Well allllll right. My mother-in-law has decided that it’s finally time to upgrade the kitchen at the family house in St. Michaels, Maryland.
She and I love fantasizing about all the things we could do to the the house if we win the lottery. (My D.C. abode is first in line, though…for one thing, it’s almost time to paint the living room again.) But we’re justifying this more immediate investment in the kitchen by telling ourselves:
– This is a self-contained project, so it will survive future changes to other parts of the house
– Kitchen upgrades always add value
– It will make the house more attractive to potential renters (that’s actually a reason NOT to do it, in my opinion! But it’s always good to have options)
– It will make the chef’s life (that would be mine) less frustrating in the short run, and
– We’ll do this on the cheap, most likely with Ikea cabinetry and Formica countertops.
I remember when my then-boyfriend-now-husband first brought me to St. Michaels, many years ago. To get to the house, we drove through hellatious traffic out of DC; over a really REALLY long bridge (the Chesapeake Bay Bridge – it’s quite something); past approximately 487 strip malls; through the unbelievably charming little town of St. Michaels – “The Town That Fooled the British;” past several expansive farms that so far have resisted development; and, finally, down a crunchy gravel road.
When I first saw the house from the back, I thought it was a barge.
I’m not kidding.
John’s grandfather was a naval architect, so my barge thing wasn’t far off. The house was a shoebox originally, and he just kept adding to it and adding to it. There are lots of clever “stowing” features you’d find on ships. And some of the light fixtures look like keels. Not in a cheesy way (it took me years to notice), but in a, well, a sea-faring way.
John’s grandfather and grandmother bought the house back when people retired in their 50s and went on to live a whole other life. They lived there year-round for 30 years.
When I walked through the house that first time and saw the view of the water through the living room windows, I totally got it. The spot is gorgeous. The house is on a little point, so there’s a sweeping view of the water. It’s a “creek,” technically, but it looks like the ocean to me. Or at least a really big lake.
It’s easy to understand how a person could fall in love with the setting. It’s so peaceful. You hear birds in the morning, see stars at night, and hear the water always. Plus it smells good there.
What’s really surprised me, though, is how fond I’ve become of the house itself. The living spaces are generous. The bathrooms are compact but efficient. The fireplace draws like nobody’s business. And there are other, little things…like the 2 kitchen stools his grandfather made are different heights, for six-foot him and for his diminuitive wife.
As a sailor, John’s grandfather understood wind. So he chose the perfect corner (the best spot in the whole area, in our opinion) for an open concrete porch. There’s a breeze there even on the muggiest, stillest August days.
Most of all, of course, I love the fact that John grew up at this house. This is where he learned to sail – we still see his sailing teacher around town – and where he learned how to eat crabs. He climbed the trees here. Got chewed up by mosquitoes here. And sometimes he got bored here, which kids don’t do enough of these days. I love that our kids will grow up here, too.
With a better kitchen, though.
Picture of the Baltimore Oriole from Charlie Lentz’s Birds in Maryland photo gallery.
