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![]() Even the deck off one of the bedrooms is completely tiled. It’s a luxurious touch that also offers some convenience. These porcelain tiles are actually heated, and with the flip of a switch they warm up sufficiently to melt any snow or ice accumulation. For the McWilliamses this bit of whimsy is just as much fun as the spruce-tree cutouts in the deck rails that each frame a fragment of the remarkable water view. |
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Visitors approach the property down a short driveway and enter a courtyard created by the L-shaped house. You can still pick out the original outlines of the Cape, set off from later additions by the fine wooden pilasters that Brook McWilliams originally designed for his house in Australia and were cleverly incorporated here. The farmhouse is large but traditional, with classical trim around the windows, a fanciful line of wooden spruce-tree cutouts applied gingerbread-style just beneath the roofline, and an old-fashioned four-inch reveal on the clapboards facing the cove. Jimmy has planted a colorful assortment of alpine flowers and clematis all around the granite foundations and along the arbor, as well as beside the dramatic dry streambed that emerges from beneath the west wing of the house. She explains that the meadows and woods at Harbor Farm are beautiful and rich in wildlife, but wet. When it rains, or the earth oozes during mud season, waters rush toward the house in a determined effort to reach the cove. It was son Brook who suggested turning this liability into an asset. He proposed building a huge culvert under the foundations, essentially transformingInside, the family struggled to preserve the best of the existing Cape while creating amenities such as closets that a contemporary family needs. “I don’t think you can just come along to the coast of Maine and destroy what’s here,” Jimmy says emphatically. Dick and his father completely agreed because at heart “we are Scotsmen,” he says. “We’re scavengers, scroungers, and collectors, and we were into recycling long before it became fashionable.” When work started on the house in May 1999, Bruce combed the pages of Uncle Henry’s (Maine’s “Weekly Swap or Sell It Guide”), until he was able to locate a fellow in western Maine with 2,000 square feet of pine for sale. “The pine had been sitting in a barn for sixty years, so it was certainly well seasoned, and it included boards ranging from fifteen to almost twenty-eight inches across.” Dick and Bruce bought up all the pine and used it as horizontal wainscoting in the new dining room and vertical wainscoting in the hallway. For the floors Bruce located a man in Ohio who was assembling a hoard of chestnut from the siding of old barns. The McWilliamses purchased all they could lay their hands on, and shipped it to Maine for the dining room and upstairs hall floors. Though they were forced to rebuild much of the old living room because of poor construction, they struggled to maintain the traditional character of the space. “We took all this original paneling out of here, cleaned it, stained it, oiled it, waxed it, and put it back in,” Dick says. “And because the beams in here were crummy, we found a guy in Bangor who had a barn he was taking down. We bought all the beams, brought them down here, and used them in the living room and throughout the house.” When it came time to choose materials for finishing the new rooms, the McWilliamses didn’t have far to go. They walked less than a mile from the driveway to the family’s own Harbor Farm store, which started life as a wreath-making venture organized around the kitchen table, and |
has grown into an award-winning business that sells furnishings, crafts, and tiles out of a restored Maine schoolhouse on Route 15 (Down East, July 2001). The showroom boasts tiles from seventeen countries, Maine, and sixteen other states and Jimmy in her ultimate Maine house has indulged what might best be described as a genetic predisposition toward tile. “My father tiled absolutely everything in sight,” she says. “He was a builder who came from a family of builders in London, and though he was terribly invalided in World War I, he was always tiling things and reminding me that ‘Tile improves the value of your property.’ ” Jimmy’s years in Germany after the war only increased her appreciation for tile. She watched as servants in the castle where she lived in Franconia “tossed great buckets of carbolic down on the kitchen floor that was tiled with black and white through-bodied porcelain in big huge chunks.” The kitchen floor had double drains, and the servants would sweep the dirty water down the drains, cleaning up the mammoth room in no time. “Well, I thought, ‘My God that’s wonderful. That’s what I’m going to have some day.’ Now we have it here in our utility room.” Not only is tile practical and easy to clean, Dick says, “it has such an efficient transmission rate that it performs wonderfully with the radiant heat that more and more people use on the coast of Maine. It’s one of the few building materials I can think of that is extremely practical on the one hand and extremely decorative on the other.” The array of tile here ranges from Italian faux stone squares that line the floor of the sunroom (a large “N” worked into the floor by the sofa identifies True North), to the extraordinary raised relief of sandpipers that caps the wainscot in one first-floor powder room. Walls in the kitchen have Delft tiles with birds, mushrooms, and shore animals, while the floor is entirely composed of stoneware tiles all in one glaze but with tremendous variations in color. In the utility room the family chose inexpensive porcelain tiles that are often used in commercial buildings. They also built a “dog bath” lined with colorful glass tiles and equipped with a hospital bedpan sprayer, which has just the right force and focus for washing off a four-legged pal. Even the exterior porch off Jimmy and Bruce’s bedroom has a floor composed entirely of porcelain tile. A tile floor . . . out-of-doors . . . in Maine? “The roof is pitched for drainage and we equipped it all with infloor heating,” Dick says, laughing. “When it starts to snow we just turn on the timer, warm the tile for six to eight hours, and let the snow and ice melt.” “We’ve lived in many places and learned so much from them,” Jimmy says. “It’s all come together for us on this property. Our son Brook passed away, but he put his influence on the design of the house, and the rest of us continue to make changes and improvements. It’s a home where we can work hard and enjoy the beauty of the place and do it all together. And that’s the most important thing, don’t you think?” |
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