House Tour

From our Fall 2018 issue

It spoke to me, first in a whisper as I ran by on my regular beach loop, and then in an unequivocal shout when I saw the For Sale sign in the yard. The low-slung 1850s farmhouse with the original attached barn in Cape Elizabeth had surely seen better days. But something about it tugged at my heart.

Like many old homes in Maine, this one had survived several lifetimes of renovations and additions, some ridiculous (like the wood-grain Styrofoam beams in the kitchen), others sublime (shout-out to the seamless bedroom addition on the first floor). Still, I could see the allure beneath the architectural pastiche. The long, angular first floor, for example, has multiple doors leading to porches and gardens. Upstairs, three modestly sized bedrooms are pleasantly snugged into sloping rooflines.

There are times when you have to leap and believe that a net will appear. For me, buying and renovating this house was one of those times. I had gone from being a wife and mother with a corporate job to a divorced, self-employed empty nester. I was leaving a sprawling home that had become a symbol of a life that was no longer mine. I believed that fixing up a neglected farmhouse could help me create a new, more authentic reality.

After signing the sale agreement in 2014, the first call I made was to my daughter, Tyler Karu, a talented Portland-based designer. Tyler and I approach projects from opposite ends of the design spectrum. Her taste is spare and modern; mine is layered and sometimes eccentric. But in this case, our styles were oddly compatible. The sheer volume of my furniture and collections, acquired over decades, had begun to overwhelm their individual significance. Tyler was able to pare down my belongings to the ones that best told the story of my life and, together, we used those pieces to create rooms that feel cohesive, yet eclectic, and a touch unexpected.

First though, we enlisted Portland architect and builder Caleb Johnson to streamline the exterior, abandoning dated embellishments and superfluous trim. Inside, his crew took the rooms down to the studs — some of which were ancient logs still covered in bark — adding much-needed insulation and rerouting an awkward staircase to create a foyer off the front entrance. In the kitchen, Johnson replaced the faux supports with antique barn beams and fabricated an exposed industrial I-beam that carries the weight of the second floor.

I’m a food writer and passionate cook, so the kitchen serves as the hub of my work and home life. In addition to teaching small cooking classes, I entertain often and informally. To accommodate both activities, we designed a 12-foot-long island with quartz on one side and polished walnut, and seating, on the other. Students and guests can perch here, or on an adjacent settee, and watch the kitchen in full swing.

Larger groups gather in the adjoining dining room, which also serves as de facto gallery space. One wall is devoted almost entirely to paintings by my mother, Jean Pilk, a nationally recognized portrait artist. An oak trestle table that Tyler and I designed with Huston and Company in Kennebunkport is stained the color of weathered driftwood. Hand-blown glass-and-rope pendant lights and a nautical-themed decoupage collection also nod to the nearby ocean and beaches.

From my upstairs bedroom, decorated in restful shades of pale taupe, pink, and green, I can smell the salty air and see Kettle Cove and Richmond Island in the distance. Falling asleep, I listen to the waves and feel the sea breezes, secure in the “net” I had faith would appear.