The Heart Is In The Home

The Hamptons is having another growth spurt and we are seeing larger kitchens, taller ceilings, grander entry halls, bigger garages, more bedrooms, greater window sizes—the list goes on and the square footage increases.The newest phenomenon is the addition of “McBasements.” The “McBasements” provide more square footage by literally tunneling under and expanding beyond the maximum exterior build outline. These McBasements can have 11- and 12-foot underground ceiling heights and never pierce the surface. So the visible structure above ground may meet the allowable build-out, but the extra square footage below offers room for bowling alleys, squash courts, exercise gyms, massage rooms, wine cellars, media centers, swimming pools, spas and a host of other subterranean amenities. There is always a challenge when designing for this kind of supersized house to make it feel cozy and warm and personal.

Regardless of size, that old chestnut “home is where the heart is,” although almost embarrassingly trite, holds at its core such an unparalleled experience that when we recognize it, we embrace it.My good friend Susan (whom I mention frequently in my column) and her husband, Joe, created and designed a home that drew in neighbors, friends and family, young and old, designers and architects, farmers and tradesmen, Wall Street bankers and socialites, actors and hoofers, intellectuals and spiritualists, writers and publishers, fashionistas and gardeners. Of course, Susan and Joe are kind, generous and hospitable and a host of other sterling qualities usually attributed to the Eagle Scouts, with a dash of Alice Roosevelt thrown in to spice the brew. And, their small, unpretentious cottage in Bridgehampton was a mecca for countless friends who, yes, had their own houses, but few had “homes.”

When we approached their home, we unlatched a gate to a small herb garden, a secret garden of sorts. Bushes of rosemary, variegated sage and scented roses surrounded us as we took in the espaliered pears, and our feet brushed against the creeping thyme releasing a rich aroma. Through the kitchen window, Susan’s diminutive blond bob could be seen whirling about as she prepared a meal.

As we entered a breezeway through a small door where gardenias, bay and agapanthus wintered over, a small glazed blue and yellow terra-cotta table greeted us beneath a candlelit chandelier. The combination of gardening tools, Wellies, scented gardenias, walls hung with beach paintings, lanterns and shells, was pretty, warm, utilitarian and charming—small in today’s sense of scale—but immediately welcoming and instantly relaxing.

After we threw open the kitchen door, the aroma of roasted pork loin greeted us, along with a hearty hug from Susan and a healthy handshake from Joe. A brightly painted red floor, nutmeg-stained kitchen cabinets, a huge butler’s tray of spirits, French crockery, Pennsylvania pottery and a lovely old-fashioned Pierre Deux wallpaper smiled cheerfully on this weary guest. Susan’s father had made her a Shaker wall clock and a Quaker-style, wall-hung bookcase, brimming with the best selection of cookbooks. Joe had found a yard sale plate holder to hang her favorite plates and painted backsplash tiles that enumerated vegetables that most likely would be appearing in that night’s dinner.

As we passed through the kitchen into the small living room, where two groupings of comfortable slipcovered furniture allowed for both intimate conversation and a large group chat, we felt instantly at ease. The room was not large, one could never feel lost or left out or alienated. An entire wall was devoted to bookcases, groaning with well-loved and reread books. Hung over some of the books were framed pictures and trophy antlers—all objects that sparked a memory and then sparked a conversation. Interspersed were framed pictures of friends and family. There were warmly lit lamps and a special area devoted to Susan’s collection of Flora Danica placed above a treasured family heirloom card table—a brief moment of ladylike elegance.

A well-worn Heriz carpeted the walnut floors, and almost always on cold nights, a fire crackled beneath a frame of Delft tiles. When called to dinner, we sauntered into an adjoining room where a cozy Chippendale daybed slid up alongside the table flanked by comfortable white painted regency chairs. Her polished mahogany table gleamed under the candlelight and family porcelain. Her collections were renowned and Joe’s centerpieces caused much admiration (or controversy). Susan served, never allowing us to help, as she spoiled us with her vivacious hospitality and delicious food. Her meals, like her entire approach to life, were enjoyed by all because she so enjoyed the preparing, the presenting and the process. It was her gift to her friends.

Her guest rooms were a respite to many of us when our homes were under construction, or rented out, or the electricity was out or the heat didn’t work. Though small, everything was comfortable and at hand. A fine mattress, crisp bedding, family quilts, a pitcher of water and a vase of flowers on an ample side stand, and usually a thoughtful framed photo of her guest pictured with Susan and Joe, sharing some great memory. Every piece of furnishing has a story, whether Joe nabbed it at a yard sale, or a good friend gave it to them, or Susan’s father made it, or her mother handed it down to her. Everything in their home was personal, cherished, well made and well cared for.

Obviously the tribute to this home is evidenced not just by its embraceable design or its intimate scale, but also by the soul of its owners, who are obviously cherished by many. Regardless, this sense of “home,” this embraceable home, is both a concept and a goal that we designers strive for and would give our eyeteeth to accomplish in every project.