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.