Embracing My Scarlett O'Hara Side

In 1993 my wife and I had only three children. We planned to have three more and we agreed that we wanted to find a perfect place to live. If and when we found that place, we agreed that we wanted to build the house, the home where we and our family would live happily ever after.

After many long drives through the beautiful countryside of Western Australia's southwest coastal region, we one day turned down a side road where unspoilt land was for sale in sizes ranging from five to twenty acres. The road followed an elongated S-shape - first a long curving arc to to the left, then a sweeping curve to the right. As we came around that second curve we gasped as one. There, on our left, was the perfect piece of land. It sloped gently upwards from the road to a sizeable plateau and then continued its rise to the top of a small hill. The block - slightly more than eight acres in size - had many established trees and was almost wedge-shaped. The longest boundary was the street frontage. The shortest boundary was at the rear. The southern and rear boundaries bordered on national parkland so there was no fear of encroaching neighbours.

We walked the block in its entirety. The natural plateau half-way up was an ideal spot to site a house. Turning to face the road, we could see that a glorious sunset was pending. I climbed a tree and established that, with a two-storey house, we would have upstairs views of both the lake and the ocean to the west and of the estuary behind us to the east. It was almost dusk when we finally drove away. A mob of kangaroos was feeding on "our" block's grasses. Hundreds of native cockatoos were moving in to spend the night in "our" trees. There was very little discussion. We agreed that this was it.

We purchased the land and then collaborated with an architect in order to transform our dream into reality. No difficulty was allowed to stand in our way. No mains water supply existed and it was unlikely that any would become available in the foreseeable future. Electricity was available but only if we paid $10,000 to have the poles and powerlines installed. Telephone connections were equally difficult and expensive to establish. It was four years before we finally finished building and moved in but, by then, all the difficulties had been overcome.

It was discovered that a large underground "river" ran right through the property. We installed a bore and dug away a portion of the hill to house a 30,000 gallon rainwater tank. As Australia is a very dry country, we could not rely solely on rainwater. The bore would be used to top up the tank as required and, as the underlying rock was limestone, we were blessed with eminently potable bore water with such a low iron content that it would not stain house-bricks or pathways.

For me, the dream had become a vision. I was fortunate that my wife understood the vision and was willing to indulge me at almost every turn. I drew endless floor plans and sketches of the elevations I wanted as a finished product. Jennifer sat in on almost every session with the architect and, without detracting in any way from my vision, made many excellent suggestions that a mere male may never have considered. The critical point was that the inside be liveable, functional and yet beautiful and that the outside be the glittering gem of Federation-style architecture that I envisaged.

Many Australians assume that Federation architecture relates to the period from 1901 to 1914 - the period between Australia's federation as an independent nation and World War I. In reality, Federation architecture flourished from the 1890's to around 1920. It is a blend of late-Victorian, Edwardian and post-Edwardian styles and it has always seemed to me to be the apotheosis of Australian architecture - a style that straddles the gestation, birth and first steps of a new nation.

A Federation house is built of dark red brick with cream mortar. On the outside there are very steep roof lines with gables, carved wooden finial posts at key points of the roofline, wide verandas that encircle the house, beautifully turned veranda posts and fretwork, wooden railings, paved outdoor areas, multi-paned and bay windows, leadlight glass and even stained glass circular (or porthole) windows in feature areas. On the inside, the ceilings are high throughout - typically 9'6" - with intricate cornices, architraves and ceiling roses from which any central lights are suspended. Skirting boards stand as high as twelve inches from the floor and have a multi-grooved profile. French doors open onto the veraanda in some living areas. Staircases have intricately carved or turned balustrades, banisters and railings. Formal living areas are carpeted. Less formal areas are tiled. In a warm to hot climate, such houses remain cool through our long summers.

Our fourth child had his third Birthday just before we moved into our dream home. Our fifth and last child was conceived and born here. My wife died less than three years later. She lived to see the main house completed and the pool installed and landscaped. She lived long enough to turn in at our gates and gaze upward at the completed, glittering facade. I know she had almost a full year of happiness here before illness came to haunt us. She came home here to die and her ashes are scattered across the grounds. She never got to see the pool house or the gazebo completed but I know she would have delighted in them.

I look up at our house each time I enter the drive and I am always filled with joy and pride and a sense of accomplishment. To me it is a gleaming jewel in a perfect setting. From time to time passers by venture to our front door and ask if they can have a look around. I welcome them, not because I am vain and want them to admire me for living here. I welcome them because I think a beautiful jewel needs to be admired. I want them to love this house and I always hope that they may choose to build their own particular dream in a similar style.

I look out my study window at beautiful sunsets and I feel I am close to heaven. I visit our small pet cemetery where two much-loved cats and a dog are buried. I watch the native birds. I have a stimulating and never-ending battle with the rabbits and the kangaroos who also call this place home. I listen to kookaburras laughing and magpies carolling and I well up with emotion.

I have never scooped up the soil with my hands and vowed "As God is my witness, I'll never be hungry again", but I feel as wedded to this place, as rooted in this landscape as Scarlett was to her beloved Tara. I can never leave this place. One day my ashes will also blow amongst the trees and grasses, but my children and my grandchildren will continue to live and visit here and my dream, my jewel will continue to sparkle on the crest of a gentle hill in a beautiful part of an often ugly world.

Comments

Extraordinary and beautiful. You are indeed fortunate to have had the insight, cooperation and means to achieve your joint vision. It is wonderful that your wife did live to see the completion of the main building. As my wife and I are considering some renovations and the house of our forever, this description has been particularly poignant. Thanks.
 
What a touching story ... it brought tears to my eyes and a lump to my throat. Your writing is beautiful, vivid in detail and emotion. I cannot help but feel your great pride and happiness in your dream home and the oh so human memories that enfold you there on the land you and your beloved Jennifer found together. Thank you for sharing what is obviously a high point in your fascinating life!
 
I was nine years old when my parents purchased the land on which they would build the home of their dreams. The planning of the architecture was a similar process to what you describe (even though it was a different style of house). I was eleven when we moved in. I lived in that house (except for school years at college) until I got married at 21.

My mother underwent a nine-year battle with breast cancer before she finally died just before I turned 15. During the design and building of our house, she was mostly in remission. She put in long hours staining trim, painting the exterior, and hammering on shingles. Building the house was a labour of love for both my parents and they only hired out the parts that they couldn't do themselves.

My mother came home to that house to die. We were all by her bedside when she died there.

My father later remarried, and is raising two more children in that house.

For most of the time I lived there, I had no clue how lucky I was for what I had. I have never lived in anything remotely like it since. I'm sure my younger half-siblings will come to appreciate it in the same way, someday.

Thank you for posting your story -- it brought back both bitter and sweet memories for me.
 
Your comments resonate with me as much as my story resonates with you.

I'm sorry that you lost your mother at such a crucial period of your life and I hope the people around you made the effort to ensure that you were well supported throughout that nine-year struggle and, even more important, during the time after your mother's death.

At times I have wondered how or why it is that a building or a plot of land forms such an important part of one's psyche, but I think it's an aspect of our need to feel connected. Even if you didn't appreciate your good fortune at the time, you are looking back fondly now and that's proof that all of us will live on in the memories of others long after we've moved on.
 
What a moving post. I'm so happy your wife was able share your vision and spend some happy time in your (and her) home.

Perhaps, someday you might be willing to share some photos of how your vision turned out.

Thanks again for the beautiful and thoughtful post.
 

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