| Cassandra Naylor is deeply attached to Skyfield, a farm in Baltimore County, Maryland. Six generations of her family have called it home. Her grandfather's Maryland Hunt Cup steeplechase winners were quartered in what was known as the bank barn, and she learned to ride there. Many times, she led her mount up the long ramp to the second-floor tack room. "There were raccoons scampering in the attic and tools everywhere," she recalls. "It was a time capsule of country life."
photography: Paul Whicheloe
Before its green renovation, Cassandra's barn once housed horses, dairy equipment, and a farmer's apartment. |
In the early 1990s, as development was breaking up an adjacent farm, she and her family were already taking measures to preserve theirs through the Maryland Environmental Trust. With the barn, there was no question about keeping its character and footprint, and talk turned to converting interiors for more personal use. "I'd been wanting to downsize in order to live simpler and more steeped in nature," says Cassandra, who, in her fifties and newly widowed, was in favor of letting her son and his growing family live in the big house on the property. Moving to the barn was not only a project she couldn't resist but also a responsibility. "I know this piece of earth," she says. "I wanted to be in the barn in the most respectful way possible."
photography: Paul Whicheloe
For a spacious kitchen, cattle and horse stalls were removed to accommodate a step-back cupboard and a cabinet with sinks, both coated in milk-based paint.ÊThe grain chute is now a spice cabinet. |
photography: Paul Whicheloe
[LINK "Download a cross-section drawing" "http://img.timeinc.net/cottage/images/2008/04/naylor_plan.pdf"] of Cassandra Naylor's home showing its energy and environmental features. |
The renovation she envisioned was "a simple shelter, self-sufficient and eco-green," but at the time not simple to achieve. She couldn't draw on today's broader green design alternatives and more and better sources for renewable materials. "There was less enthusiasm for the concept in the mid-1990s." Instead, she read everything she could get her hands on—Mother Jones, Mother Earth News, Thoreau—about achieving self-sufficiency. She wrote the American Institute of Architects to find "green" architects in her area and got encouragement from a pioneer in the field, William McDonough, then dean of the University of Virginia School of Architecture. Although he and later his firm were helpful, she eventually hit a snag and "needed an architect close to home for a convenient working relationship, someone who wouldn't change the structure but serve my strict environmental needs."
photography: Paul Whicheloe
Sliding glass-paneled doors are original to the tack room, now CassandraÕs bedroom.
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photography: Paul Whicheloe
For a cozy living room, architect George Holback covered one wall in the milking room with matching local stone to get in a Rumford fireplace. |
She found her crusader in Baltimore architect George Holback of Cho Benn Holback and Associates. His green expertise was limited to grad school studies of solar panel technology, but he and assistant Andrea Rhinehart got Cassandra's attention with their enthusiasm. "They produced lists of every material or system we might want to use for its impact from cradle to grave on the environment," she recalls. For a potential roof, she researched Phragmites australis grass, an invasive species on Maryland's Eastern Shore. "We actually found an English thatcher working locally," says George, "but the cost and maintenance of the roof were prohibitive." A standing-seam Galvalume won out because it's made from recycled metal, which is amazingly affordable and doesn't leach into the soil.
photography: Paul Whicheloe
Cassandra has no AC or window screens and leaves the doors open so often that a wren tries every spring to build a nest in the hallway. Her Dutch door is a classic cottage icon. |
The three-story barn's state of disrepair and the creation of a new studio residence meant additional work beyond green design amendments. Many beams and the ground contact structure were water damaged. The walls bulged. But necessary corrections—for example, a new "skin" to enclose the barn's exterior lead paint—gave Cassandra opportunities. She discovered paint without formaldehyde (or its precursors) from American Formulating & Manufacturing. "It's a product that's caught on now," she says. HardiePlank, the barn's new cement and wood composite "skin" siding, is now mainstream. For insulation behind the irregular framing, George had cellulose, a chopped recycled paper, sprayed in. The Clivus Multrum composting toilet fascinated the county building inspectors when they reviewed Cassandra's plans. "They'd never seen one and insisted on my installing a superfluous septic field in case it ever failed." Her philosophy kept her spirits—and standards—up. "I told myself to be as extreme and meticulous as possible because some compromise is inevitable."Fashioning the building systems around renewable sources was mandatory for Cassandra. A full photovoltaic solar system on the roof feeds electricity to a battery bank. She chose direct over alternate current "because there is no waste or microwave emission that would occur from a conversion." She uses energy-efficient fluorescent bulbs but owns a converter for a few necessary pumps. The water-based solar heating system on the roof, which circulates to in-floor radiant heat, and a Napoleon woodstove and Rumford fireplace keep the house cozy. "If I get chilly, I just take a hot bath!" she says. The house sounds hard-core, but, as student groups and other guests today quickly discover, it's just a structure that works hard to make the most of its environment. That give-and-take relationship pays off in more ways than reduced electricity bills. "I'm more sensitive to my surroundings now, especially to the weather, which tells me every morning how to use the house," she says. Honoring her promise to preserve the farm and live lightly on the land, Cassandra couldn't be happier—or greener. |
