I first became aware of the home design and building TV program Grand Designs during my nine-month teaching stint in the UK. For those unfamiliar with the show, it basically chronicles the construction of unconventionally planned residences in Great Britain.
The bulk of these grand designs qualified as what I personally refer to as architorture — you know, ghastly rhomboid concrete structures with unsightly-angled roofs defying all geometric logic. However, every now and then, the show would feature the painstaking restoration of a medieval ruin or abandoned lighthouse, which was always intriguing viewing.
Regardless of what the grand design was, it unfailingly featured enormous windows, panes of glass, or supersized glass doors, all crafted to “open into nature,” thereby fusing and blending interior and exterior landscapes.
Every week, I would watch UK homeowners gleefully throw open thirty-foot high French doors or crank up fifty-foot-wide panes of glass and then inhale deeply as they basked in the glory of their practically open-air homes seamlessly becoming one with the Yorkshire Dales or the Cornish countryside.
I wish I could live like that. I really do.
Unfortunately, if I accidentally leave my regular-sized entrance door open for more than thirty seconds, half of the insect population of my village inevitably comes rushing into the house. The same goes for an open window if we happen to forget to pull down the screen.
Open the (regular-sized) terrace door? I did that once to air out the house and received a rather unwelcome visit from a backyard garter snake (in addition to the insects, of course).
The only thing that is always somewhat open is the cat door with the swinging flap mounted onto the back door, but the cat only uses that when she wants to sneak a live mouse or bird into the house for playtime.
But good on those Grand Design folks. They have all managed to fuse and blend their houses with the natural world in ways I can only dream.
The bulk of these grand designs qualified as what I personally refer to as architorture — you know, ghastly rhomboid concrete structures with unsightly-angled roofs defying all geometric logic. However, every now and then, the show would feature the painstaking restoration of a medieval ruin or abandoned lighthouse, which was always intriguing viewing.
Regardless of what the grand design was, it unfailingly featured enormous windows, panes of glass, or supersized glass doors, all crafted to “open into nature,” thereby fusing and blending interior and exterior landscapes.
Every week, I would watch UK homeowners gleefully throw open thirty-foot high French doors or crank up fifty-foot-wide panes of glass and then inhale deeply as they basked in the glory of their practically open-air homes seamlessly becoming one with the Yorkshire Dales or the Cornish countryside.
I wish I could live like that. I really do.
Unfortunately, if I accidentally leave my regular-sized entrance door open for more than thirty seconds, half of the insect population of my village inevitably comes rushing into the house. The same goes for an open window if we happen to forget to pull down the screen.
Open the (regular-sized) terrace door? I did that once to air out the house and received a rather unwelcome visit from a backyard garter snake (in addition to the insects, of course).
The only thing that is always somewhat open is the cat door with the swinging flap mounted onto the back door, but the cat only uses that when she wants to sneak a live mouse or bird into the house for playtime.
But good on those Grand Design folks. They have all managed to fuse and blend their houses with the natural world in ways I can only dream.
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