Hat tip to Tiho Dimitrov for yet another whimsical rendering of the soon-to-be icehouse v2.0, this time imagining how it will appear (mas o menos, as we say in Santa Fe) from the west. In other words, this is what you’ll see as you come in from harvesting dinner in the garden!
Because this view is hidden from passersby we were able to modify the facade to showcase Rosslyn’s magnificent sunset views. The afternoon and early evening will be stunning from this hidden oasis.
Icehouse, West Elevation, November 11, 2023 (Source: Eric Crowningshield)
Progress: Icehouse West Elevation
As of yesterday this is what the icehouse’s west elevation looks like. Lots of structural work has been taking place in the interior to make these visible changes possible. I’ll post an update on those soon, but for today just a short sweet look at where we’re headed and where we are today. Exciting times! Thanks for joining us during this adaptive reuse adventure.
