The House with Sixteen Handmade Doors: A Tale of Architectural Choice and Craftsmanship

291 Pages·2014·5.87 MB·English

by  Henry Petroski

THE
HOUSE
WITH
Sixteen
Handmade
Doors
A Tale of Architectural Choice and
Craftsmanship
HENRY PETROSKI
with photographs by
Catherine Petroski
To our friends and neighbors on the Road, and in memory
of V.P., who loved visiting Pineledge
CONTENTS
Preface
ONE Finding Our Place
TWO To the Point of Beginning
THREE Looking Around
FOUR Arrowsic [sic!]
FIVE Domestic Therapy
SIX The Rain in Maine
SEVEN Closeted Clues
EIGHT Coast Lines
NINE Raising the Roof
TEN Down the Ways
ELEVEN Phinney’s Pholly
TWELVE Gravel and Stones
THIRTEEN Heavy Lifting
FOURTEEN Working Space
FIFTEEN Name and Address
SIXTEEN The Walls Have Eyes
Acknowledgments
Photographer’s Note
List of Illustrations and Credits
Bibliography
Index
PREFACE
THIS IS A STORY about a house and its environs. To my wife, Catherine, and
me it is a special house because now it is ours, but it was not always. It was
conceived sixty-odd years ago by an amateur carpenter who immersed himself
first in designing it and then in building the unique structure. The house may be
modest, but it is also a model of thoughtful design and careful craftsmanship.
So much of the house remains in its original state that it has been possible to
deconstruct it to tell the story of its making. This deconstruction has not been
physical, however, because no nail was pulled, no screw unscrewed, no board
removed to look into the house’s innards. The nature of its design and the
manner of its construction provide ample opportunity to examine the underside
of wooden floors, to study the back sides of handmade doors, and to peer into
the dark corners of unfinished closets to ferret out much about the man and his
house. But as transparent as some of its structure may be, there are also parts of
it that are mysterious and seemingly inscrutable. This book describes both the
known and the unknown: it celebrates the former and puts forth what I hope are
plausible explanations for the latter.
Because so much of the charm of this house is in its setting and in its details,
and because a picture is worth countless words, Catherine’s photographs are an
integral part of the book. They capture the house in context and reveal the simple
elegance of its lines and the serene beauty of its location. Although it was never
intended to be a grand house, its builder had a grand plan. He did not write down
his plan in words on paper but he did realize it with nails in wood. The
photographs testify to that.
Previous owners and their children have returned to this place in Maine with
all the excitement and fond memories that proud and loyal alumni bring to
reunions at their alma mater. Without the stories and recollections of those
growing up and living in the house, its story might have been one of architecture
and technology devoid of human interest and a soul. By sharing their knowledge
and feelings about the place, those who have returned to visit it have populated it
with real people with real dreams, hopes, and joys. Without such people and
their families, no house could be a home, and no book a story. I am grateful to all
who have helped breathe life into both. Those whose names I know and recall
are acknowledged at the end of the tale.
Pineledge
Summer 2013
THE
HOUSE
WITH
Sixteen
Handmade
Doors
One
FINDING OUR PLACE
PEOPLE HAVE ALWAYS HAD a hard time finding our place in Maine. No
matter how precise our driving instructions—even when we give them down to
the tenth of a mile between turns—first-time visitors invariably call us from their
car within shouting (but not sighting) distance, seeking reassurance that they are
on the right track. Those with a GPS device in their car doubt the directions on
the screen. We would probably do the same if we were looking for a house on a
road that doesn’t even look like a road.
The cause of the confusion is that our modest place is reached via a right-of-
way through what is the property of our next-door neighbor, whose large and
imposing house is as hard to miss as ours is to see from the main road. Visitors
looking for us have no trouble following our instructions up to what we have
jokingly called our “carriage house” or “gatehouse,” but they have second
thoughts about making the final turn onto the right fork. It looks like our
neighbor’s driveway, which it is.
Life’s small and large decisions are fraught with anxieties and fears of
making the wrong choice. As Robert Frost did, most of us pause at forks in the
road, and those who hesitate too long can pay the hefty toll of staying lost. We
all want to choose the correct fork, but indecision will freeze us in our tracks and
let the trail get cold.
That is where Catherine and I felt we were after several years of looking at
real estate on the granite coast of Maine, and that is how we do not want visitors
to feel when looking now for our place beyond the fork in the road. Most of
them seem to know the perils of indecision, and that is why they give us a ring
when they think that they are close by but cannot imagine that the road before
them will take them to our place. They are reluctant to head toward a barnlike
structure with a green tin roof where the road appears to end.