Interiors by Design: Making a family cottage a mainstay

Often I get the privilege to design for empty nesters who are doing everything in their power to re-feather or rebuild the nest in order to attract the young’uns and grand-young’uns to migrate home and roost a spell.

To keep the flock together, and all the memories that might be created by doing so, can be a powerful and worthwhile motive for cracking open that nest egg.

The East End is a truly magical spot on the face of the earth (not to be prejudiced) that can swiftly entice the immigration of your entire brood. It seems a no-brainer here that if you build it they will come and wish to hold onto it generation after generation. But what helps is the creation of, as well as the establishment and recollection of, small memories that add up to a grand nostalgia one cannot resist, imploring each family member to return again and again. And of course, as a decorator and one who has luckily been able to recently experience a family compound on Cape Breton off the coast of Nova Scotia where five generations have continued to savor each other’s company, I’d like to share with you some nostalgic visuals I wish no summer vacation getaway could be without.

First, have maps—and loads of them—dating from many periods. Guests and family are always curious (and proud) of where they are located. Large nautical charts are graphically striking, eminently frame-able, cheap and easily available at all our well stocked marinas. Be sure to highlight where your summer cottage is located so generations to come will know that Great-Uncle Jonathan ruined that map by scribbling on it in Dayglo marker. Locate other vintage maps of Long Island. One of my personal favorites is a map of the Long Island Railroad tracking its progression onto the East End—makes you nostalgic for all the land you should have bought around 1910 (and don’t let Uncle Jonathan mark up this one!) The railroad map’s length is marvelous to hang between a four poster or above a tall wainscoting (because it’s so long and narrow). Be sure to keep folded maps in drawers and in a bowl atop the chest in the guest room.

Wherever possible, install some means of determining north, south, east and west. My clever Cape Breton friends imbedded flat brass arrows in their front porch floors so that newcomers and old-timers alike would always be aware of where north, and true magnetic north, lies. A painted floor cloth in the entryway or a particularly decorative weather vane would do the same trick.

To remove family from TV, media, cell phones, blackberries and the like could be ideal if only for one summer evening so that familial verbal exchanges of the easiest most essential kind could coexist with storytelling, games and gossip. A card table in the main living room with a good light on it is paramount so that young and old can trade yarns while concentrating on a puzzle, board game or deck of cards. Stock your cabinets with rainy day games and have plenty of chairs to pull up so that all ages can join in. We always cleared the table and dove into a vicious game of hearts where my card-shark of a mother inevitably and quite stylishly shot the moon.

A fireplace (of the wood burning kind) should crackle away while a coffee table groaning under current newspapers, liberal periodicals (to stir up trouble of course), coloring books and juicy biographies is essential. Bookcases stuffed with mostly classics and a couple of trash novels must not be far away. And a bit of finely displayed family china mixed in with a cheesy, but locally carved waterfowl adds an elegant, but not too serious dimension and flowers from the garden or picked in local fields and arranged by your niece Allie (who gets applause for it) or Uncle Paul (who has a florist shop in Queens) can grace every table.

Never discard the objects that bring back good memories such as Great-Grandfather Duncan’s fishing rod that helped him catch the largest tuna ever (and the tattered black and white photo of him standing proud next to the spiny beast). Rearrange them however you must, but continue to show these treasures somewhere! There is the resurrected Scottish stag head that Great-Granny couldn’t abide staring down at her; so she had it unceremoniously hurtled into the deep bay, a heavy anchor around its furry stuffed neck. And of course years of family photos that were and hopefully always will be shot on the steps of the front porch, showing all our ages, our skinniness, our paunchiness, our youth, our silliness and those we wish were still with us. You may tire of all this, but generations to come will ask questions about it and soon the dialogue and the stories will begin.

One should collect the works of local artists and artisans. We have a rich heritage in this vein, traditional, representational and contemporary—with artists who have deeply felt and beautifully interpreted the East End for countless years. In Cape Breton, where generations of my friend’s family have lived, a wonderful assembly of local hooked rugs and wall hangings have been collected reflecting local scenes rendered with extraordinary craftsmanship and artistry. The warmth of the plushy tufted textiles against the glossy pickled plank walls is nostalgic and endearing.

Before I completely gut a client’s bath, I will try to recall the infinitely charming and decoratively layered washroom of Cape Breton—a lightly battered yet luxuriously deep claw-foot tub is “acutrified” with hand cut wooden brackets wrapped in vintage oilcloth supporting an oil lamp (for those stormy LIPA nights). You step out onto brightly braided rag rugs that soak up the drippings and a vividly painted Windsor chair holds a bevy of bountiful bath towels. Not cutting edge, but oddly enough every bathing need is answered, every comfort provided for—simple nostalgia uncomplicated.

Porches are a must and one must insist on a sofa swing safely chained to the rafters and plump with pillows that might be multi-patterned blended together by the bleaching sun. Rocking chairs rock your stress away as you stare at a view framed by a simple vase of goldenrod and Queen Anne’s lace. Add the addicting game of a ring tied to a string attached to a rafter that you attempt to swing onto a protruding nail. Cares will melt and again conversation will flow. A dartboard out of harm’s way might also stimulate the competitive spirit, and like the ring toss, it would be grand for all ages.

Buy an old train bell to call the family to breakfast and supper, gathering the clan in Pavlovian response—a memory the family will have forever. And insist on long narrow tables for good conversation, altering the name tags every day so that no family member can climb into a shell. Cheerful old china (with multiple settings) in pretty patterns, no matter how cracked, will help to celebrate a sense of place and a happy lightly printed oilcloth, so sensible to clean for children and so memorable for adults, is a must.

Being not too precious about the summer porches’ dressings, my friends allow their garden Wellies and rain slickers to hang next to the front door along with the dog leashes, telescope, bull horn (for calling the children) and a casual wicker cart replete with newly found shells. Instead of being hidden in a “mudroom,” these items become a decorative part of the summer experience ready for fun at a moment’s notice.

Generations can add layers of memory laden elements that, when carefully edited, combine the best of all worlds. In this home in Cape Breton, a steeply ascending staircase to a sleeping loft, built by a local carpenter, pleasantly off-centers the great room. Memories of late cocktails and climbing toward the nook are notorious. Grandmother Hilda’s offbeat sense of color gave it a turquoise fireplace that was softened by Great-Aunt Linda who decorated with apron length 1950s chintz curtains sewn by Penny the cook. Freshly scrubbed cookware sits below dishes, strainers and mixers hung so practically on the painted shingle wall that was once the outside of great-great grandfather’s fishing shack. All stands attractively attentive, awaiting use for pancakes made with freshly picked blueberries, sandwiches of just-caught lobster, or fried porgies. Model hulls of Aunt Susan’s “Lightning” sailboat or partial-spoked wheel hubs strung precipitously above doorways remind you always to look up.

With real-estate values softening, perhaps this is a fine time to re-evaluate our wonderful East End houses and think of them not only as financial assets but as family homes where invaluable yet intangible memories and values can be preserved and handed down to children, grandchildren and beyond, adding layer upon layer—adding something far greater than money can buy.

Marshall Watson is a nationally recognized interior and furniture designer who lives and works in the Hamptons and New York City. Reach him at 105 West 72nd Street, Suite 9B, New York, NY 10023.