Lexington, KY - Here's what makes old houses so cool: they have history. Dramas large and small that unfolded within their walls reverberate through time - the laughter of children now aged, echos of foxtrots played on Victrolas, tiny spatters of candle wax from a rowdy party in 1945. Maybe I'm hallucinating, but the love of caring owners is preserved in details like original tile hearths, the blight of distracted residents is evidenced by layers of paint on once elegant hinges and doorknobs. And if you get to know your neighbors you learn stories about the laughter, the music, the parties. And it all adds up to a kind of richness that can't be measured in dollars and cents.
Behind
baseboards I've found a scribbled note from a young boy, just saying "I am here!" and realized that boy is my father's age. I've found playing cards and valentines from the '30s and '40s. In our downsize house, we've found a candy wrapper for "Cocoanut Mounds - 5ยข", an empty pack of Piedmont Cigarettes, and some tiny game cards with classic family scenes from the early '50s. We've also found the cover sheet to the specifications, dated July 5, 1928,
giving a list of the architect's drawings, the names of the owners (Mr. and Mrs. R. J. Colbert) and the architects (Frankel and Curtis - their structural engineer was Melbourne Mills).
But there is a thick layer of paint on everything, and a previous owner's dogs have left the gift of urine that stinks where the floorboards have been removed. All of this will get worked out and worked in, and will play into the ongoing story of the house.
Crafts of the builders, no longer available, are recorded in moldings and framing and sheathing and nails. This house had a loop on the hot water line, so that the upstairs bath would deliver hot water instantly, and the wall cavity where the water lines ran was insulated top to bottom (unheard of in 1928). As you walk the old neighborhoods, the pride of the era is evident from the street. Facade proportions and details speak languages we still understand from sidewalks that unraveled ribbon-like over verdant fields 100 years ago. (With new houses, that language is often forgotten, or is spittled out in broken syllables that only hint at the once rich vocabulary).
In an old house, it's all good; it's a jigsaw puzzle to be explored and savored as we piece it back together to make an image that we recognize as our own. The challenge is to choose carefully so the pieces in the new arrangement will honor and evoke the great times of the house without boxing us into a life that could only have been well-lived in the culture that prevailed when the house was built.
In the '20s, public spaces in houses were limited to the entry foyer, living room and dining room. The kitchen was not a public space. This began changing in the '50s, and today most families' lives revolve around the kitchen. The greatest
design challenge for our downsize house was understanding how the old plan could serve new ways of living. As it turns out, the kitchen stayed in the same place, but it is expanding and will be linked to a new family room. While the house looks "gutted" today, when it comes back together most of the original walls, complete with trim and door hardware, will remain as we found it. Only the paint will be stripped so the doors will close properly, and there will be a new openness that reflects how we live in the 21st century. And so the story of this house will have a new chapter, and someone in the distant future will try to read that story from the odd clues that we leave behind: laughter, music and candle wax. And hopefully no gifts from cats or dogs.
Graham Pohl is a partner in POHL ROSA POHL architecture+design.