Back on Earth...

As we settled into Autumn last year, $10,000 poorer due to architect fees, we decided to “take a break” from the planning process, and we advised our architect as such. We were on board with the Colonial idea, but it made no sense to make revisions to the plan until a time when we would be closer to realizing the project. With a $400K - $500K price tag, that would not happen for at least a few years. Hubby’s business, which normally relies on a constant pipeline of business, was finally feeling the effects of the past year’s economic crisis. I had accepted a job on a writing project, but had no idea whether or not it would lead to further employment. Financially, we were up in the air, and the only thing we could afford to buy was time.

Around January, after the hustle and bustle of Christmas had waned, we settled back on terra firma emotionally and began to realize that our Colonial dream might really be a “pipe dream”. Practical to a fault, Hubby and I both began to have doubts about converting our home to a colonial. Aside from the fact that all of the work we had accomplished thus far would be destroyed, it suddenly dawned on us that we would be turning our cookie-cutter Raised Ranch into a cookie-cutter Center Hall Colonial, with a dining room to the left, a living room to the right, and a kitchen and family room along the back of the house. We would simply be adding another layer to our existing box. “What is so exciting about that?” I thought. It certainly would not be interesting enough to warrant the additional mortgage burden. We looked back at our plan to add onto the back of the house and realized that we could create a much more unique home (for much less money!) by modifying this plan.

The changes we came up with were as follows: The living room would remain the same; the kitchen and dining room would be combined to create a large, eat-in kitchen; an addition of approximately 12 feet (depth) behind the kitchen and hall bath would accommodate a family room and dining room. On the other side of the house, the hall bath would become a powder room, the two family bedrooms would remain the same, and a full bath would be added at the end of the hall, between the family bedroom and master. The master bedroom would gain a walk-in closet and get bumped out approximately six feet. The master bath would lose its shower to the walk-in closet but take over the bathtub from the original hall bath to create a new walk-in shower. A deck would be built that could be accessed from both sides of the house. Downstairs, we would create a fourth bedroom, full bath, laundry room and rec room.

In the end, we would create a four bedroom, three and a half bath house, with a powder room in the correct spot, a formal dining room, lovely kitchen and attached family room, master suite and deck. We would preserve our vista and not create as much redundant space downstairs. We would also have a “real” laundry room instead of sharing space with our utility room. The mouldings, archways, railings and solid core doors would be preserved as well, and the furnace could be tweaked to accommodate the additional space. While we had believed that we could do anything we wanted to our house, in the end, our practicality told us we should not make it into something it wasn’t. Not wanting to be “posers”, we would accept our house for its shortcomings as well as its advantages, and try to allow it to evolve into its highest and best use (for the least amount of cash!).

Of course, not long after we came to this conclusion, a neighbor’s Colonial went to market. This home, one of the largest on the block, had been renovated top-to-bottom by our architect, Paul. From all accounts (I have never been inside), every detail is beautiful, perfect, and magnificently finished. The price tag was $1,995,000, which seemed steep considering that the last two sales on the street were $1,385,000 one year ago for a similar size house renovated ten years ago, and $875,000 for a Raised Ranch half the size. Days later, we were informed that the house went to sealed bids with five bidders and sold for over the asking price. As you can imagine, in my mind I simply HAD to revisit the idea of making our house into a Colonial. As far as investment value, it would be a slam dunk, even if it cost $700K. However, given that we would still have to PAY for that $700K, it would not be possible. We did conclude, however, that there would be only two options for our house: knock it down and start from scratch to build a real Colonial with a basement, or add onto it as a Raised Ranch. As far as we are concerned, the "Colonial Conversion” project is off the table.

Not-So-Divinyl

As I have discussed in earlier entries, Raised Ranches are generally disliked for their lack of curb appeal. They are boring boxes with windows. They lack character. What can be done about this? Adding texture is one way to enhance the exterior appearance of a Raised Ranch. Texture is, in my mind, one of the most important components of house and home design. It can help to minimize the boxiness – from Raised Ranch to Colonial and beyond. It creates a multi-sensory experience for the viewer. Our appreciation of style and beauty is greatly affected by both the tactile and visual effects of texture, particularly as they relate to house design. I would encourage anyone looking to improve their Raised Ranch to consider only those roofing and siding materials that will increase the amount of texture on the exterior of the building.

Siding is an immensely important element in the look and feel of a house. It should not be an afterthought – its effect on the appearance of the home is profound, perhaps even more so than the design itself. Certainly, it can be used to mask "blah" design flaws and inadequacies. Traditionally, homes in the United States have been sided with wood, stucco, stone, brick, or a combination thereof. These elements can determine how light is reflected and influence our natural desire to touch. Contrasting textures, such as wood with stone or brick, can distract the eye from the otherwise plain lines of many house designs. The post-World War II era brought us cookie cutter houses and aluminum siding, which would be cheaper (over the long-term) and more durable than the previously mentioned products. Applying this low-maintenance siding in cascading layers would mimic the look of wood clapboard with a much longer expected lifespan. Aluminum eventually gave way to vinyl, a cheaper alternative with similar durable qualities yet an even less natural look. From a distance, it is not always possible to distinguish between these types of siding and wood clapboard, although I would argue that clapboard absorbs light in a way that plastic or metal could never achieve, particularly as it wears over time.

About ten years ago, a neighbor of ours chose to re-clad his Raised Ranch in – gasp – vinyl, a choice I would never recommend. It now looks like a glorified mobile home. While there is nothing wrong with mobile homes, they do not generally belong in million dollar neighborhoods. Vinyl siding is also perfectly acceptable, but should be used for houses that already have texture, angles, and other ways of distracting the eye. Our next door neighbor announced last summer that he would be replacing his cedar shakes with new siding. We prepared for the worst (his brother was the vinyl offender down the street). As it turned out, yes, he would use vinyl, but he chose a staggered style, which was the original arrangement of shingles on all of the Raised Ranches in the neighborhood (see photo - Pink Floyd's got nothin' on me and by bedroom window view!!!). With vinyl shutters to boot, it still looks overly uniform and lacks a certain element of spontaneity in the way light is absorbed and reflected, but it is vastly more bearable than the “mobile home wanna be” down the street.

Viva la Vista!

All is not lost with the Raised Ranch. There are many ways, large and small, to make them more interesting than they were intended to be. This was our focus during our first four years living in one. The next big project for us would involve a new kitchen to replace the original (which had held up beautifully, I might add), but we felt strongly that it should be incorporated into a larger project if possible. When we met with architects, some of them expressed frustration with the Raised Ranch style. We had hoped for more enthusiasm, and maybe an infusion of confidence from these experienced designers. One gentleman wrote in his proposal, “You do not have a simple house to renovate.” Part of this has to do with the allowable floor area ratio (“FAR”) in our neighborhood and the fact that our zoning laws require garage space to be counted as floor area, even though it is unfinished (not typical in surrounding towns). We have three options: add a second story to create a colonial, bump out the back of the house to expand the raised ranch, or tear it down and start from scratch. At this point, for a number of reasons, we have ruled out the latter option.

FAR was the major subject of discussion with the first three architects we interviewed. They all seemed doubtful that we would be able to accomplish our goals of expanding our home without some significant measures to get around the zoning limitations. Some were more spirited than others. After meeting with these three very different professionals, we felt dejected and uninspired, instead of excited and ready to get started on a plan. I decided to call one more person in my neighborhood who had recently renovated her home (all of the architects had been referrals from friends or neighbors). I was a bit worried that the work she had done was more “high end” than what we would be able to afford, but I figured there was nothing to lose by calling in one more opinion.

Paul didn’t talk about FAR. He talked about the fact that “anything is doable”, and he was impressed with the “vista” that could be viewed from our house due to the open space between lots in our neighborhood. He told us about another raised ranch he had converted into a gorgeous showpiece on one of the main avenues in town. When he left, after more than an hour, we let it all sink in for an hour or two, and then realized that Paul was “the one”. He was the only architect who saw that there was more to the project than just the bricks and sticks of it – that there was a desire to capture all of the positive elements of our property in a project that would benefit our family for years to come.

At the time when Paul came on board, we were focused on bumping out the back of the house to create a family room and slightly larger master bedroom upstairs, and a 4th bedroom, laundry room, full bath and rec room downstairs. There was one element to this plan that began to define the entire project: the desire to incorporate a powder room on the main floor, adjacent to the kitchen and “public” areas of the house. Looking ahead, we realized that our two daughters, wonderful as they were, would someday be teenagers, and the bathroom they shared could become a veritable war zone. We cringed at the thought of our guests using the same bathroom as our “future Miley Cyrus’”. We also felt that if we were going to the trouble and expense of constructing an addition to our house, we should get everything we want (or as close to our goal as possible). In other words, there would be no compromises on our “must haves”.

The powder room became a huge bone of contention in our plan. Paul did everything he could to keep it real. He knew we were on a budget, and as the plan began to evolve, he saw the project increasing exponentially due to the placement of this %$#&*^ powder room. We, on the other hand, held fast to our “no compromise” objective. When we finally got some raw numbers from contractors as to how much this plan would cost, our sticker shock was palpable, to say the least. Adding 700 square feet to our home was going to cost somewhere between $300,000 and $400,000, excluding any work to the exterior such as new windows or siding, which would add another $30 - $40K. The powder room, which had become our albatross, threatened to unravel the entire plan. Another problem had been revealed: in order to add space on the main level, the lower level would have to be expanded as well. We began to see that a redundancy was being created – as the upstairs family room grew, so did the downstairs rec room. To us, the rec room was to be a “bonus room”, not a main living area. We would end up with a good size living room, small family room, and rec room large enough for a regulation pool table, wet bar, and plenty of seating. With our goal of creating flow, the disconnected rec room, while wonderful, would not give us what we intended to gain. At the same time, due to the placement of the powder room, the size of the upstairs family room would need to be limited in order to preserve backyard space. Suddenly our vista was shrinking (but the rec room kept growing, as did the budget).

We sat with the plan for a month. We were devastated that our original budget of $200,000 had been blown out of the water and, not for nothing, we would still have a Raised Ranch! It finally dawned on me one day. What I really wanted, my dream home, would still be a dream after all was said and done with this project. Already in my forties, was I willing to take the risk that my real estate dream, that had been driving me for most of my adult life, would never be realized? The answer, simply put, was “no”. I got on the horn with Paul. “Scrap the plan. We’re going up!” It had always been my dream to live in a beautiful colonial house, with wonderful flow for entertaining, space for a piano, and the ability to seat a large group at the dining room table. How could I give up on that dream without at least giving it a shot?

Paul asked me to revise our original list of priorities, which I did with lighting speed, and we were off and running again. Although I knew he was glad to have the work during a MUCH slower than normal summer, I could sense his frustration with our lack of decision. But, in the end, we would have to live in the house, and we also knew that Paul was glad to be rid of the freaking powder room. More quickly than expected, Paul came up with a plan for a center hall colonial. Essentially, the entire house would be gutted, but for the finished family room downstairs. But we would have four family bedrooms upstairs, a living room, dining room, eat-in kitchen and family room, plus laundry and POWDER ROOM. The placement of the powder room was, believe it or not, still an issue, but we knew we could plow through that decision much more easily than before. The house would have a total of four bedrooms, three and a half baths. The total square footage would run about 3,000 and change, including the finished areas on the ground floor. We would get around the FAR issue by building up the exterior grade (akin to “throwing dirt against the walls") to reduce our above-grade square footage. Paul seemed to think the City would have no issue with this, and that it had been done before. Our lot in particular would be conducive to such a technique because we were built on a natural hill. What’s a little more dirt, after all? Paul estimated that the project could be completed for between $400,000 and $500,000, which was much more than our original budget, but worth waiting for and, in the end, a better investment.

In the Eye of the Beholder

Since the beginning of time, human beings have built and lived in homes that represented their wealth and power (or created a perception thereof). Kings do not live in shacks (although some dictators have been known to inhabit foxholes while evading the United States military), and while most of us will never rule a country, we desire our own “castle” – a home to be proud of. (Note: Millions of people in our very wealthy country have no home at all, and that fact is not lost on me. Homelessness may indeed also be tied to our American obsession with living quarters, but it is a topic for a different blog entry. I will address it in the future, because I do believe it is a very important part of the puzzle.) Along the topic of the real estate implications of “a man’s home is his castle”, I wanted to discuss a recent conversation with my neighbor, a lovely woman of whom I am very fond. The other day, while chatting with me on her front lawn, she revealed that the first time she saw her house (a Raised Ranch, of course), she cried. She qualified her comment by saying, “Now, this is just me, but I always pictured a two story.” In other words, she did NOT picture herself in a Raised Ranch. At that point, her teenage son chimed in. “I never want to live in a house like this again,” as he gestured toward his home. “It’s too…” “Boring?”, I offered. “Yeah,” he agreed.

What do these comments, and the general disdain for this type of house, reveal about people? I think there are several answers. Most importantly, our self-esteem is tied very closely to the way in which we live our lives. There are dozens of factors that affect a person’s happiness with their home environment, but given that monarchs and rulers have ALWAYS built castles for themselves, it stands to reason that a beautiful home can make a person feel important, no matter whom they may be. Certainly where I live, in the Northeast, as soon as people get a little money, the first thing they do is either add onto or improve their home, or move into a larger dwelling, be it an apartment, condominium, or house. There does come a point, however, when other desired features come into play, and an individual or family may need to move to a different community. Some of these amenities can include award-winning schools, access to transportation, convenience to cities, better parks and recreation, or just plain old social status. In general, if you are moving to a community that has better amenities, you will get a smaller overall real estate “package” (land and its improvements) for your money. This is what happened to my neighbor, who moved from a close-by yet more remote, land-locked village to our town which has, among other things, beach access, a city-owned golf and pool club, great schools, access to two train stations to New York City, and a quaint downtown shopping area. What our town also has is more expensive real estate, and so a Raised Ranch on a good piece of property is going to be more affordable than a Colonial or Tudor. This is where a buyer needs to strike a balance – between the desire for a “castle” and a need for quality of life. If you have made the decision to move to a town with lots to offer, and you are on a budget (like we were), you will have to weigh the plusses and minuses of each home you consider. The good news is that real estate is about “location, location, location”, so if you buy a house you hate, you can always change the structure (but you can’t change the locale!).

Aside from the self-esteem factor, people have a general desire to create beauty in the world. Not that we all expect to be artists or poets, but we feel an innate joy when confronted by beautiful things. Physical beauty is, of course, subjective, and while the collective consciousness appears to despise cookie cutter homes in a visceral manner, there is no avoiding the fact that repetition exists in our society and to a large degree has a place in a capitalist economy. In “Eat, Pray, Love”, the author, Elizabeth Gilbert, postulates that Italy has never gained superpower status despite its incredible location and large population, because the Italians have been too busy creating beautiful things like music, art and food. When you think about it, it kind of makes sense. The United States might never have gained worldwide economic and military might without the Industrial Revolution. Our ability to repeatedly turn out thousands and thousands of identical items, be they cars or weapons, textiles or food products, made us who we are today. So should we be surprised that, when the need for quickly, cheaply built housing arose, we resorted to what we knew best? Of course not - but it looks as if the buck stops with real estate. There we were, going along nicely wearing ready-made clothes, eating ready-made food, using ready-made products of all kinds, when all of a sudden somebody said, “Here’s a ready-made house!” and we screeched to a halt.

Make Me Pretty!

Curb appeal is something of great importance to me. My childhood home was a custom-built shingle and stone colonial perched on a hill with beautiful plantings in front. My mother had created an exquisite arrangement of azaleas that, when they bloomed in spring, attracted the attention of all passers-by. The effect of these bushes as they framed the front of this charming home was to create an elegant display of welcoming for our family, friends, and anyone else who ascended our steps.

Keeping this in mind as we sought improvements for our own home, my husband and I decided to tackle the project of eliminating all wrought iron railings, in and out of the house. Aside from the ugliness of this feature, grabbing hold of a cold, hard railing when one enters a home does not inspire a general feeling of “warmth”. In addition, the configuration of our outside walkway left a short set of stairs with no railing at all, creating difficulty for our aging parents and other guests who might need an extra hand when climbing steps. The solution consisted of wooden railings in a shaker/craftsman style – very plain, yet traditional and functional. Once the new railings were installed, we realized that our plan would be to pursue an overall craftsman/mission/arts & crafts feel in our décor. Combined with traditional American and a few Asian touches, we felt these would be appropriate both for the style of our house and for the ambiance we were trying to create for ourselves, family and friends.

Next, we honed in on architectural details, woodwork, and painting. The typical layout of Raised Ranch homes includes a kitchen at the top of the stairs, living room to the right, and dining room sandwiched in the corner between these two. Alternatively, the floor plan is reversed. Wherever the living areas reside, the bedrooms and bath(s) take up the other half of the floor plate. In our house, living areas are to the right and family bedrooms are to the left. Prior to buying this house, we had lived in a Split-Level home with almost the exact same layout, except for stairs in “different” places. At some point in its life, the owners of that home had created an archway separating the living room and dining room which was a detail we had loved. We decided an archway would give the living room and dining rooms definition they badly needed. The kitchen and dining room were separated by a small doorway, making both rooms feel cramped. By opening up this wall, we could create “flow” between the kitchen and dining room. We commissioned our wonderful friend and contractor, Gonzalo, to give us an estimate. He reviewed the proposed plan and put in his two cents. “Why don’t you add an archway to the kitchen entrance as well?” Brilliant. Three archways would define the spaces, give them a bit more character, and tie them together as parts of a whole. Widening the opening between the kitchen and dining room instantly increased the perceived size of both rooms, even as they stole “air rights” from each other.

Other details included a chair rail in the dining room, to create a more elegant feel, with an accent color (same as kitchen – Benjamin Moore “Sultan’s Palace”) above and trim color (Benjamin Moore “Linen White”) below. This gave the impression of paneling, without any additional woodwork. The living room and hallway were painted Benjamin Moore “Morning Light” with white trim. All trim was replaced/added throughout the main floor – bottom, crown, and around all doors. Speaking of doors, we decided to go for broke and replace all of our plain hollow doors with five-panel solid wood core doors. All hardware was changed to oil-rubbed bronze in keeping with our arts and crafts theme.

On to the bedrooms! The master bedroom got new trim and a paint job, a new light fixture to replace the existing piece of junk, and an off-white rug. We had fallen in love with the color the previous owners had painted the room (Benjamin Moore - “Sweet Spring”) so we gave the room a fresh couple of coats. Family bedroom 1, which our children currently share, was donned with a chair rail (trim paint below - white) and new top and bottom trim. Oh, and a few coats of Benjamin Moore “Cream Puff” (PINK) paint, which our children had chosen. We also replaced the light fixture, probably bought at Woolworth’s 20 years ago, with a cute chandelier from The Land of Nod. (Incidentally, all of the plants in our home are “descendants” of a single plant, purchased at Woolworth’s on 1st Avenue in NYC almost 20 years ago.) Family bedroom 2, which originally served as a nursery for our youngest child, was an office in its previous life. One of the only projects we took on when we first bought the house was to convert this dull dingy room into a “happy space” for our baby. We added wainscoting, painted white, and trim all around. The room is painted Benjamin Moore “Light Yellow”, which is actually not as light as I would have liked. The paint chips are terribly deceiving! We also replaced the cheesy, cheap closet door with a louvered door. This allows for ventilation when closed, or can be left open without taking up much space (it folds in half) in this tiny room. The room now serves as a play room for the kids.

The house is equipped with two full baths, one adjoining the master bedroom and one in the hallway, to be shared by other family members and guests. The previous owner had been enamored (apparently) with “sponge painting” the walls. Both bathrooms as well as the kitchen had served as her canvas. The master bath tile is a whimsical Villeroy & Boch design which would have been more appropriate for a children’s bathroom. We have left it, thus far, but changed the walls from lavender sponge paint to smooth light blue (Benjamin Moore “White Satin”). The hideous white laminate vanity has survived as well, but with new brushed nickel hardware to replace the polished chrome knobs. Where possible, we have tried to tone down the 80’s and 90’s influences throughout the house. Which brings me to the hall bath. I remember the previous owner gloating to our realtor 5 ½ years ago that this bathroom had been “her baby”. Allow me to set the scene: Gold sponge-painted walls, polished brass fixtures, towel racks, and toilet roll holder, leopard print towels and shower curtain, and white tile everywhere accented by gold trim tiles. Surprisingly, the vanity, made of WOOD (but topped with white laminate, natch), had a colonial look to it, but since it was a strange off-white color, appeared only to have been primed and not painted whenever it was installed. The polished brass knobs helped to accentuate its lack of luster.

Our first mission was to change the wall color to something more friendly. We chose a light green color, not unlike the color of mint chocolate chip ice cream, or pistachio. Getting rid of the gold, which had been painted (remember the sponge paint!) rather sloppily, was no easy task. We actually had to apply white semi-gloss paint to most of the areas where the paint met the tile in order to cover the remnants of gold. The vanity was painted white and all of the fixtures and hardware were changed to antiqued brass. Unfortunately, due to the accent color in the tile, we were tied to gold tones. The shower curtain is now white, and the guest towels are a medium blue color, which helps to tone down the pistachio walls. (Admittedly, this color does NOT tie in with the arts & crafts theme in any way shape of form. But it sure is cheery!).

Other small changes we made included light fixtures: modern sconces in the living room and a Victorian-looking crystal chandelier in the foyer were replaced with coordinating antiqued bronze fixtures from Restoration Hardware. The dining room had been lit by a crystal “teardrop” chandelier, which we quickly changed to black wrought iron. The chandelier, candle sconces and curtain rod in the dining room are all black wrought iron with a scroll design – not exactly the same, but certainly coordinated enough with each other to indicate a “theme”.

On the lower level, 20 year old linoleum in the hallway did not stand a chance after we moved in. We quickly replaced it with beige colored 12” tiles. In the family room, the fireplace cover had been polished brass. We looked into replacing it, but when Gonzalo informed us he could spray it black for a few bucks, we took him up on his offer. It now appears brand new and blends in nicely against the brick surround. We also added a mantel shelf to give the fireplace a smidgeon more definition. The only other major improvements to the house have been a new black roof, which was a necessity given the age of the original, and a new furnace system with three zones. These two changes have helped us to cut our heating and cooling costs and the latter in particular has created a more comfortable environment for daily living.

Overall, we have spent about $50,000 making our house more comfortable and suited to our taste. However, we are not satisfied. The disconnected family room is a big problem for us. We enjoy entertaining in our home, but feel it is impossible to have a formal dinner party due to the size of our dining room. Our wish list includes a family room that flows into the other living areas, a deck accessed via said family room, a master “suite”, a guest powder room, a full bath and bedroom on the lower level, new windows, siding, and a general face lift to the exterior. Having thought about our options for almost five years, but continuously spinning our wheels and making very little progress toward a path, we decided to hire an architect last summer. Not being experts in architecture ourselves, and generally having difficulty balancing our passion with practicality, we realized we needed “professional help”. We interviewed four different architects, all of whom showed us impressive portfolios of home renovations, but only one of whom understood the greater picture of what we hoped to accomplish with our entire property, not just the structure itself. He was the only one who really “got it”. He walked into our backyard and said, “You need to capture this view. You need to take advantage of what you have back here.” The other architects had talked about floor area ratios, and styles, but no one had looked at the big picture, until we met Paul.

Where did I come from? -RR

The Raised Ranch and its brethren were born out of a dire need for affordable, easily built housing in the post-World War II era. With millions of service people returning to the United States, there was an almost instant need for new dwellings all over the country. Fortunately, the Federal Housing Administration (“FHA”) had been created in 1934 to promote lending by insuring certain home loans, making them virtually risk-free for lenders. Factories in the United States that had been dedicated to the war effort now had to be converted to other uses, including the manufacture of building supplies. In order to meet the increased demand, style would be sacrificed for function and cost. Small homes with little variation in design could be planned and constructed rapidly. The days of the custom-built home (Colonial Revival, Victorian, Tudor) of the early 1900’s were over, temporarily.

Homeownership became more feasible for many Americans after World War II due to favorable tax laws, the FHA, and a booming post-war economy. Jobs were aplenty, and banks, having mostly recovered from the trenches of the Great Depression, made financing available. According to the United States Census Bureau Census of Housing, overall homeownership rates increased from 43.6% in 1940 to 61.9% in 1960, an enormous positive change.

Ranch, Cape Cod, Split-Level, and variations on the Raised Ranch-theme homes spread like wildfire. They were constructed without trouble, often on cement slab, saving time and money by not digging deep basements. They were mostly well-located in suburban areas with convenience to city centers and/or newly developed shopping areas. Parks, recreation, good schools, and transportation arteries and hubs made life in the suburbs “easy livin’”.

The design of the Split-Level and Raised Ranch style homes may have been influenced by some of Frank Lloyd Wright’s ideas, in which public areas of the home would flow into each other. This is more true for Split-Levels, which typically have a ½ flight of stairs leading from the kitchen to the family room below. However, I can vouch for the fact that the flow in Raised Ranch homes ends on the main level and does not include the family room in any way. In fact, this is my greatest complaint about our house, other than the exterior aesthetics. The family room is completely disconnected from the rest of the house, making entertaining large groups (i.e. more than 10 people) difficult and forcing a decision every evening as to where to settle in for the night. We are too cheap to pay for two DVR’s, so we end up staying upstairs in the living room most evenings, even though we have an enormous, lovely room beckoning downstairs. Of course, if we eliminated the living room television, that problem could be solved, but then our living room would become more of a showpiece and less of a family gathering place. But I digress. More on that later.

Modern architecture has sought to bring the outside in, which is why we often see large and multiple glass windows in modern homes, to a much greater extent than in more traditional homes. This is another flaw in the “tract housing” of the Post-World War II era. In order to cut costs, builders would use the same plan over and over again, making slight modifications for how lot topography might affect placement of steps, foundation, etc. We recently uncovered the original blueprints for our home and realized that the same plan was used to build our next door neighbor’s house! In order to save time during construction, no attention was paid to how the homeowner might take advantage of views from their residence. The same windows would be installed in the same places in each home, even if the backyard contained beautiful woods, a babbling brook, or a gorgeous Dogwood tree. Similarly, if the house were situated close to the street, or set back nicely, the same windows would be employed, sizes and all. It would be up to the homeowner to customize the window treatments to accommodate their particular needs. In fact, given the character-less nature of these homes, homeowners were really just buying a shell with a roof, walls, foundation and the typical fit-out of a home (bedrooms, baths, kitchen, living areas). Any sense of character was left completely to the buyer’s discretion to create.

Our backyard, while not large, abuts our neighbor’s lot which is almost three times the size and filled with woods and a gigantic rock formation, providing a magnificent natural buffer between us. Unfortunately, the only windows onto this wonderland exist in the dining room (regular double-hung double window), kitchen (small double-hung window) and master bathroom (even smaller double-hung window). There is no view from the master bedroom. We are quite frankly amazed that no one has addressed this in the home’s 40 year life. By the way, the view from the one existing window in the master bedroom is…my neighbor’s exterior wall. It is a blank, vinyl-sided wall with (thankfully, I suppose), no windows. I must admit, though, on Wednesday and Friday nights in the summer, we gather in the master bedroom to watch fireworks from the local amusement park, which can be seen exploding in the distance. We crane our necks a bit to see over the neighbor’s roof, but it is a bonus view we did not expect when we bought the house. Maybe the previous owners never looked out the windows? Windows and views will definitely need to be addressed in order to bring the unique aspects of our entire property into the overall feel of our home.

Whaddya call it?

The poor, underappreciated Raised Ranch. In doing my research, I have found web posts where people have made blanket statements about Raised Ranches such as “I hate them all”, “I personally despise these houses as annoying and pointless” and “That floor plan is appalling.” Frank Lloyd Wright, whose open floor plans probably inspired the Split-Level/Bi-Level/Raised Ranch style, is likely rolling in his grave. Here’s the dirty little secret of Raised Ranch owners: This floor plan WORKS! It is great for small-scale entertaining, and especially wonderful for young families who want to keep small children safely confined to one floor. However, it does have its limitations, which will begin to reveal themselves as you read on.

This style of house is difficult to define. There are a multitude of different versions of the Raised Ranch – Bi-Level, High Ranch, Split-Entry Ranch – and there are some subtle but distinct differences between them. But what they share in common are a main floor with kitchen, living room and dining room, bedrooms and bath(s), and a lower level living area and garage. The main difference lies in the number of stairs between the entry and the two separate levels. In some homes, the entry is at ground level. In others, you must ascend a short flight outside to get to the front door, and then make a choice between walking up or walking down a full, half or partial flight of stairs. Another difference is the placement of the garage – either on the front or side of the house with entry directly into the lower level. Houses with a side-entry garage are likely to have smaller garages and more space on the lower level. In houses with front-entry garages, the garage runs the entire depth of the house and the interior area is smaller.

One of the main disadvantages of the Raised Ranch is its lack of curb appeal. It is generally a box with a pitched roof. There are no unique architectural details in the exterior design. Zero! As a result, it is up to the committed owner to “make it interesting”. I became fascinated with this subject when my husband and I purchased a Raised Ranch five years ago. The style of house was our last choice, but all of our other “must-haves” were fulfilled with this purchase: ¼ acre of land on a cul-de-sac within walking distance of the beach. Oh, and we were on a budget! This particular home had an added bonus – it was three doors down from my in-laws, which was convenient for babysitting help, warm Italian meals, and general good company anytime we wanted. The question was, could this house satisfy our need for a “home with character” to complement all of the “characters” in our lives?

Built in 1969, our house was filled with original “details”, such as wrought iron railings (inside and out), plain bottom moldings, hollow doors, original kitchen cabinetry (that had been painted and updated), formica countertops in both bathrooms and the kitchen, and linoleum throughout the downstairs hallway and utility room. The previous owners had renovated the downstairs family room with Pergo floors, slightly more interesting bottom moldings, built-in bookshelves, a brick (gas) fireplace, and solid core double doors to the large closet and under-stair storage space. However, there were enough polished brass details (door knobs, fireplace cover) to remind everyone that the work had been completed in the early 1990’s. In addition, the original wood frame windows had been replaced throughout the house with cheap vinyl. The garage window had escaped this fate – and was merely boarded up and painted over. The path to homeowner’s bliss had been laid before us by a series of cheap upgrades that would simply have to go!