I was raised in a barn. No kidding. A common solution to the economic woes of the depression was conversion, meaning any standing building was made into rentable living quarters, and any multistory house became multistory apartments. Our house was converted from a civil war barn into a two family house in about 1930. We moved in around 1955. At the time, all I wanted was to move down the street, where there was a, still beautiful, neighborhood made up of prewar architecture on streets with curbs, sidewalks and fenced in yards. To avoid a trip down nostalgia lane, suffice it to say that as the years have gone by, I have come to appreciate that barn to the extent that it has formed a kind of subconscious repository of my notions about what a house ought to be, and I bring it up here because the house in the photo seriously activated a few of these.
If you care to follow the link you will see that the featured house was included in an article about “Eco-Friendly Housing,” which got me thinking about how my childhood home was the very definition of recycled. The original post and beam structure was only visible in the attic, which was really the original hay loft. It was huge, soaring almost 20′ from the floor framing to the ridge. I lived in the house for almost 20 years and was never in that attic. So how, one might wonder, did I know what it looked like? There was an unfinished room on the second floor with no ceiling. It offered a view of the old post and beam structure, the random width boards that formed the sheathing under the slate roof, the cavernous space replete with possibilities. Because of the multicolored recycled wood siding, the house in the photo somehow catches that same sense of liberation, suggesting that the real living space is outside instead of in.