Hamptons Reno Inching Forward

MEASURING OUT PROGRESS in coffee spoons here at my low-budget Hamptons reno. Can’t even call it a reno, really; it’s more a matter of making sure I don’t get electrocuted, burgled, or die for lack of water. That’s all I ask at this point: safety, not ultimate convenience, and certainly not luxury. That can wait, for years if need be.

Last week’s biggest mood boost, above: the garden seen from inside the house, without filthy old screens obscuring the view.

The builder who’s re-hanging the awning windows, above, so that they close properly, and doing the bathroom tile work, gave me two days last week. I’m holding out hope for another day this week. He also put Durock (cement board) down on the bathroom floor and started building the shower enclosure wall, below.

Notwthstanding what I said in my last post about being tired of hexagonal bathroom floor tiles, I got them again. I decided it would be more interesting, since the wall tiles for the shower area are 8″ squares.

Today the electrician, back from his vacation, showed up and gave me some good news on the electrical front: I have the “Cadillac of circuit breaker boxes,” it turns out. Also, the outdoor lights — half a dozen path lights and two in the driveway — actually work. I just need to buy new fixtures to replace old corroded ones. This is fancy; I’ve never had outdoor lighting before.

The electrician is giving me dedicated circuits in the kitchen, GFI outlets in the bathroom and kitchen, getting rid of Rube Goldberg wiring throughout, and hanging new light fixtures I now have to provide.

And in an effort to get out there and DO something while waiting for workmen to show up, I set up four raised beds in the area where once was a swimming pool. I’m making my own soil by filling them with dead oak leaves, manure, and kitchen scraps. Composting in place, as it were. It’ll take time to become a decent planting medium, but I won’t be planting my vegetable garden this year, anyway. First, a number of tall, sun-blocking trees have to come down — but meanwhile, it’s another place to put some of the leaves I’ve been raking up.

Renovation Frustration

IT WASN’T MY MOST productive week. It started in a blaze of sunny optimism and ended in wind and rain, loneliness and discouragement, with an identity theft nightmare that took a precious day at the bank to sort out, and the realization that things are going to take longer and cost more than this impatient, frugal renovator would like. So what else is new? It’s a renovation.

Propped open all the wood battens along the back wall of the house for the first time. They have no glass, only screens. They seem very much a summer-house-at-the-shore kind of thing, and I’m not sure what to make of them or do with them.

I’m undertaking these improvements cautiously — not because I’m not wholly committed to the house, but because it’s a quirky house, the likes of which I’ve never seen or dealt with. I don’t understand it yet, and I’m not willing to impose stylistic choices on it until I do. But I must make some, if I’m to have a functioning kitchen and bath.

Kitchen sans old appliances

In the past, I’ve played with retro fixtures and glass mosaics and expensive European faucets. Now my watchwords have become “plain, basic, cheap”– as well as “available immediately.” I’ve just come from Cancos Tile in Southampton, where I ordered plain white 6″ square ceramic tiles for a new shower surround, and white 2″x2″ squares for the floor. Octagons seemed like going too in a 1930s direction, and I’m tired of them; I’ve done them so many times before. And choosing any kind of color for the bathroom, when I haven’t chosen color for anything else, seemed premature.

Bathroom sans fixtures

On Monday I waited for the plumber to show up, and my mood plummeted when he didn’t. All the tradespeople are suddenly busy now, all their customers deciding to spiff up their homes for the season. I’ve got dibs on them, too. They like me, this feisty silver-haired lady with the interesting house and weird ideas, and I try to be as charming as possible while foisting money upon them.

Existing kitchen sink top to be recycled

I ran out to the local plumbing supply co. and bought a bathroom sink and faucet, a shower body, and a kitchen faucet (all American Standard, chrome, in stock), just to be able to call the plumber and say, “Charles, I’ve got everything! It’s all here for you!” The bathroom sink is a plain pedestal on sale, below — perfectly nice, but more Deco than I would have liked. I would have liked a wall-hung cast-iron utility sink, but this one came to hand (as soon as I finish this blog post, I’m going to Google the sink I would really like).

I do whatever I can do myself — trash-hauling, leaf-raking — but there’s not much more I can do without water (or building skills). I tried lopping some of the excess saplings that litter the property, but got quickly overwhelmed and indecisive. What if some of these trees have good fall color, or would provide welcome screening? I realized anew the wisdom of living in a place for a year before making landscape decisions. Instead, I sank down on a bench in the sun and mused. I decided that all 23 awning windows must open. They are the articulation on the front of the house. I can’t screw them in place just to save a few bucks on labor and hinges. I went around and opened all of them, to air out the house and see how it looks that way, and I like it.

On Tuesday, Charles showed up, tore out the kitchen  and bathroom fixtures single-handedly,  and got the water pump, above, going (though with nothing for the water to flow into). I don’t have to dig a well, which is cause for celebration. And on Wednesday, Keith the Metal Man came, below, and hauled away what Charles tore out, which made me very happy. Miguel, who’s going to restore the windows and do the necessary building and tile work in bathroom and kitchen, promised to give me two days a week, starting next week.

That other part of the house — the 1960s addition which is the living room or great room, has been forgotten for the moment. I don’t have the resources to plunge in full steam ahead, and that’s OK. Because what I also do not have is an iota of buyer’s remorse.

Heart, Soul & Checkbook

A WEEK INTO OWNERSHIP of my new/old home, the closest I’ve come to gardening is broadcasting handfuls of Hollytone under yellow-leaved rhododendrons, the only thing to look forward to in terms of blooms this season.

I also had a go this afternoon with Roundup and a sponge brush, working my way along the fence on the western edge of my half-acre lot, where my neighbors’ out-of-control wisteria threatens to pull down parts of the fence it hasn’t already destroyed.

The day, like the few days preceding, was so beautiful I didn’t care what I was doing, as long as I was outside. As I worked, I realize what made this Roundup session so different from those of three years ago at my first East Hampton property. Several factors: First, I didn’t feel guilty about using the stuff. Second, I knew it would be effective. When I labored at this task before, I didn’t know whether my surgical operation – snipping the never-ending roots, pulling it out of the ground as far as I could, winding them around my hand into a ball and stuffing them into trash bags, then daubing Roundup on the cut ends of the invasive vine — was going to do the trick or not. Now I know it works, so the tape that had played in my head the whole time — “Why am I doing this? Is it worth the trouble? How much more do I have to go?” — all went away. The act had purpose.

But beyond that, and this is huge, I realized I am so much more committed to this house then I was to the other. With house number one, I didn’t know if it was a flipper, a rental property, or my home, and if the latter, whether year-round or seasonal (it turned out to be three of the four at various times, and it may be the fourth yet). This one, on the other hand, is my home. For the long haul. I am in it, heart, soul, and checkbook.

I worked alone the past three days, no friends or hired labor to assist. I’ve met with the plumber who is going to give me a rudimentary bathroom and kitchen, and the contractor/carpenter/ painter, whose to-do list, upon receiving his price quote, has been reduced from seven items to two.

On Monday, I needed to do some shopping research, and basically spent the day on Montauk Highway, stopping into East Hampton Plumbing, Water Mill Building Supply, Carpetman, PC Richard, looking at sinks, flooring, appliances. I needed to see what was out there and what my options are if this is to be done in a hurry. I am not making a fetish out of choosing finishes or special ordering anything. I have next to no interest in that, for the first time in my life. I know what I like, and I just want the basics.

But getting in and out of the car a million times was not a joyful experience. Henceforth, I vowed to stay put and devote myself to house and landscape. I woke up Tuesday morning knowing what I must do: rip out the filthy sisal carpet in the living room and the foam padding underneath it, whose age I estimate to be approximately 30 years. With a matt knife and sheer determination, I cut, tore, and pulled 400 ft.² of sisal and foam – black with mold or mildew in places – and dragged it out onto the deck (along with several huge piles of brush picked up from around the property and some rotted stockade fencing; it will be picked up and dumped on Friday).

Then I Shop-vac’d the entire house and poured Clorox straight from the bottle onto areas of plywood floor that looked like they might have something primitive growing on them. The water isn’t turned on yet for the season; otherwise I would have washed the floors. The musty smell is on its way to banishment.

Today was Hollytone/Roundup day. As I worked, I pondered my window dilemma. Having gotten the quote for scraping, painting, planing to fit, rehanging on non-rusty hinges, and creating locks and screens for the existing 23 (!) awning windows, each approximately 36 inches wide and 29 high, on the front of the house, I decided at some point in the middle of the night to get new windows rather than spend any money at all on the old. New windows were not in my budget, especially not right out of the gate. I will have to sacrifice flooring for now, among other things. Perhaps I will paint the plywood subfloors myself and put down area rugs.

I was on the phone with Riverhead Building Supply much of the day. Anderson makes an awning window that will fit the existing openings pretty closely, and they don’t all have to open – some of the 23 can be stationary. They come in four colors, they have cranks, locks, and screens, and they are not even horribly expensive. There are just a lot of them, and they have to be installed.

The contractor proposed that I look into getting double-hung windows the same 36 inches wide and 5 feet long – a standard size that would probably be cheaper than each set of two awning windows it would replace. But it would not be the same. All the frames would have to be rebuilt rather than tweaked with molding, and that would inevitably alter the look of the façade. And unlike the awning windows, the upper and lower parts of the window would be in different planes rather than both flush with the façade. My first choice is to try to keep the period idea of awning windows rather than try to save money on the installation and perhaps ruin the look of the house.

Next week the plumber starts. The week after, the electrician. The windows, once ordered, will take four weeks. Meanwhile, one thing I know for sure: I am so not bored. This morning’s email from Gretchen Rubin of The Happiness Project, who has made a very successful cottage industry out of things one would hope would come naturally but don’t seem to for most people, contained this from William Butler Yeats: “Happiness is neither virtue nor pleasure nor this thing nor that, but simply growth. We are happy when we are growing.”

I have to agree.

Deed Done, Work Begins

instagram.com/exphotographer

THE DEED IS DONE! Signed, rather, along with the mortgage and a whole bunch of other papers. The house in Springs (East Hampton), Long Island, N.Y., that I have coveted for almost two years is mine, and I am filled with happy disbelief.

Side wall and current entry gate, an area that will become a side garden when the main entry and parking area are moved to the center of the property so the house can be approached from the front. The out-of-control English ivy on that wall got a crewcut, revealing Medieval-looking iron trim along the top (one of several decorative quirks) and the whole area a much-needed raking.

This is a house many would consider a teardown — a strange and unique 1940s fishing cabin (or so I was told), later expanded into an L-shaped, one-story structure with a bank of awning windows that don’t close, two non-functioning bathrooms, a kitchen with dated, unsalvageable appliances, below, not an iota of insulation, no central heating system, and a half-acre of neglected landscape. I adore it. I can see being here (in the warmer months, at any rate) for the rest of my life.

I’m planning to keep the hand-made pine upper cabinets.

What it’s all about, essentially, though the unusual architecture of the house itself is an enormous draw for me, is what’s at the end of the road, below: a wide sandy bay beach, one of the East End’s best-kept secrets.

Some might be overwhelmed by the amount of work ahead, the manifold looming decisions. Me, I enjoy this sort of thing. (Actually, I did feel a bit overwhelmed on Day 1, but I got over it.) The past three days of crisp air and blue skies, since a quick and trouble-free closing last Wednesday, have been days of major accomplishment. There’s nothing like those first steps in a new/old house for a tangible sense of achievement. There’s no question of setting priorities, almost, in the very beginning: anything you do is a quantum leap forward, and the satisfaction is immense.

Above: a wood bedroom floor, drip-painted in possible homage to local icon Jackson Pollock. Keeper!

Vintage bathroom sink drain destined to become an object for the mantel or garden ornament. instagram.com/exphotographer

The following items have already been checked off my list in these first few days, thanks largely to a friend with pick-up truck, chainsaw, and most of all, enthusiasm for the tasks at hand.

• Cleared out the previous owner’s leftover belongings. The place was left far from ‘broom clean,’ as stipulated in the contract, but I knew that would be the case. The seller had called me several days prior to the closing, wanting to postpone it because he hadn’t yet finished clearing out his stuff. It was my choice to go ahead and deal with what remained. A lot of garbage remained; nothing of value. Trips to the dump so far: at least five.

• Mended stockade fencing, below, replacing missing or rotted 8’ panels (heavy!) in several places, so that the property is now safe from maurading deer. But it’s more than that; it’s the sense of serenity and enclosure a fence provides. Many of the panels had been compromised by my old nemesis, wisteria. Yes, it’s déjà vu all over again on one side of the property, where six-inch thick wisteria vine cries out for an application of undiluted Round-up.

• Demolished a plywood hearth wall in the dining room (for lack of a better word; it’s also a sitting room/office/den) to expose a cinderblock wall beneath. There are piles of stones on the property which I may use to create a decorative masonry wall there instead.

• Raked leaves off paths and into piles to expose as much moss as possible, which I want to encourage and train as a ground cover/lawn, to the complete exclusion of turf grass. I can’t deal with the mowing thing. Uncovering the existing paths, below, worn by use, was revelatory; even though I’ll be shifting them, I can see the beginnings of a landscape plan.

• My friend (aka wasband) fired up the chainsaw and cut a couple of major fallen trees into firewood for the future fireplaces. Then he climbed up on the roof and hacked back years of invasive English ivy, below, that was towering in mid-air several feet above a side parapet wall.

• Tore up nasty black carpeting to expose clean plywood subfloor in that dining/family/sitting room, below, which gets wonderful east light and will be my morning-coffee/work space. I’m going carpet-shopping next week. Maybe sisal, maybe… linoleum? Maybe paint the plywood floor for now and use area rugs? In the middle of the night, I even thought: stained concrete! I’m keeping an open mind. Money is an object. Laying a new wood floor is not an option; anyway, there’s already plenty of wood in the house.

• Mused upon how to make the great room/living room, below, as inviting as that dining/family/sitting room, above (yes, need better nomenclature). It has a high beamed ceiling and gets afternoon light, but not enough. The previous owner left a double French door, exterior thickness, he never got around to installing. I’m thinking of cutting open an east-facing windowless wall in that room (that’s the short wall straight ahead in the photo below) and using the French door there. It would look out on a side yard that could become a sort of Japanese-inspired viewing garden with pretty plantings. I’m envisioning this room, with its large tiled fireplace, as the cocktail hour/evening entertaining area.

All this is just the beginning. My goal is to get the house livable by May 1, which means a functioning kitchen and bathroom (later there will be a second bathroom and outdoor shower); windows that close properly, lock, and have screens (there are some 24 windows in the house and right now I’m repairing, not replacing); some kind of new flooring in the two major rooms — oh, and an electrical upgrade. The electrical service coming into the house seems fairly modern, with a circuit breaker panel, but once inside, there are few outlets and most of them don’t work. Meanwhile, I have the use of a friend’s lovely cottage nearby.

Eight or ten windows along a hallway at the back of the house are lacking glass and/or screens. They’re covered with what I’ve been calling wood ‘hurricane battens’ that lift and could be secured under the eaves of the house, to be lowered when closing up the house for the season. Of course I have to install some kind of windows in all those probably-odd-size openings.

Call me crazy, but there is nothing this blogger would rather be doing right now.

New Home for the Parrish Art Museum

LAST FRIDAY, having spent a couple of days in my adopted community of Springs (East Hampton), N.Y., and filled with Long Island pride, I resolved to stop at the Parrish Art Museum on my way back to the city. I’d been sucking up a lot of received opinion (overwhelmingly positive) since the contemporary art museum opened in its long-awaited new digs last November, and I wanted to see for myself.

I liked it, too. The museum relocated from its former cramped quarters in a Victorian brick building in the Village of Southampton to a startlingly elongated shed-like structure with a double hipped roof, set in a vineyard off Montauk Highway in Water Mill. Just looking from the outside at the 34,000-square-foot museum, designed by the Swiss firm Herzog & de Meuron, was enough to give me “museum legs” (that tired feeling you sometimes get from schlepping around looking at art), but in fact, its galleries comprise only 12,000 square feet and are so stimulating and open that it wasn’t fatiguing at all.

I found the art bracing, including the many abstract works, though my conservative preference is for local landscapes and paintings by realist Fairfield Porter and American Impressionist William Merritt Chase. The Parrish has extensive holdings of both in its permanent collection, and each has a dedicated gallery.

Howard Kanovitz’s airbrushed 1974 Hamptons Drive-In is easy enough to appreciate.

Local artist April Gornick’s 1984 Light Before Heat puts me very much in mind of my beloved Louse Point and Accobonac Harbor.

Fairfield Porter’s depiction of rural Calverton, L.I., in the 1950s.

With a pleasant cafe overlooking the grape arbors and an easy-to-swallow admission fee of $10, the Parrish is well worth the stop, coming or going.