Read Ebook: Remodeled Farmhouses by Northend Mary Harrod

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h is extremely fascinating. The adaptation of the house to new and different purposes, the creation of a picturesque result wholly unlike and yet following the lines of the original building, calls into play not only skilful designing but careful planning.

Many of these old houses contain fine woodwork which is often hidden under layer upon layer of hideous wall-paper bought with an eye to price rather than good taste. The fireplaces are sometimes bricked up and plastered over to permit the use of a modern "air-tight"; the wainscot and molding are buried under coats of unattractive paint and give little impression of their value until the original walls and woodwork lie bare. Some houses, more especially those situated near the coast and erected during the period of commercial prosperity, were built by ship carpenters and wood-carvers during dull seasons. In these, one comes occasionally upon a wonderful old fireplace or perchance a porch that shows artistic carving. Many of these old dwellings naturally show original treatment, and it is to these that the architects of to-day turn for details to be introduced into the modified Colonial house. They were built by men who were forced to use their brains, since they were unable to turn to books for ideas.

As originally built, many of them stood with their backs to the road, their long, sloping roofs sweeping to the ground, their front doors opening on to extensive farm lands. Before the door usually stood the father and mother elm, their graceful branches seeming to hover protectingly over the dwellings. Many of the trees were there when the houses were built, while others have replaced their worthy sires and contribute a bit of landscape picturing that adds much to the attractiveness of the home.

In these old houses, more especially those that are past complete restoration, the architect of to-day frequently finds choice old woodwork. Sometimes it is a rare bit of pumpkin pine such as is seldom seen; again it is a fine old wainscot, or a wonderful staircase that has been saved from the ravages of time. Often some of these details are introduced into another remodeled farmhouse to replace parts too far gone to be used. The growing vogue of the country home has led to the restoration of many of these old-time farmhouses and has saved many a valuable structure from falling into decay. Fortunately the appreciation of their possibilities came before it was too late to save them from destruction, although many that could have done service were allowed to go to ruin. There are, however, many fine examples still standing, and some of these have been altered to suit modern uses. Little wonder the old farmhouse has come into its own, its attractiveness after remodeling making it available for summer or all-the-year-round uses. To-day there is scarcely a farm or country resort that does not show one or more of these old-time buildings in their new dress. Some have interesting history connected with them and are associated with legends that have been handed down from generation to generation. Often the house has been photographed to show both its former appearance and the results of the restoration. Some owners, however, have given little thought to the original structure, and it is left to the imagination to picture the house as it used to be.

It was six years ago, while hunting for a place to locate a summer home, that Doctor and Mrs. Homer Gage of Worcester, Massachusetts, discovered at Shrewsbury a simple little farmhouse, showing no claim to architectural beauty. It was such an unattractive, plain, little building, that only the experienced eye could discover its fine lines. This house stood close by the dusty highway; the fence which formed the boundary line had fallen into decay, while the farm lands, run down through hard usage, showed no trace even of an old-fashioned garden, such as many of the housewives of the earlier day so loved to tend. The house was built before the Revolutionary War, being erected in 1760, and was considered in those days to be a good example of what a farmhouse stood for. Surely it was an excellent type, considering the usual lines in the New England farmhouses of that day,--this small, unpretentious dwelling, whose entrance door out of plumb and windows irregularly placed made a curious combination that was in reality fascinating and appealing.

It was two stories in height, with an attic under the eaves,--a hot little place during the summer months and cold in winter, but good for storage of furniture and unnecessary household belongings. The roof had a pitch at the back and sloped to meet the kitchen, which was only one story in height. Two sturdy, six-foot chimneys had been built on one side of the house, as stoves were unknown in those days. The frame was of white pine, well seasoned, and the timber hand-hewn, with the mark of the adze plainly showing in the beams, for it was built when honest labor prevailed and was as stanch as in the days when the bush stuck in the chimney or ridge-pole showed that the carpenters' work was done. The farm buildings were connected with the main house and comprised a barn, hen-house, corn-crib, and byre, all huddled together in the most compact kind of way. It had not been occupied since Doctor Brown, the original owner, paid his last visit and left the house to its fate. The interior was not as dilapidated as in most old houses, being in tolerably good repair. And so, with little alteration, it was used as a dwelling house, while the new home which was being built near the center of the estate was erected.

After the cellar was built and the foundation partly laid, the work on the new house was stopped. There was something about the old clapboarded farmhouse that appealed so strongly to the new occupants that they fell under its charm and decided not to supplant it by a modern home. But the house stood too near the road; there was no privacy and no freedom from dust. It was of such solid construction, however, that its moving could be easily accomplished. So, slowly but surely, it slid down the hill and finally rested on the foundations which had been designed for the summer house.

Under the direction of Mr. George Hunt Ingraham, the remodeling was begun. The old lines of the roof were left unaltered, and although more room was needed, dormers were left out in its reconstruction. Nothing, the new owners felt, could so destroy the lines of the house as to break them with intrusions such as this. The long, unbroken skyline is one of its greatest charms, and even the long slope at one side, reaching down and over the one-story kitchen ell, has been carefully retained and adds not a little to the harmonious effect of the whole structure. At the front was added a small porch showing Colonial treatment, in the center of which hang graceful vases filled with iris. The same latticed effect was carried out across the front of the house in the space between the windows of the first and second stories. On either side of the main dwelling, outdoor living-rooms were secured by the introduction of screened piazzas, the roofs of which were painted with water-proof paint. One of these living-rooms opens on to a water-garden with its arches of roses at one side of the house. It is fitted up with willow furniture, in the coverings of which is introduced the prevailing flower, the iris, which is also shown in the table cover and the shape of the vase filled with the same flowers. The opposite porch is also fitted up as a living-room and overlooks the home garden. The exterior of the house is painted white with conventional green blinds, the chimneys following the same treatment, while the windows remain unchanged. The massive stone fireplaces were not taken out, although the old kitchen chimney had to be altered slightly in order to meet present needs. The house to-day overlooks extensive grounds and is embowered in a wealth of rambler roses and iris. It resembles the old house in its lines but shows in its remodeled form a most wonderful effect and reveals what beautiful results can be obtained by correct restoration.

The house is named "Iristhorpe," the name being chosen by the mistress of the house, who since her childhood has taken great interest in the iris because of a fairy tale told her by her grandmother, in which the flower was supposed to be the home of the fairies.

With modern methods of living, it would have been an impossibility to retain the old house in its entirety. More room was needed, and a service department was an absolute necessity, but in its enlargement such careful attention was paid to carrying out the lines of the original type that to-day it is almost an impossibility to find where the old house leaves off, and the new one commences. In the old structure, as it stood facing the main road, there were three rooms in a row on the first floor, with the kitchen ell attached at the rear, and the upper part of the house cut up into small rooms. In remodeling, these rooms were changed over into morning-room, living-room, and library, and occupy the entire front of the house, just as they did in the original building. They are connected with doors so carefully placed in line that they give one the impression of greater space than is really found at Iristhorpe. At the rear, the old kitchen was converted into a most attractive hallway and stairway, with closets and lavatory located at the farther side.

The dining-room, which is at the rear of the living-room, has been added and conforms in every respect to the original design of the old house. Back of this are the service rooms, which are admirably planned and equipped with butler's pantry, servants' dining-room, kitchen pantry, rear hall, and stairway, together with a kitchen. In the remodeling, the second story was divided into four servants' bedrooms, a bathroom, and a large sewing-room at the rear. An interesting feature is that this department has no connection on the second floor with any other room in the house.

The porch door opens directly into the living-room, which has never been changed from its original place in the old house. Its central feature is the old fireplace, which has been opened at the opposite side into the new dining-room. This was originally the old kitchen chimney and contained the brick oven. It has been bricked in for modern use, and here, as throughout the house, the iris motive prevails. It is shown in the graceful andirons, in the coverings of the Sheraton wing chair, in the sofa pillows, and even in the lamp-shade. This room contains fine woodwork, which is, in fact, a noticeable feature of every part of the house, and the Colonial idea has been carefully carried out in all the furniture used.

The library opens out from the living-room at the right, and from that one passes to the outdoor living-room. On the opposite side of the living-room is the den or morning-room, with glass doors which open on to the porch. Here again the iris is always the motive of decoration. In this room particularly the old paneling has been retained, as have the old strap hinges and latches, which, when missing, have been replaced by others of like design. This room was originally the doctor's office, and in the cupboard was found, at the purchase of the house, some of his old stock.

One of the most interesting rooms is the dining-room, which contains an old brick oven and paneling so exactly corresponding to the character of the original that at first glance it is impossible to differentiate between them, either in age or workmanship. The window sashes, with their small well-shaped panes, give to the room an appropriate scale, and the old iron and brass hinges and latches lend an effective tone. The iris, charming in nature and no less decorative in its conventionalized form, appears here and there in the carved woodwork and always gives a delicate twist to the Colonial design it embellishes. The beamed ceiling carries out the old-time idea, while wonderful Japanese panels have been inserted in the finish over the fireplace, and huge iron andirons show an exact reproduction of the fleur-de-lis. This flower is found also in the cushions of the Chippendale chairs, the decoration of the table, the china, and in a beautiful Japanese screen of most graceful design that hides the service entrance into this room.

The white woodwork is a noticeable feature of the interior, where harmony has been so carefully maintained that on entering one feels as if he were in a really old house, rather than one restored. It should be noted that in the architectural treatment, especial consideration has been given to lighting and air; the windows have been distributed so that the light is concentrated, giving the rooms an effect of cheerfulness that could not be obtained otherwise. Even the hanging of the curtains, which are of the Colonial type, adds to the charm of the house.

The bedrooms, on the second floor, of which there are four, show the same low stud that is characteristic of the lower floor. They are small but most conveniently fitted up, even to the conversion of a small closet, which the architect had considered impractical for use, into an extra bathroom. Every bit of available space has been made usable.

An unusual feature is the guest house, which has been created in the second story of the large stable which stands at one side of the estate. This is especially useful for week-end parties. The loft has been converted into a suite of bedrooms, pool-rooms, and a screened veranda that can be used for sleeping accommodations.

Iristhorpe might be called a conventional farmhouse, one of the type met with on almost every country road. It has no exterior adornment of any kind, but is a fine example of how a picturesque building can be evolved from an unattractive one, and is probably one of the best examples of remodeling that can be found. The house is typical of the best American architecture, and credit should be given the pioneer who first laid the foundation of the old farmhouse. As Iristhorpe now stands, its graceful lines cannot be improved upon, and clever as the alterations undoubtedly are, the great fascination that grips us as we view the house arises from the fact that it is a part of the early architecture, when hewn beams were first primed together, and when dwellings were erected that would endure for centuries.

LIMOVADY

First the electric car and now the automobile have solved the problem of accessibility which until recently confronted those who would have returned to the old homestead even sooner, had it been nearer the town. But to-day the house must be far away indeed if it cannot be easily reached from the more active centers, and probably this fact more than any other has opened up for the enjoyment of the younger generations the natural charm of the countryside endeared to our forefathers. In the roomy, old-fashioned farmhouses of New England, surrounded by stately trees and overlooking acres upon acres of rolling pasture and meadow land, unlimited opportunities are offered for the development of the country home.

In remodeling these houses of the early builders, any radical departure from the original scheme is seldom necessary. Rather should the lines and motives be sacredly preserved to accentuate their old-time charm, and modern improvements introduced unobtrusively and with such care that the final result is indeed a restoration and not an alteration. The mellowing passage of time has dealt gently with many of our old homes, and history and romance have woven about them an added fascination for every generation to enjoy. When the work of restoration is commenced, the problem of retaining this charm is often a difficult one. In some instances it would seem as if nothing short of pure inspiration had guided the hands of the remodelers of many of the quaint and irregular old houses that stand by the side of the road.

More practical considerations in regard to the environment than picturesqueness confront the house owner, however, and one of the most important is that of water supply and drainage. These must necessarily be kept far apart. A gentle incline is the best location for a dwelling, so that the one may come to the house from higher ground above, and the other be carried off below. A hollow is bad, because the water will not readily flow away from it; it is always damp and hot, as it is shut in from the breezes. On too steep a hillside, heavy rains will work havoc with lawns, walks, and flower beds.

The slope of the land should be considered in reference to the prevailing winds. The house should be placed so that the cool breezes of summer blow upon the living-room side and not upon the kitchen, or all the heat and odors from cooking will fill the rooms, and they will always be hot and stuffy. The attractiveness of the immediate outlook should be noted, and it is well to ascertain if there are any objectionable features which cannot be removed or which are likely to arise within immediate prospect. The character and proximity of the neighbors will play a large part in the enjoyment of a summer home. If the house is not set well back on the property, it should at least be screened with full-grown trees and shrubbery to obtain the seclusion desired. Old trees add greatly not only to the attractiveness of a place but to its actual value and comfort, for it takes a long time to grow new trees that will provide adequate shade from the heat of summer suns.

There is an illustration of a thus happily situated farmhouse at Georgetown, about thirty miles from Boston, known as the Jewett house, which was built in 1711. It is typical of an old Dutch lean-to and has a great central chimney twelve feet square, with four flues. Snuggled down in the midst of rolling grass land, it made an attractive picture in its surroundings of old elms. It stood far back from the road and was approached by a long lane that wound among splendid trees to the front of the house. Like many dwellings of this period, its back was toward the main road, and the front door opened upon a wide expanse of shady meadows which in the summer were bright with many-colored wild flowers. Between the house and the road there was a wide stretch of green grass which has been transformed into an old-fashioned flower garden, planted about a small, cement-lined pool and water garden.

This house was discovered several years ago by a young Southerner who had come north from her sunny home in Kentucky to find a summer abode for her brother and herself. The house as it stood was in a very dilapidated condition, and only an artist would have realized its possibilities. But about it was a warmth of atmosphere that appealed to the enthusiastic Southerner. Not the least of its attractions were the elms that cast their protecting shadows not only over the long avenue which led to the house but over the dwelling itself; many of them were patriarchs of the primeval forests when their younger companions were yet in seed; others were set out later, to add their charm to the forsaken home.

It was purchased in 1906, and the work of restoration was immediately commenced. The outside was weather-beaten and guiltless of paint. The roof sagged, and the great stone chimney needed repair. It was propped up and made thoroughly safe, and the old roof was entirely-rebuilt, but the original lines were closely followed. Viewing the house as it stands to-day, one realizes what attractive apartments can be evolved from ugly interiors, and what interesting results ingenuity and good judgment can bring about.

The interior showed coat after coat of vivid tint and layer after layer of atrociously colored wall-paper. The rooms, originally large and square, had been divided and partitioned off to meet the needs of growing families; many of them were small and hopelessly unattractive. But there were latent possibilities.

When the house was first purchased, the owner went over the inside herself to discover the original lines. As in many houses of the kind, it was easy to restore the size of the room by following beams and knocking out partitions. It must be remembered that the usual plan in houses of that period was to construct a large, square room in the center with small rooms opening off from it which were used as chambers.

The work of decorating, and, as far as possible, the remodeling itself, was done by Mrs. William Otis Kimball and her brother. Along the front of the house a screened, outdoor living-room has been added. The original building consisted of four rooms on the first floor. The front door opened into a small hall, to the right of which was the great living-room, and to the left the dining-room. Back of the former was a guest room, and back of the latter the old kitchen.

In the living-room, the flooring, which was composed of boards often two feet wide, was in such good condition that it was left intact, treated to a black walnut stain, and shellacked. The height of the ceiling was but seven feet; so the heavy beams of swamp oak were boxed in and painted white, and the space between whitewashed. The walls, which were covered with ten tiers of paper, each one uglier than the last, were cleared to the boarding. The last one was found to be a wonderfully fine landscape paper, which showed that an early owner of the house must have been a person of means, who probably had it brought over in one of the merchant-ships during the time of commercial prosperity, when Newburyport had a lively trade with foreign lands. The walls were treated with a water paint colored a creamy pumpkin tint that makes the room seem always well lighted. It is a most inexpensive finish, such as is used by scene painters in a theater, and can be put on with an ordinary-whitewash brush. The wainscot was stained dark brown to harmonize with the floors. Around the top of the room the owner painted a frieze of conventionalized pomegranates, which follow the color scheme of the woodwork and wall. The old fireplace, which had been closed up, was opened, and the over-mantel enriched with a splendidly decorative painting by the artist herself, representing a Normandy boar hunt about 1330.

After it was remodeled, the room measured twenty-four by twenty-six feet, the original size when the house was first built. It is now used as a living-room and library. Inexpensive shelves, made of boards stained to match the wainscot, are fastened along the walls. In places there is a single shelf; sometimes two are placed about twelve inches apart, and they are used for books, pictures, and ornaments. The windows are curtained with an appropriate simplicity that is unusually attractive. Unbleached cotton is used for the over-curtains and decorated with a border of richly colored cretonne, corresponding in color and conventionality of design to the painted frieze on the walls.

The hallway is five feet in width and has been kept in the original boards. They are stained in tones of soft brown which harmonize splendidly with the varying color schemes of the rooms that open on either side. Opposite the entrance door is a narrow, winding staircase whose white steps and balustrade contrast sharply with the dark woodwork and hand-rail. Half way up is the old nightcap closet from which, in the early days, our forefathers took their nightly toddy. Underneath the stairs is a secret closet so carefully hidden in the panels that only those familiar with it can find it. This was known in Colonial days as the "priest hole," and it was here, so the legend runs, that French refugees were secreted during the French and Indian wars.

The dining-room opens off the hallway at the left. It is a long, narrow room with a fireplace at one side of the end nearest the hall. The woodwork has been finished in a dark stain, and the old corner cupboard has been kept intact. The fireplace wall is paneled in swamp pine, and over the mantel there is a secret panel cupboard. The lower part of the walls is covered with dark green burlap, and above is a decorative paper in boldly striking colors. There is a long, refectory dining-table in this room, made of stout oak boards, and the other furniture has a monastic simplicity which is entirely in keeping with the character of the room.

The small room at the rear of the living-room is used as a guest chamber and is known as the missionary room. Here the walls are tinted a soft moss green, and ornamented at the top by a black and white frieze that pictures the different stages of a missionary's life. He is shown from the time of his arrival on the lonely island to his chase and capture by a band of cannibals, and finally being roasted amidst scenes of hilarity as they turn his fat form on the spit.

The studio was originally the kitchen and opens out of this room. The woodwork is of the same dark brown tint used through all the lower story, and the walls are hung with natural colored burlap. The principal features of the room are its fireplace and quaint Dutch oven which were built into the center of the twelve-foot chimney when the house was erected. From the pothook on the crane hangs an old Colonial kettle. Of almost equal interest are the small-paned windows which are closed by sliding inside panels.

The present kitchen has been added at the rear. It has white walls decorated with a frieze in which lobsters disport themselves in different attitudes.

A small closet at one side of the passage that leads into the kitchen has been utilized for a bathroom. It is finished in white with a dado of tiles painted with turtles.

When the house was first purchased, there was an old barn on the property a short distance away. This was moved up and connected with the house. It opens from the dining-room and has been converted into a lounge room, with servants' quarters at the rear. This room is one of the most interesting in the house. It is finished in stained pine, and the old rafters and woodwork have been left as they originally were. The spaces between the heavy beams of the ceiling are white, the beams being black with a narrow band of peacock blue above.

The originality used in finishing the house is evidenced nowhere better than in the chambers, on the second floor. Each one has been decorated with a different flower, and they are known as the holly-hock, the sweet pea, the wistaria, and the morning-glory room. A frieze of the particular flower has been painted around, and the canopies and bed coverings show the same design and colors in cretonne.

A small room in the barn wing, which was not large enough to be converted into a chamber as it stood, has been utilized for this purpose by opening up a large, connecting closet into an alcove to hold the bed. It is so arranged that at night the bed can be pulled out into the center of the room, and in the daytime hidden behind curtains drawn across the alcove.

There are quaint old four-posters in all of the bedrooms, and old-fashioned and simple furniture is used throughout the house. Some of it is home-made, and in many of the rooms are bookcases constructed from packing-boxes, and hung across with curtains of the cretonne used elsewhere in the room.

In altering many old houses for modern occupancy, there has been a greater expenditure than would have been required to build an entirely new structure. But in this instance the charm of the old home has been retained with a considerably smaller outlay than would have been necessary to erect another of equal size and facilities.

There is an undeniable satisfaction in realizing that all has been gotten out of a venture of this kind that was possible, and that no offense has been committed against the spirit of the old house. Every one who has attempted remodeling obtains different results from those first planned, for as the work proceeds, new possibilities and new limitations constantly appear, till the completed building has an individuality unrealized in the beginning.

In Limovady, as this little country place is named, we find a good example of what can be done to make an old house not only a livable but a delightful home, and it is a success such as this that inspires other home seekers to remodel, according to their own ideas. For no two people will be likely to conceive the reconstruction of a home in just the same way, and it is this stamp of individuality that lends to the remodeled house a large part of its charm.

THE KITTREDGE HOUSE

Have you ever noticed the fishermen's little cottages that stand along the seacoast wherever modern summer resorts have not displaced them? From a modern architectural point of view, they would at first seem quite insignificant, and yet, hidden away beneath the rough exteriors, there are often interesting lines and good proportions. The humble fishermen who dwelt there cared little for external appearance, but they built their cottages strong and solid and, though unpretentious, they were comfortable.

These little old houses, seemingly commonplace though they may be, hold much more interest for the prospective house owner and the architect than do the more elaborate ones of later periods. For wherever men have utilized what skill and intelligence they have to satisfy definite needs in the simplest, most straightforward way, they have achieved something of lasting worth.

The ages of these old seacoast houses vary just as do those farther inland. Some were built long before the Revolution and others at a much more recent date. Some have fallen into hopeless decay, while others are still stanch and habitable. The possible purchaser should make a careful examination both inside and out before he decides to remodel. Sometimes, from a superficial survey, an old house may appear sturdy enough to warrant renovation, but a closer investigation will prove that this would be an expensive business. For the old timbers often hold together firmly because they have all settled together as a unit; if any one is disturbed, the rest may be greatly weakened or even threaten to fall apart, like the proverbial house of cards.

The first indication of dangerous weakness is a sagging roof. If the lines are even a little concave, it is a bad sign, for the roof would not have settled had the walls held absolutely true. Because of pressure against them, they have been forced apart and perhaps are on the point of tumbling down altogether. If the roof passes its test well, then examine the line of the walls and be sure they are absolutely vertical and have neither spread nor fallen inward.

Next study the condition of the timbers. The sill is the most important one. If it is badly-decayed, all the other members resting upon it will have been thereby weakened and the whole structure impaired. The upright timbers and the studs will all have settled, and to straighten them will mean practically the rebuilding of the house. The floors and the roof which rest upon them will be endangered. Sometimes the ends of the uprights have rotted, and the slightest new work about them will result in their crumbling and undermining the beams and rafters they support. It is often necessary to use a sharp iron or a long knife and pry underneath the coverings on both the exterior and the interior to determine their condition. A little attention given to these points will determine whether it is worth while to attempt remodeling, or whether the expense involved would be out of all proportion to the result.

Scarcely less vital is the condition of the cellar. Is there dampness, caused by lack of ventilation, by bad walls, or by some inherent moisture? Some of these old houses have a well in the cellar; this should be drained off and filled up. But if there is an actual spring of water, as not infrequently occurs, either move the house or abandon it. Bad walls can be cemented and waterproofed. If the trouble comes from lack of light and air, it may be possible to cut larger window openings. Most old houses were set too low, however, and it is frequently an advantage to raise them. This requires sound underpinning, or the expense will be great.

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