The Cottage

A realtor was the first to refer to this little house as The Cottage and this tag appealed to me immediately. 

The Cottage - Before

The Cottage - After

This run-down home had been abandoned by the family that owned it and although it had great potential, many had opted not to buy it.  Because no one else wanted it, The Cottage was the perfect project for me.  After I bought it, I got right to work; I moved every interior door, every window, relocated and rebuilt the stairs, demoed the old front porch and built new ones (at relocated front and back doors), expanded the second floor, added a half bathroom, moved the kitchen, moved all the interior walls (except one that was critical structurally), and lowered the floor downstairs to establish 8’ high ceilings (in lieu of the 6’ 4” headroom I’d inherited). 

I moved into the The Cottage after I sold and moved out of The Fire House.  I finished it while I lived there and then designed and built a new home on a vacant, adjoining lot that had been part of the original deal to buy The Cottage. After I sold it, I moved into the new house before I took on the next project; a home torn up by Hurricane Hugo that we call The Hurricane House.             

The Picture Window at The Bungalow

It will come as no surprise that I am a big fan of This Old House; the television show, the magazine, and the web site.  The current issue (Jan./Feb. 2012) of my magazine subscription put forth a question:  How have YOU used salvaged architectural details in your home?

In 2008, I bought a Pig’s Ear to renovate in Charleston, SC that we call The Bungalow. Although this 50 year old house had not been condemned, it should have been.  The roof leaked, the heated and cooling system had been abandoned, there were plumbing leaks, the electrical system was a mess, floors were caving in, there were serious structural issues, and without question it was the ugliest and worst home on the street.

The Bungalow - Before

The Bungalow - After

After I addressed all the major issues, I had one minor matter that was solved with a salvaged architectural item.  My task: a space within the heart of the home needed some natural light.  The solution:  replace window panes in the home’s original picture window with equivalently sized mirrors and mount it on an interior wall to create the illusion and feel of a window.  I understand that this is not an overly original idea.  However, I will take credit for carefully removing the window during demolition and then storing (and moving) it safely throughout the two year renovation until I needed it. 

This mirrored pictured window not only added natural light into this part of the house, but it brought charm and an element of craftsmanship that was not costly or time consuming.  Since I salvaged the home’s original picture window my cost for the frame was $0.  It took a couple hours to safely remove the glass panes, a little time for two coats of paint on the frame, and two or three more hours to buy and install the twenty 11” x 14” mirrors which I bought from a glass shop for $3.50 apiece (although I had quotes for twice that).

Eating Area - Before/During Renov.

Eating Area - After  (Same view)

When renovating a house, I always make an effort to redesign it to feel bigger than its actual square footage.  The Bungalow was one of these homes and the mirrored pictured window helped to make this feeling come about.  The wooden frame made it look like an authentic window and the mirrors created an effect of openness and light that felt real as well.  Most people (but not all) weren’t fooled and knew what the mirrored frame detail actually was, but what made it so gratifying for me was that it created something necessary and at the same time special because I was able to repurpose part of the original house and incorporate it within the interior that was all (except for the wood floors) new.   

Picture Window with Mirrors Installed

Blood and Sweat

I had a childhood career of play that ended up being a good foundation to the fundamentals of building. During this playtime I learned how to put things together to make something better, which was also a good introduction to the art and science of construction.

As a little boy, I spent hours digging in the sandbox. I had a nice collection of miniature cars, trucks, and farm vehicles. I also had multi-colored plastic animals that had been collected from the bottom of the breakfast cereal boxes. I would build roads, mountains, and houses in the sand and form up walls to keep the animals corralled. I’d also break asbestos shingles off the side of the barn that I could use to make roofs and bridges in the sand. Using these shingles may be the first example of me making the most of whatever materials I had to work with.

During cold weather months I’d build inside with blocks, with Captain Kangaroo on the TV keeping me company. I fell in love with Legos, but also had fun building with Lincoln Logs, metal erector sets, and one of Kenner’s Girder and Panel building kits. I really loved playing baseball and collected baseball cards, using these cards to build too.

After I outgrew the sandbox, the kids in my family would make hay forts in our barn lofts and I built wooden platforms in the trees of the backyard, safe enough for me and a half dozen other kids.

Then I paid for college with blood and sweat on construction jobs. I have scars on my hands, arms, and legs from rebar that sliced my skin like razor blades, and more than once I stopped the bleeding with fast food napkins and duct tape from the job truck before I rejoined my crew when a concrete truck was on the way.  

I also have plenty of scars from playing. Besides baseball, I loved all the sports I discovered, but a dodgeball story is a good example of how I inadvertently mixed blood and sweat to get people’s attention. It was Junior High Phys. Ed. class and we took our dodgeball seriously. In one game, I caught the red ball before slamming my head into the corner of the brick gymnasium wall. The blood and sweat mixed together, making the injury look even more serious. In the end, a faculty member had to get me to the emergency room for a few stiches, but my head wound wasn’t as bad as it had initially appeared to my classmates, teachers, and the staff in the school office.      

Like that watered-down gash, my project houses have often appeared to be worse than they actually were. They have all been in pretty rotten shape, but they haven’t been landfill-worthy like so many people have warned.

I’ve always taken a real hands-on approach to my projects. This has been critical in my career because it helps me understand how the houses have been built and what needs to happen to put them back together the way I picture them in my scarred head. There’s been a lot of blood and sweat, and rehabbing has led to more scars and trips to the ER. But after twenty years, I’m still standing, and hammering, and without my own blood and sweat, it just wouldn’t be the same.

Rewritten December 14, 2019