Remodeled Farmhouses. Mary Harrod Northend
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.
The old house is nearly always in harmony with its surroundings; if it did not seem a part of the landscape when it was built, it has at least had time to grow into it through the years, and the problem of all remodeling is to preserve in the completed structure the atmosphere that will make it appear to have always belonged where it stands. While the first thought of our forefathers was to provide an adequate home, they undoubtedly possessed a peculiar instinct in the choice of a picturesque location. By selecting the site best adapted to their needs, the house seemed literally to grow out of the land, and herein lies the secret of more than half the allurement of the old-fashioned structures. The intimacy between house and grounds seems as strong as were the family ties of those hardy pioneers who laid the foundations of American civilization.
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