Connections: Tear-Downs
In the last few weeks, the old house we live in has been crawling with roofers and repairmen. I guess it’s a case of extreme spring housekeeping, but we are finally facing some of the overdue renovations we’ve ignored for too long: The place needs re-shingling, at least on the south side, as well as new roofing over the flat ceiling of the master bedroom; some of the window trim and soffits have gone soft, and we need to add insulation where the foam that was blown in years ago has gone.
And that's just the exterior. I can hardly remember the last time the interior was painted. I guess I should thank heavens that we chose pleasing, non-trendy, Williamsburg-ish colors back in the 1970s and 1990s. I think I can say with confidence that they remain in good taste!
In this day and age, homeowners around town seem quite overeager to clutch at any excuse to get rid of the old to clear the way for something bigger and better. I’m glad the younger generation venerates this house as I do, because in other hands, these necessary maintenance issues would be more than enough license for a tear-down.
Sitting on the sun porch, looking into the yard, I remember the friend who long ago advised us to build a circular brick patio in the L-shaped outdoor space between the kitchen and bedroom. That turned out to be a grand idea. I also recall waking up one fall morning, long ago, to see a friend who was much older than I digging in a garden patch by one of the backdoors: He had ordered too many daffodils for his Northwest Woods house lot and came by without ado to plant bulbs. They are blooming right now.
This old house has lots of tales to tell.
Originally, some 150 or 200 years ago (or more? I've frankly forgotten), our living room was a silversmith shop that stood near Main Street and was later moved up the lane to become a family house. If you gaze up at some of the old beams in the basement, you can still see where the forge had been.
Sitting on the sun porch, I also think of E.J. Edwards, my late first husband’s grandfather, a member of the venerable Edwards fishing and whaling clan, who ran bunker (or menhaden) boats out of Promised Land. It was E.J. who planted the holly tree that still grows in the front yard, on the occasion of his granddaughter Mary Huntting Rattray’s birth. E.J. also put down the green boat paint, containing bunker oil, that can still be seen on the floor of the sunroom. The boat paint has chipped away to bare wood in some spots, over the last, oh, 80 or 90 years or so, but I do really like that green. E.J. thought it would last forever, and it just about has.
I have lately been thinking that it might be a good idea for the Village of East Hampton to embark on an education scheme, explaining to realtors and home-buyers — in our historic districts and beyond — why preservation is usually a nobler (not to mention more attractive) route than tearing down and rebuilding. Maybe the Ladies Village Improvement Society might be involved in creating a brochure on the merits of old houses, and what the rules are regarding preservation? It’s just a thought.