Point of View

POINT OF VIEW

Home
Tag Archives: House

Point of View

Lakeside living in the Sandhills

By Jenna Biter  •   Photographs by John Gessner

At the end of a sleepy cul de sac, beneath a Southern canopy of magnolia, dogwood and pine, stands a dove gray house with a water-lover’s view. Bob and Mary Jo Newman enjoy 270 degrees of Lake Pinehurst from their place on the point.

“We wanted every room available to the view,” says Mary Jo.

The Newmans hired Mark Parson to make that happen. The architect spent hours on the acre-and-a-half property, envisioning a traditional-style design that works with the trees, shoreline and lake itself. The 4,000-square-foot build combines stone with wood shingle siding, white accents and porthole windows that evoke a weekend of sailing.

A rounded veranda takes advantage of the view. “It’s a very serene and relaxing place to finish the day,” Bob says. Heaters and a ceiling fan make the space comfortable year-round. Way up in the tower, a baby blue room takes equal advantage of the view. No TV, no distractions, just sunsets and the lake. Off to one side, there’s a dock for the Duffy cruiser. “You can’t be on a lake like this and not have a boat,” says Bob.

The Newmans found Pinehurst by way of nearby real estate investments. “I discovered what a great place it would be to live,” Bob says. Residents of Minnesota, the Newmans camped out in the Sandhills while searching for a place to purchase. The hunt was short-lived. The lakefront lot had been on the market for six years, probably because the home that sat on it was a bit of a project, but the Newmans were ready to take it on.

“We just fell in love with the property,” says Mary Jo.

It was the trees and lakeside living. Bob grew up in California, competed as a rower, first at Orange Coast College, then UCLA, and then the U.S. National Team before coaching for 17 years. Their plan was to remodel, but due to restrictions, it didn’t work out. “So, we scrapped it and built,” says Bob.

That was about three years ago. The Newmans relocated their primary residency from Lake Minnetonka, Minnesota, to Lake Pinehurst. Now they’re consolidating life in their North Carolina home. They spend mornings and evenings outdoors and retreat to air conditioning when the summer sun is unbearable. They open the glass on the double front doors to let the lake breeze waft through screens when it isn’t.

Bob’s Swedish ancestors would be impressed by the Viking-worthy wood beams holding up the vaulted ceiling of the great room. “I’m 6’ 6” so I really appreciate volume around me, particularly height,” Bob says. The men’s locker room at Forest Creek Golf Club inspired the design. A wood-burning fireplace stretches to the ceiling, and a pair of Mary Jo’s watercolors flank the column. They’re portraits of dogs past and present. Dog present, a Welsh springer spaniel named Winston, puppies around on the hardwood floors.

“I love a center island,” says Mary Jo, moving on to the kitchen. “I do a lot of cooking.” She wanted counter space to work and room for people to congregate during parties. She got both. There is a telescope and a dining table that seats 12 when both leaves are inserted.

“This was an add-on, an afterthought we call ‘the alcove,’” Bob says, referencing their favorite room, a sitting area by the kitchen. “It was supposed to be open patio, but we thought that a large open patio wasn’t going to be used as productively as it could.” They pivoted. The shingle siding had already been installed. They kept it and closed the outdoor space in. It’s flooded with natural light and became the place where they spend much of their time.

There’s an oar on the wall from Bob’s rowing days. The Newmans purchased the coffee table from an English antique shop when they were abroad for the Henley Royal Regatta. It features a segment of a rowing boat, Bob guesses from the 1800s.

Another favorite space, Bob’s office, is on the first floor, plus the master bedroom with an heirloom needlepoint chair from Mary Jo’s family. Two guest bedrooms, one decorated with green and the other navy, are on the second. Both have dormer windows on two walls.

“The fact that you can see the water from almost every room — it’s like living in a park,” Mary Jo says.

“It’s a little hideaway,” says Bob, “a real pleasure to live here.”

That ’70s House

THAT '70S HOUSE

Home
Tag Archives: House

By Jenna Biter

Photographs by John Gessner

The day’s waning light streams through floor-to-ceiling windows to illuminate a houseful of delightful curiosities. Joseph Smith recovered the whale vertebra on the coffee table in an Army dive, and the Matisse knockoff was hanging in Allison Smith’s Raleigh apartment when the couple first met. A European motorcycle helmet is a marriage of opposites: red and green, old and modern. “It’s like a spirit animal,” Joseph says. The helmet is the anchor in the home’s sea of personality.

“We love the hunt for thrifted things, but we also just love keeping our money local,” says Allison from a clay-colored couch.

“That actually is a point of pride,” Joseph says, beaming at his wife as their 10-month-old daughter, Imeleta Kimbrell, named for both grandmothers and “Lettie” for short, babbles and squeals from the floor.

The Smiths moved into the 2,000-square-foot, mid-century modern fixer-upper in the spring of 2023. They swapped the walkability of a downtown rental for family life a few minutes outside Southern Pines where neighbors deliver brownies at move-in and gifts when a baby is born. “We were ready for a little bit more space,” says Allison.

The one-story brick build lounges on a smidge less than an acre in the shade of mature pines. Built in 1974, it has had numerous owners, and like a whisper loses shape in a game of telephone, its history has morphed into myths that can’t be confirmed but are fun to believe. One thing is certain: Before previous owners painted the house black, it was referred to as “the dentist’s office.” The house on Horseshoe Road is the rare instance where Allison is happy that the original brick had been painted.

Past the house number, set in a silver script that hints of diners and the Jetsons, lipstick red double doors welcome visitors into a curated space. The furniture and décor were inherited or purchased secondhand from estate sales, Community Thrift, Sandhills Coalition, Habitat for Humanity and Facebook Marketplace. “My favorite piece is probably that — what would you call that? Dresser? Chest? — the Asian chest,” Allison says, pointing to the black and gilt chinoiserie in the dining room. “That belonged to my grandparents. Ever since I was 5, I was like, “One day . . .’”

Beside the chest hangs a pair of portraits of girls who could fit in with the Brady Bunch. “We have no idea who they are,” says Joseph. The Smiths bought the paintings at a sale for something nearing $5 apiece and, in trying to identify the subjects, discovered their first Realtor had been the previous owner of the paintings, also bought them at a sale, and doesn’t know who the girls are either.

Potatoes fill a prized brown ceramic bowl displayed prominently on the kitchen island. “For me, my favorite thing is that bowl because Allison made it in a pottery class, and I love it,” says Joseph, with a wide grin. “I love that thing.”

Allison laughs. “He’s like, ‘If there’s a fire, other than you and Lettie, I’m taking that bowl,’” she says.

Smith House has two bedrooms for now, but soon there will be three. The room conversion is the last project in a series that started when they purchased the home serendipitously.

“We love mid-century modern homes,” Joseph says. “We were looking and looking. We really wanted to find a house that was us, or close enough to us that we could make it us. And we found a house.”

It was in Fayetteville. It had imported cypress panels and Japanese joinery. It was a mid-century modern dream, and for the Smiths, a Faustian bargain. “Are we going to go to Fayetteville and live in our dream house where we’re just far enough from her family to be too far?” Joseph says. Allison grew up in West End, a descendant of families who have been in the Sandhills for centuries. The Shaws — a many-times-great-grandmother was born in Shaw House. The Aumans of Auman Lake on her father’s side and the Pages of Aberdeen on her mother’s.

“The day that we’re going to sign the papers, our Realtor says, ‘Hey, you know there’s this other house. It’s the last day on the market on Horseshoe Road over by Pine Needles if you want to at least give it a look,’” Joseph recalls. They were last to tour the property for best-and-final offers.

“We walked in. We saw the parquet floors. The big floor-to-ceiling windows. The big doors.” They were sold. Within the first two years, Joseph and Allison had replaced the ceiling; opened the floor plan for dining, living and kitchen to mingle three-in-one; added birch paneling to the bedrooms; and remodeled the bathroom with upgrades that included a bidet after a trip to Italy. As DIYers, they did it all, from ceiling insulation to kitchen cabinets constructed of walnut plywood that complement the mid-century modern architecture.

“We both liked it before we got together,” Allison says of their mutual love for the aesthetic. “Neither of us took convincing to be into the style, thank goodness.”

“This might be, after the fact, why I think I like it,” says Joseph. “When I grew up, all of Las Vegas was mid-century homes like Palm Springs, kind of Eichler, single story, flat roof, palm tree.” (Joseph Eichler was an American real estate developer known for building mid-century modern houses priced for middle-class Californians.)

For Allison, relationships fed her appetite for good design. Her aunt and uncle worked at the architectural firm Hayes-Howell and Associates, and her grandmother “just had a love of beautiful things.” Allison jokes that her mom is the original Pinterest-er. To this day, Mom tears pages from home magazines and bestows them on whomever she thinks could be inspired to dive down a Facebook Marketplace rabbit hole.

“The age of good furniture is gone,” Joseph says, matter-of-factly, “and if it’s not gone, you’re going to pay $48,000, but you can get it secondhand and cheaper, and somebody locally benefits.”

It’s already out there. Somebody might as well add it to their collection of delightful curiosities.

True to Its Tradition

TRUE TO ITS TRADITION

Home
Tag Archives: House

True to Its Tradition

Preserving a home’s heart and history

By Hazlette Huskins

Photographs by John Gessner

The “Nice Digges” cottage is exactly that. In an era of fast-paced living, retreating to this cottage is like going back to a time when your hometown was your whole world, and that was enough. Built in 1926 in the “community” section of Pinehurst, it was among the workers’ cottages where year-round residents lived, including postal employees, bank tellers, teachers, the Community Church minister and shop owners. Folks walked to work and school on streets named after local families like Everette, Fields, Kelly and Craig.

Van and Julie Mitchell were among the founding members of Forest Creek Golf Club when they purchased land there in 1994. After 10 years of staying in hotels on trips from their home in Southern Maryland, they decided to look for permanent accommodations that would be more comfortable while enjoying time at the club. They reached out to a Realtor friend who knew of a home that had been lightly renovated by a local family. Van came down to look at it the day after it went on the market, immediately made an offer, and the little white cottage on Short Road was theirs.

Once the couple got to know the neighbors and saw how special the block was, they decided to stay in the village full time. Julie credits the village’s National Historic Landmark designation with encouraging preservation through thoughtful restorations of the beloved workers’ cottages. Over the years, the neighborhood has evolved into an eclectic group of new and longtime residents, including folks from Germany, South Africa, Turkey and Australia, who attend the block’s warm weather happy hours they call “neighbor nights.”

Nothing says “welcome” better than the broad, covered front porch with a bespoke rocking chair. Sponsored by the Mitchells as part of the Rock the Village project during the 2024 U.S. Open, it was painted by local artist Vanessa Grebe and includes symbols of their home states of Maryland and North Carolina, along with a portrayal of our area’s most notable passions — golf and horses.

When the Mitchells decided to renovate their cottage in 2010, they felt it was important to keep the traditional Pinehurst look — white exterior, green roof and shutters — and applied for design approval from the Pinehurst Historic Preservation Committee. Van’s career in building supplies helped them clear hurdles along the way. When their builder suggested using easily available gray roof shingles, Van was able to track down the more elusive green ones. Dissatisfied with stock flooring options, he reached out to an old friend at a hardwood flooring manufacturer to get the lumber they knew would be perfect for creating a cohesive look between the old and new rooms downstairs. This attention to detail was carried up to the loft space, where they repurposed the living room’s original pine floorboards. At the top of the steep, winding staircase is a hideaway fit for Peter Pan, where the grandchildren cherish sleepovers in a space all their own.

Van chose a bright Pantone yellow for the front door — a color he had used in his building supply company branding — but it took some convincing to get it approved and included in the historic village color palette. Julie met with the committee and, armed with a folder of research featuring photos of historic homes graced with doors painted the same color in Annapolis, Maryland, and Alexandria, Virginia, the color was approved.

The seamless expansion of the cottage’s footprint belies the thought and care that went into its planning. When they learned the pin oak in the side yard was one of the oldest in the area, the Mitchells planned around it rather than remove it for an addition.

Maintaining the authenticity of the interior of the historic structure was just as important to Julie as the exterior. Subtle changes included extending the living room wall, adding space to the back of the house for a larger kitchen and primary bedroom, and adding a guest suite they call “the red room” to give the family more space for hosting friends and family.

Pinehurst was like a second home to Van long before he owned one there. A lifelong golfer, he has been a frequent visitor to the Sandhills since childhood. When he was 10, he and his father attended the 1974 opening of the World Golf Hall of Fame. He returned as a member of Campbell College’s golf team and later brought friends and colleagues to play Pinehurst No. 2.

On the way back to Maryland from the 1996 Summer Olympics in Atlanta with their two young daughters, Molly and Megan, the family stayed at the Pine Crest Inn. Even then, Van and Julie knew they would eventually retire in Pinehurst. It’s been their full-time home now for five years, and they feel blessed to have their children and grandchildren in North Carolina as well.

When they began thinking of a name for the cottage, one of their daughters suggested using a paternal family name that was the perfect play on words — Digges. Van’s ancestors emigrated in the 1630s from Scotland to Maryland, where his family has been planted for five generations. “Nice Digges” was a natural. Julie has stayed in touch with the former owners — one grew up in the house, and the other is coincidentally from Julie’s hometown of Cranford, New Jersey — and learned the cottage was previously named Welikit (We like it). True to her dedication to preserving the home’s history, she hung a second nameplate over the porch’s screen door to honor its past.

Sitting humbly under the expansive pin oak, Nice Digges proudly turns 100 this year, lovingly prepared for its future.

Surely Home

SURELY HOME

Home
Tag Archives: House

Surely Home

For there the heart can rest

By Jenna Biter

Photographs by John Gessner

“It’s a very, very livable house,” says Ginger Monroe.

She’s standing in the kitchen, the heart of her family’s Pinehurst home. The Southern cottage, wooden clad and painted dove white, measures more than 4,000 square feet but less than five. There’s a guest house out back, and the property sits on a dash less than an acre. It’s the perfect size for the Monroe family of five, seven if you include black Labs Scottie and Bonnie.

“Twin Sycamores” is a real charmer — a home, not just a house — and that’s what drew Ginger to it. An interior designer by trade, she aims for a space that feels like the last stanza of American poet Henry van Dyke’s “A Home Song”:

But every house where Love abides,

And Friendship is a guest,

Is surely home, and home-sweet-home:

For there the heart can rest.

Ginger and Edward Monroe didn’t design the house on Fields Road. From what they’ve pieced together, a European couple built the house in 2009 and clearly had a knack for bringing the Old World to a new build. There are wider-than-wide old knotty pine floorboards, and what looks like a vintage newel post on the staircase and pediment above the stove. With honest-to-goodness historical (or at the very least historically convincing) details, the house hides its youth among the 20th-century cottages that define the Pinehurst Historic District.

“I’m always drawn to houses that just make you feel welcome when you walk in,” Ginger says, “that have the appeal of being old even if they’re not — and loved.”

The Monroes settled into the home in 2019, just in time for the COVID pandemic to lock the family away with plenty of time to make the place their own. The couple laid sod and restained the front porch. Edward defeated diabolical invasive wisteria with “roots that looked like big sweet potatoes.” Ginger points at the wisteria’s replacement. “This garden, this is my husband’s.” It’s a prim little thing off the side of the house, just outside the dining room window. A perky pink rosebush stands out against sunshine ligustrum. “He loves to garden,” Ginger says. It’s a creative outlet, a break from his dental practice in Southern Pines.

Twin Sycamores, named for the couple’s twin boys and two trees out front, features an open first floor good for family time as well as their annual Good Old-Fashioned Cocktail Party. Edward mixes old-fashioneds, and Ginger makes Brunswick stew. Guests flow in and out of the living room, dining space and kitchen, but there are still nooks to cozy into. A table and chairs converse on the covered back porch, and a pair of leather armchairs, mini fridge and TV relax in the “green room,” a moody space called by its Pinehurst-perfect color. “My favorite thing to do for a house is color,” Ginger says. “I’m drawn to the artist’s eye.”

Local works hang on the walls. There’s a painting of rabbits by artist and family friend Bee Sieburg, a gift when Hunter and Charlie were born. There’s a painting of lambs by Ginger’s mom, Cindy Groce, and an artwork by Ginger herself.

“This is my favorite, though,” she says, pointing to a painting above the mantel. “This is from a photo that I took at Biltmore.” Ginger’s friend Lanie Mann painted the scene showing Janie, the Monroes’ daughter, walking hand-in-hand with her younger brothers. “I love it because I remember being right there taking that picture.”

Past the fireplace is the master en suite. When the Monroes moved in, they enclosed the screened-in porch to make the new room, upsizing the main house’s original footprint. The teenagers have the run of the upstairs, each with their own bedroom. “Janie kind of lucked out in this whole situation,” Ginger says, walking into the middle of her 18-year-old daughter’s yawning room, “because this was the master.” Of course, Hunter and Charlie wondered who would move into Janie’s room when she leaves for UNC in the fall. Ginger dodged that one. “It will still be Janie’s room.”

The boys’ bedrooms show “how different they are,” Ginger says. Hunter has a windowsill of plants. There’s a Christmas cactus, aloe and even a crocheted plant on his side table. Like father, like son. Ginger crosses the hall to Charlie’s room. “Night and day,” she smiles. Charlie likes golf and hunting. There’s a hand-on-his-holster cowboy floor lamp that belonged to his dad. Ginger uncovered it in her in-laws’ basement and had it restored.

Back downstairs, Charlie likes the green room. Opposite the entry hall is Hunter’s favorite room, the music room, where he plays piano. Janie spends time in the living room or doing her homework on the back porch.

“I love the kitchen,” Ginger says. “That’s where we gather, and I love it when the kids’ friends come over. It makes me so happy to open our doors and invite people in.”

A Perfect Fit

A Perfect Fit

Home
Tag Archives: House

Historic bungalow made-to-measure

By Deborah Salomon

Photographs by John Gessner

   

Residentially, Pinehurst is a many splendored thing, from Tudors to Taras, Cape Cod cottages to contemporaries mostly upward of 3,000 square feet. They have long pedigrees, and are furnished in family heirlooms with designer upgrades. Built in the age of maids and cooks, their utilitarian kitchens tucked out back have become appliance/gadgetry showcases and their bathrooms, spas.

Now emerges a separate class that defies classification: modest cottages built for resort support staff in a fringe neighborhood called Power Plant because, of course, that’s where the power plant was. The same applies to Laundry Hill and just plain Community Road. A list of Tufts’ employees reveals names like Shaw, Kelly, Fields and McCaskill, forever memorialized on street signs in toney Old Town.

Once left to graceful decay, these bungalows are on the comeback trail, renovated by retirees fascinated by their history, their ghosts.

In May, PineStraw featured an iteration of the cottage Rassie Wicker built for his family — Wicker being Tufts’ legendary engineer, historian, builder and town planner. Its current owner-renovators, Lisa and Bob Hammond, retired medical professionals who performed much of the labor themselves, are vibrant young grandparents captivated by Wicker and the Pinehurst saga.

   

But before Rassie provided a house for his wife and children, in 1919 he built a tiny cottage for younger brother Roswell Egbert Wicker, known as Bert. Bert installed the area’s first telephones and managed Pinehurst Electric Company. Since Bert and his wife had no children, the size of the home — under 1,000 square feet — was sufficient.

The cottage was named Merrimac. Why, nobody knows.

In 2012, its third owner undertook a major renovation and enlargement with attention to quality and detail, including fabricating a tool to produce moldings that matched the original ones. Heavy paneled doors were refinished; knotty pine floors scraped and stained a rich cherrywood brown; the bathroom modernized and a modestly sized but stunning black and white kitchen installed; screened porch and patio added; ceilings and roof lines modified; and so much more. Then, the owners furnished it with finds of quirky provenance: a Shaker cabinet, an oversized leather sofa beside a coffee table made by shortening the legs of an English kitchen table, a massive hand-hewn Amish dining table, bent-twig chairs, lace café curtains, and Tiffany-esque sconces.

      

Beadboard is lavished on walls and backsplash, even on a vaulted ceiling in the family-room addition.

The fireplace burns wood, not gas.

Merrimac became a rental property, smaller than most, but prettier than many.

 

Lorelei and Paul Milan — outgoing, fit, energetic retirees — met at tiny Elmira College in upstate New York. He was from Massachusetts, she from Buffalo. For 32 years they lived and owned a commercial cleaning business in Raleigh. They raised two children in a 3,500-square-foot house with a pool and horses in the backyard. But for retirement they wanted a small town with less bustle. Pinehurst had been a golf destination. Why not drive down, take a look? Their “look” lasted two years since, like many retirees, they wanted something in the village that had already been renovated, preferably a property retaining a charter membership at the resort.

“Let us know if you find a cottage with character,” Lorelei told the real estate agent.

Four days later she got a call. “We walked in and bought it.” Not just the house. All the furnishings. “I wanted it turnkey.”

 

That meant disposing of their furnishings and settling into a setting more Martha’s Vineyard B&B than Old South. Lorelei extended one kitchen cabinet for drawer space and replaced the stove with a duel fuel model. White walls became fresh pastels. They added two leather chairs and a rug to the family room and a king-sized slated sleigh bed that fills the master bedroom.

By admission, Lorelei is an anti-hoarder, so no clutter. Only her grandmother’s salt and pepper collection on a windowsill and her great-grandmother’s demitasse cups made the cut.

Then, they embarked on a major project: converting a small cart-and-pony shed into an extra bedroom (no bathroom) for visiting children, while also turning a building on the lot line into a three-bay garage, all using materials that matched the house. One bay houses their golf cart, another a giant closet for Lorelei’s outfits and, of primary importance, a third as the “beer fridge.”

About that off-premises closet: Closets had not entirely replaced armoires by the Wicker era. Paul gets the single narrow bedroom closet. He also has custody of the desk facing the front door, which makes this intended sitting room look like an office except for a plaid loveseat.

 

“Paul is a problem-solver,” his wife explains. Solutions, paperwork and his playlist come together easier when seated at a desk. Besides, friends know to enter through the screened porch into the kitchen which, although compact, exemplifies good design. On its wall hangs a framed photograph of Bert Rassie’s original cottage appearing rather drab compared to its update.

Lorelei misses having a pool, but Merrimac offered a new interest: Moore County history. She has researched the Wickers, their professions and properties, with the help of Jill Gooding, Bert’s grand-niece, who provided information from the Wicker family Bible. Lorelei compiled her findings into booklets, part of a submission to the Village Heritage Foundation, which in 2020 awarded this cottage — and Rassie Wicker’s — Pinehurst Historic Plaques.

Whether Bert enjoyed the decade he lived here is not known. Lorelei and Paul Milan’s delight is obvious. They can sit on the terrace and wave to passers-by. They are only a few minutes from world-class golf, a pool and other club amenities. Their home is small enough to be cozy, large enough to entertain. True, they have only one guest room plus the guest cottage, which their daughter reminded them won’t be sufficient for grandchildren. Paul’s eyes twinkle, as he whispers, “Hotel.”

The criteria for historic preservation varies. Nobody disallows air conditioning or WiFi. The best examples retain the ambience of antiquity. Old maps of young Pinehurst decorate the walls of Merrimac. Its paned windows remain wavy glass, and its dimensions, with the exception of the family/living room addition, match the needs of original occupants, who were skilled worker bees, not captains of industry from Pittsburgh, New York and Boston. A century old, this little gem is, above all, serendipity for modern retirees Lorelei and Paul Milan.

“It’s perfect,” Lorelei says, before dashing off to meet an old friend for golf. “We live in every square foot, every day. Aren’t we so lucky?”  PS

Residential Renaissance

Residential Renaissance

Art dominates Grandma Boyd’s “cottage”

By Deborah Salomon   •   Photographs by John Gessner

The Breakers. Downton Abbey. Monticello. Taliesin.

Fancy family estates — real and literary — set the tone with fancy names. What could be more dramatic than the opening line in Daphne du Maurier’s Rebecca:

“Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again.”

Locally, Weymouth — named for an English village — qualifies; and right next door, Inchalene, Celtic for “cottage at the edge of the woods,” adds its own mellifluous name to the list. The residence, designed by Alfred Yeomans, built in 1923 for James and Jackson Boyd’s widowed mother, Eleanor Herr Boyd, and now respectfully renovated, retains grandeur aplenty. During the Boyds’ heyday, Granny arrived from Pennsylvania in a private railroad car preceded by servants, supplies and silver. Once ensconced she kept tabs on her sons and grandchildren while hosting garden parties.

Eleanor Boyd died in 1929, son James in 1944. Inchalene declined until purchased in 2005 by a historic homes renovator and his sister, from Palm Beach. Their plan, similar to the Boyds’, was to create a family compound with their elderly mother nearby. But mother died and an unfortunate construction-related incident aborted Inchalene’s rebirth.

The grande dame of Connecticut Avenue was down . . . but not out.

In the spring of 2011, Inchalene once again bustled with activity, as workmen readied it for a designers’ showcase benefiting Weymouth Center for the Arts and Humanities.

The result: a double dose of classic opulence. Many furnishings from the showcase were still in place when the house was staged and listed for sale.

Eric and Nelsa Spackey had been looking for a year. “I passed by one Sunday at 6 a.m., hopped the fence and listened to the birds,” Eric recalls. “The house had a good feel, a welcoming flow, positive energy.”

“I fell in love with it,” Nelsa adds.

So impressed were they that in 2019 they bought the house and contents — lock, stock and Murano glass chandelier hanging over a hammered-copper dining table. What wasn’t included they tracked down at auctions, online and elsewhere. “We wanted (furnishings) related to when the house was built,” Eric says.

Turnkey sales of this magnitude seldom happen. Neither does an entrepreneur like Eric Spackey, who grew up in Michigan, trained in finance, set up a cellular network, manufactured uniforms for the military, and is now involved in developing a James Bond-worthy electronic communications device — among other pursuits.

“Sort of like Forrest Gump,” Eric says, as he kneads sourdough on the kitchen island. Besides baking bread, he cooks, cares for the horses, tends a garden, orchard and chicken coop. He plays the guitar and collects art, enough to transform the mansion into a gallery begging a docent. The first image inside the front door is a mother and child with cherries by Gilbert Stuart, whose other works include the iconic portrait of George Washington.

Eric relates best to Fauvism, popularized by Henri Matisse. Upstairs hangs a dreamy likeness of Claude Monet’s daughter and granddaughter, by Monet’s son-in-law Theodore Butler.

The Spackeys’ have four daughters and three granddaughters; living among them made him appreciate the soft femininity of these paintings, and the house. But not all his art is “pretty.” Eric displays Depression-era WPA depictions of factory workers in stark, angular forms.

The Spackeys’ other residence is a waterfront villa in Puerto Rico, site of Eric’s businesses. After hurricane Maria hit the island in 2017, they looked for a safer home base. Eric considered Asheville, then discovered Moore County while working with a government official from Pinehurst.

“I wanted more than a house,” Eric says. “I wanted a working farm with horses — and this was close to the military.” Perfect! “I use the hayloft as a meeting place and the tack room as a bar.”

As for Granny Boyd’s white stucco English Tudor cottage with mullioned windows: “The house itself is a work of art,” Eric says. To preview the interior he installed a 12-foot marble fountain adorned with lions on the circular drive.

Inchalene’s footprint and layout remain virtually intact, except for a solarium added at one end and a second-floor master suite cobbled from several smaller bedrooms and a porch. The longitudinal layout, however, is both interesting and typical of estates unconstrained by lot size. A “shotgun” hallway bisects the main floor, allowing straightline vision from the solarium at one end to a small office at the other. Off it branch the kitchen, dining room, den, entrance hall, powder room and a curious bedroom with door leading outside. Often called a pastor’s room built to accommodate itinerant clergy, these front-facing bed/bath/sitting chambers also appear in homes with elders who could not climb stairs. Or, it might have doubled as an office where the chatelaine received tradesmen without allowing them into the house proper. To that use, the sparsely furnished room includes a desk and a floor lamp from the reading room of a New York City library.

The kitchen, displaying art on a wall rail and countertops, introduces a color appearing elsewhere: the pale green of extra-virgin olive oil. Step down into the family dining area where hangs Eric’s talisman: a 10-foot-long, 450-pound Byzantine mosaic believed to be 2,000 years old that just happened to fit the wall over the table. Beyond that, the glass solarium surrounded by flowering shrubs sparkles like a diamond.

In contrast, the den is dark, clubby, bookish, with oversized pieces upholstered in leather, a primordial man cave where gents gathered to solve world problems over cigars and bootleg brandy.

That long hall opens out into the bright living room, where white sofas hint contemporary in contrast to an ornate gilded case piece in the dining room — imagine it coming from a Versailles tag sale, where Eric might have also found his musical clock, circa 1780s.

The second floor master suite is a clutter of charming objects in hues to match antique Delft tiles surrounding this and other fireplaces. Here and elsewhere, wall-mounted TVs stream fine art when not in use. Down the hall, a “princess” bedroom is scaled and decorated for granddaughters, including a bathroom with a 3/4-sized tub and sink. Next to it, a rough-and-tumble boys’ room has bunk beds and a wall painted to resemble a barn door.

Faux finishes appear on other walls, some resembling wood paneling; others textured Venetian plaster mimicking damask. Touch to believe.

Completing Inchalene’s idyllic portrait are two horses joined by Frida (as in the Mexican painter Kahlo), an affectionate and intelligent German shepherd rescue, and Luna, a long-haired Himalayan kitty big as a watermelon.

Eric insists that maintaining Inchalene’s acreage makes him feel connected. “The chickens produce manure for compost for the garden, a tie back to nature. There’s no better therapy than getting on my tractor. It keeps me balanced.” He finishes with a sweeping, “This was meant to be.”

All things considered, maybe more Lorenzo de’ Medici than Forrest Gump. PS

Home & Garden Tour

Inchalene is just one of the homes on the Southern Pines Garden Club’s Home & Garden Tour on April 9 from 10 a.m. to 4 p.m. Buy tickets online at southernpinesgardenclub.com.

Story of a House

Rooms With a View

Getting a lift by the lake

By Deborah Salomon   •   Photographs by John Gessner

Time was, before video games and apps, every kid wanted a tree house — a place to daydream, to pretend, to lick drippy popsicles on a summer evening. It’s not too late.

John Lennon built a beauty in Hollywood. Winston Churchill had one constructed on his estate, for the grandchildren. And, for $115 — less than the rack rate at a covey of hotels and motels — four people can stay in a little gem overlooking Lake Pinehurst, with a full magazine-worthy kitchen plus two bedrooms, a loft, a living/dining area, a bath and a half, three TVs, WiFi, heat, AC, a wraparound deck and built-in relaxation.

Sound like an infomercial? More like a PSA (public service announcement), since who isn’t soothed by a water view while greeting squirrels eyeball to eyeball?

From a distance, these octagons on stilts — they’re not actually attached to trees — resemble intergalactic pods preparing to blast off for home. Surely, everybody who has driven by this cluster on the way to Lake Pinehurst wonders what lies within.

The curiosity may be primordial. Earliest humanoids could well have slept in trees, unreachable by wild animals — though any archeological evidence of it would never have survived. Stilted structures, for storage and for living, were built in the Amazon region, all through the Indo-Pacific and in Africa. In the Arctic, stilts raise houses above the permafrost. And beach houses crowding the seashore and barrier islands up and down the Atlantic coastline have more stilts than YouTube has videos. You can find resort clusters in the Blue Ridge Mountains lifted off the ground and Rocky Mountain ski-in, ski-out chalets built into snow-packed slopes.

Backyard tree houses can be status symbols for artists, poets, philosophers and wealthy Peter Pans. An International Tree House Architecture Competition draws wild entries from Denmark to Switzerland, France to Long Island, New York.

Tree houses as vacation properties gained popularity in the 1970s — the Diamondhead era in Pinehurst — and were incorporated as part of the new lake community near the No. 3 course. The houses, ordered from catalogs (including Sears), arrived as kits to be assembled on-site. Their unusual shapes provoked mixed reactions from village traditionalists. Most of the original units have been remodeled, often glamorized beyond recognition. Some are owner-occupied seasonal vacation homes. Others are investment properties rented to golfers, wedding guests, family reunion out-of-towners, and businessfolk on retreat through Airbnb, Vrbo and local agents, including Sandhills Rentals.

Perfect, when the in-laws visit — but do advise them to bring sensible shoes, because this house-on-stilts rises nearly 20 feet, accessed by an exterior stairway.

Inside, the scale of this example in the Brae Burn enclave, at 800 square feet, feels compact except for the generous kitchen, with granite countertops, a full-sized fridge, built-in cooktop and oven, dishwasher, microwave, breakfast bar with adjoining dining table seating six, facing a living room with sofa and upholstered side chairs. Two bedrooms sleep four. Between the kitchen and sitting area, a desk accommodates the ubiquitous laptop. With COVID still restricting office attendance, what’s not to like about a tranquil, private work getaway?

The floors are easy-clean stained bamboo. Furnishings throughout blend a soothing grassy green with cream upholstery and dark woods. Tableware and linens are high quality. Curtains offer privacy since most of the tree houses are built in clusters. Every inch appears tasteful, spotless, well-maintained.

For pretty obvious reasons, barbecue grills are not allowed on the decks. As consolation, this tree house comes with a kayak, facilitating an escape when the tigers and gorillas drop by for appetizers.

Tree House

A tree house, a free house,

A secret you and me house,

A high up in the leafy branches

Cozy as can be house.

A street house, a neat house,

Be sure and wipe your feet house

Is not my kind of house at all —

Let’s go live in a tree house.

                   — Shel Silverstein  PS

Story of a House

Christmas and Beyond

Seasoned with a light touch

By Deborah Salomon   •   Photographs by John Gessner

Minimalist. Christmas. Opposites.

Decorating a home for Christmas suggests tinsel, paper chains, gingerbread villages, candles, holly wreathes, mangers, Santas, angels, lights-lights-lights.

Not necessarily. A few absolutely perfect — in scale and taste — Yuletide arrangements can make a house glow. Especially when the house itself is tailored to its occupants’ lifestyle, where decorations lean toward the elegant, the traditional, the spare.

Garlands. Ribbons. Wreaths.

This happens at the Country Club of North Carolina home of Teresa Marshall and Rick Kline, who married in their new living room last December. Accommodations for the COVID-19 pandemic limited them to 10 guests sitting on white sofas arranged like pews.

Framing the scene were miles of moldings: crown, window, door. High ceilings completed the effect — airy and calm — which, all things considered, also provides the ideal stage for Christmas decorations.

No snowmen. No reindeer. No elves. Santa survived the cut.

“We just wanted a little bit of Christmas in all the main rooms,” Teresa says.

Helping to realize the effect was Matthew Hollyfield of Hollyfield Design. He was tasked with creating arrangements that could be augmented with red roses for the wedding on Dec. 27. In Teresa’s childhood home, the tree, decorated by her mother, was the focus. “I felt strongly about that,” she says. All Rick remembers is “just a tree and a lot of toys.” And butter cookies. Their wish was simple. “We wanted to establish our own traditions, carry over decorations and add to them every year,” she says.

Teresa wanted the main tree in the living room, in front of a window, and a tabletop tree visible from the bottom of a high staircase, festooned with greenery — the very staircase she descended in her wedding gown. Partial to large glass ball ornaments, she sat back, turned on the music and watched Hollyfield hang them. A tray of succulents extended over the kitchen countertop; a small arrangement centered the dining room table. Understated, but a presence.

Outside, more garlands of pine and fir, to be augmented this year by lighted trees. Teresa and Rick decorate immediately after Thanksgiving. Otherwise, there’s hardly time to enjoy. Greenery must be best-quality manmade, and reusable. Spray-on piney scents are optional.

Hollyfield confirmed the house was an excellent backdrop. The decorations didn’t have to compete with “a lot of heavy oil paintings,” he says. Rick and Teresa prefer landscapes by local artists, including one by Jessie Mackay, who lives just down the road. Otherwise, expanses of white walls, framed by those amazing moldings, beg seasonal adornment.

Ah, the house: White-painted brick stretches asymmetrically across a knoll overlooking the Dogwood Course and lake beyond. A circular driveway surrounds close-cropped grass, green enough for putting. Tall pines dominate the background, where a pair of eagles nest.

Location. Location. Location.

Teresa and Rick were living within sight of this prime property, conveniently vacant. Their house needed renovations. Why not start over, build their dream home on the lot with the million-dollar view?

Rick, an attorney, and Teresa, a retired banker, negotiated the purchase. They drew a layout suited to their needs, where the pool (with hot tub and sun shelf) is close enough to the living room — with its interesting tray ceiling — and adjoining screened porch to seem part of it. The dining room with built-in bar serves as a passageway into a large kitchen, all white and stainless steel, with miles of natural quartzite countertops, a chevron tile backsplash, and paned windows with nothing to obscure the vista — all for Teresa. She prepares Thanksgiving dinner for a multitude of relatives.

“I make Sunday breakfast,” Rick says.

Adjoining the kitchen is a small “keeping room.” Teresa adopted this New England designation that refers to a small area where family gathers around the fireplace in an unheated cabin come winter. More sitting room than den, this fireplace and TV are still the draw, especially when guests congregate in the kitchen. That leaves the dining room for contrast, painted a deep sea blue with teal overtones on the walls, ceiling, even the moldings.

The master suite is off the kitchen-keeping area, enabling an entrance from pool deck to bedroom. Here, again, a splash of wall color. Not mint. Not lime or avocado. Maybe celery. “It’s called Teresa green,” she says, therefore pre-ordained.

Area rugs over stained white oak floors throughout are colorful, but muted. The furnishings are in the comfort/contemporary mode, excepting several antiques from Rick’s family.

Upstairs the scale changes. Two comparatively small bedrooms, each with a bathroom, accommodate family and guests. Yet, citing the careful design, they use each room, almost every day.

“We have been very blessed,” Teresa says. “I had the ability to retire, and we’re both healthy.” Their decision to marry in December ensured that Christmas will always be doubly special. As for the house they built for their wedding and beyond:

Serene. Beautiful. Absolutely perfect.  PS

Story of a House

Cottage Colony Redux

Caribbean colors heat up village landmark

By Deborah Salomon   •   Photographs by John Gessner

Pinehurst: Retirement nirvana for the fortunate few who have played the best courses, traveled the world, appreciated good food, good company and reasonable health.

That would be Carnie and Sharon Lawson.

Previous inhabitants — together or separately — of impressive Northeastern residences, the Lawsons found an original Tufts-built “cottage” already upgraded, remodeled and enlarged to the hilt with exquisite taste in the village center. While rocking on their front porch they can smell the spices wafting from Theo’s Taverna, watch guests arrive at the Magnolia Inn, and wave at friends strolling by on an autumn’s eve.

Ah, the very, very good life.

But wait: A surprise lurks inside The Oaks, as their home is named. Imagine hibiscus blossoms on a holly bush. Hot pink, acid green, lemon yellow, cerulean blue, aquamarine and coral splash across fabrics and walls in rooms furnished with carved mahogany, inlaid cherrywood, 19th century tables and chairs, bureaus and cabinets, desks and breakfronts — a titillating juxtaposition that works. One created by New Englanders (Connecticut and Massachusetts) who for years wintered sea and land in St. Lucia.

Note the 4-foot model of Carnie’s boat, La Gitane — French for “gypsy girl” — that he hopped aboard after retiring from the financial world at 47. “My parents died young. I wanted to enjoy life,” says the man 37 years later.

A closer inspection reveals a décor composed of more than souvenirs. Between them Sharon and Carnie have five daughters and nine grandchildren whose photos cover tabletops, shelves, walls. Their original art reinforces the Cole Porter lyrics for Anything Goes. Over a luxurious down-filled sofa, upholstered in a Chinese print, hangs a nouveau folk art canvas of four derrières lined up at a bar. It was painted by Sharon’s daughter. Carnie smiles. “I call it beach buns.”

Flanking the fireplace in a smaller gathering room is a year-round, table-top Christmas tree. The two rooms are ground zero when the Lawsons entertain.

Elsewhere, a collection of tiny Limoges pillboxes covers a tabletop. A display of Chinese dragon roof ornaments is arranged on another. Big metal Tonka trucks fill a bookcase. Miniature clowns cavort in a shadowbox. Masks from carnivale in St. Lucia appear here and there. Even a ceiling fixture has a history, removed from the Île de France, the first ocean liner built after World War I, launched in 1926.

Who needs to dream about a Tuscan villa when you’ve got 6,000 square feet (including five bathrooms, some with original claw-foot tubs) of prime Pinehurst real estate, all of it utilized when the children, their spouses and grandchildren gather for Thanksgiving, filling the house proper, the guest quarters and an apartment over the garage?

Yet, what grabbed Sharon’s attention on first perusal was the wallpaper, practically everywhere, with Asian/Indian/Indonesian motifs: lions and tigers and costumed natives; wild flora and fauna that riot across the walls, enlivening a small under-the-stairs powder room, a windowless kitchen, and a sunny master suite.

“We’ll take it,” Sharon said in 2010. 

James Walker Tufts would not recognize the simple four-room cottage first dubbed The Nest (no kitchen, no bathrooms, no electricity or central heat) he built in 1896, the same year as the Magnolia Inn, for approximately $1,600.

The Nest was renamed The Crown when it doubled in size in 1901. That’s also when it was occupied by J. Ernest Judd, D.D.S., operating the Crown Dental Parlor, described as “a completely equipped establishment for up-to-date and sanitary dentistry which removes the terror of dental operations.” Among its modern features was a “fountain cuspidor.” Sir Laurence Olivier in Marathon Man would have been envious. Or not. The house was redubbed The Oaks by 1902.

Among other early residents were Fredrick Bruce and his spinster sister, Mary Bruce, a socially prominent duo from New York who purchased the home in 1907. A year later landscape architect Warren Manning created the much-admired garden behind the house. After the death of his sister, Fredrick continued living there until he passed away in 1928. Subsequently, the cottage was sold in 1931 to what seems to be a rather short-lived organization called The Oaks Club. Membership dues were $100 a year, $125 for non-residents. Coincidentally, perhaps, Prohibition ended on Dec. 5, 1933, and in 1934 the house was bought at auction by Franz Hugo Krebs, a Northeasterner who had been a frequent guest at the Holly Inn.

Cathy and the late Bill Smith, of the Southern Pines Ford dealership, accomplished a further enlargement, remodeling and retooling of the home in 1996, its 100th anniversary, with wallpaper added by interior designer and resident Cassie McCord.

The result: a modest frontage behind a picket fence that spreads backward into an outsized — by cottage standards — house with a fenced garden, home to a fountain, a pineapple (symbol of hospitality), light stand and five birdhouses.

Carnie knew Pinehurst from a family golf jaunt when he was 10. He and Sharon were dividing their time between homes in St. Lucia and Chappaqua (New York) when they decided to consolidate, settle down, and trade sailing for golfing.

“Where would you like to live?” Sharon asked her husband.

“How about Pinehurst?” he answered, recalling a resort community resembling a New England village but with a temperate climate.

Sharon had grown up in a historic house. She appreciated that component but wasn’t ready to take on a renovation. Been there, done that. She wasn’t keen on a gated community either. Carnie didn’t want a swimming pool. Been there, done that, too. But they both appreciated a house with character and found one in this extended cottage with its convention-defying layout.

“I have no idea what this was supposed to be,” Carnie says of a room between kitchen and sunroom, itself an addition. Perhaps for dining? Happily, they owned a billiard table (constructed in 1896, same as the house) to fill the space while allocating formal dining to a smallish octagonal music room with built-in china cupboards and woodwork transplanted from a house in England.

Remembering that Tufts’ “cottage colony” homes had no kitchens — guests ate at the Casino building, a communal dining hall — the one added to The Oaks falls outside contemporary glamour norms. Raised-panel cupboards are painted a pale yellow, more pineapple than lemon. A black ceramic tile backsplash adds an art deco touch. In the absence of windows, natural light is conveyed through skylights. A rack holds wide, brightly colored service plates from St. Lucia. The kitchen’s main attraction is an Aga range, the Rolls-Royce of appliances, crafted in the United Kingdom from a Swedish prototype, which cooks with radiant heat and is always “on.”

Outside the kitchen, a dining deck with long table and retractable awning suits a crowd.

Up a narrow flight of stairs, the bedrooms, done in white and pastels, offer the freshness of a Nantucket Bed-and-Breakfast. Queen Victoria may have reigned when The Oaks was built, but her era doesn’t dominate its rooms, awakened instead with the vibrant island hues common to the queen’s contemporary, Paul Gauguin.

Not all retirees choose to live on a bustling lane within sight of shops and bistros. Some want a compact layout, on one floor. Sharon and Carnie Lawson still require space for possessions and memories. “I like to sit and look around; each piece reminds me of something that happened. I call this a big little house,” says Sharon.

“I loved living in St. Lucia and New Hampshire,” adds Carnie. “The people have lived there for many generations. But here, everybody’s from someplace else . . . they are open to new friendships.”

And the feeling is mutual.  PS

Story of a House

A Perfect Unmatch

Historic cottage exudes comfort, harmony

By Deborah Salomon   •   Photographs by John Gessner

Just because “big” and “beautiful” start with the same letter doesn’t signify a relationship. What could be prettier than a modest house filled — not crowded — with carefully chosen objects, where nothing matches but everything fits?

Should the house and contents also reflect its occupant, bravo.

Virginia Gallagher teaches yoga. She lives yoga. Her artifacts and décor reflect its tenets and practices. Crystals cover many surfaces. She speaks of chakras, the body’s seven energy centers. Even the uninitiateds absorb the calm.

That calm begins on the front walkway, composed of stepping stones, rimmed with perennials, then weed-free grass, where a small sign announces the Enchanted Castle. The clapboards are painted a green south of avocado. Celery, maybe? The front porch ceiling is sky blue, considered a good omen. Hanging from it, a white woven rope hammock from Mexico, where Virginia led an instructors’ retreat. “I love the Mayan culture, the spirituality,” she says.

The foliage attracts birds, which Virginia identifies with a guide kept nearby. Ancient trees and vines shelter the meditation garden from summer’s heat. Gingerbread rims the roof lines of a dwelling built in 1924, according to a brick set into the vestibule floor . . . but by whom? Mother Goose? Lewis Carroll? J.R.R. Tolkien?

Virginia — an adult aficionado of Alice’s wonderland — doesn’t know. Most likely a shopkeeper who appreciated walking to Broad Street as much as Gallagher likes walking to Hot Asana, her teaching studio. However, beware of bricks bearing dates; documents provided by the Moore County Historical Association move construction back to 1895, commissioned by C.T. Patch of Peacham, Vermont, a partner at downtown business Patch & Robinson. Another 20 years would pass before snowbirds and townies of substance hired architects to design fancier cottages uphill from the train tracks.

Then, as now, people kept time by the trains, which bother Virginia not at all. “The sound is comforting,” she says.

Gallagher’s décor, too, answers to “comfortable.” A pair of upholstered chairs fill her sitting room, with bay window. Everything is child-friendly. Virginia has six. Kevin, a son killed in a tragic accident, is memorialized throughout the house. The others know her door is open — and often take advantage of a “boys’ suite” in the converted attic with slanted ceilings: two bedrooms, a bathroom, a sitting room with TV. Simple. Practical. Comfortable.

This cottage represents Gallagher’s second lifestyle — the first being traditional wife and mother — living in a house fronted by tall pillars in a fashionable neighborhood. Once single, she discovered yoga through a friend: “I was overweight and unhealthy. I went to yoga to get skinny and flexible. After the first class I thought ‘weird,’ and that I’d never do it again.”

That was 2007. Weight loss attributed to the lifestyle captured her mind and body. By 2009 she had become an instructor. In 2010 Virginia opened Hot Asana adjacent to the Sunrise Theater, a short walk away from home. It’s only natural that her house includes a small yoga room where she Zoomed classes during the virus shutdown.

 

A Southern Pines native and enthusiastic downtowner, Gallagher rented the Enchanted Castle for two years before deciding to buy in 2012. Other possibilities didn’t come with “a story.” Neither did this one so, relying on the presence of previous residents, she made one up.

“I get energy from them,” she says.

Equally gratifying: “This is the first house I ever purchased by myself, with money earned by my own hands and skills.”

Ownership allowed adaptations, not always in the expected places.

“I love a big bathtub,” which wasn’t possible given the long, narrow bathroom that had been added onto her front-facing bedroom. Instead, she installed a hot tub in the fenced backyard. Next, multi-level decks with a trellis-covered dining table, sectional sofas, a swinging bed, gardens with a bubbling fountain shaded by an ancient pin oak, and statue of Kwan Yin, Buddhist goddess of peace and harmony.

“It’s just heaven out here,” Virginia says of her al fresco year-round living space.

 

No single word, not even eclectic, describes the interior, with a floorplan that appears to have been rearranged and enlarged, helter-skelter, by previous owners. Opposite the small sitting room is a master bedroom, filled almost entirely by a king-sized bed with elaborate headboard, that looks out onto the front porch. “So I could see how late the kids came home,” Gallagher says. A crystal mini-chandelier hangs over the bed. Her dresser is painted metallic silver, the walls yet another shade of green.

Floors are original pine, stained dark, partially covered by colorful crewel rugs. Throughout, Virginia strives for a feminine presence, something missing in her previous homes.

Beyond the sitting room, walls appear to have been rearranged to create a dining room, large for a cottage of its era. The table, made of distressed wood slats, is surrounded by a variety of seating: bench, upholstered and other chairs. Over it hangs a light fixture built from the top third of an enormous glass water jug hanging by cords emerging from the narrow neck. A contemporary glass china cupboard displays pottery in Virginia’s favorite turquoise. What’s the good of having pretty things if you can’t see them, she explains.

An elongated kitchen attached by a previous owner appears to stretch into tree branches visible through windows on three sides. Even kitchen colors — brown and an earthy green — suggest bark, moss and leaves, rather than white-and-granite glamour. Instead of an island, a long worktable down the center holds glass jars filled with beans and grains and seasonings common to a healthy lifestyle cuisine.

Art is what you make of it. Or what it makes of you. For Virginia, this means framed quotations from favorite books. An enlarged photograph taken in Alaska of horses frolicking through the snow, printed on canvas to resemble a painting, is vaguely mystical — a gift from a friend. A barn quilt pattern hangs outside, in Kevin’s memory. Family members have tattoos in the same design.

Completing the scene are a friendly Toto-dog named Baxter and Luna, a mostly blind marmalade cat.

The template for this serene environment is not completely rooted in yoga. Gallagher grew up in her grandparents’ house in Hamlet, where her grandfather owned the local Coca-Cola plant. “I identify with my grandmother, and their home,” she says. “It had lots of nooks and crannies. I was allowed to touch things. The way it felt was magical.

“I was loved in that home.”

These experiences, past and present, influence her attitudes as well as her living space. “What I learned about yoga is that it helps you feel more comfortable in your body. And home — more comfortable than refined — is a practice of yoga.”  PS