Some of the tree-embowered farm houses have such a restful look and often embody such true lines of beauty that it seems almost sacrilegious to change them. On the other hand, some of them are so ill adapted to farm life, so unhandy and uncomfortable, that radical changes should be made. After the farmer has prospered, he naturally has a desire to build a new house or to transform the old one, not only to secure needed conveniences, but that greater beauty and a more luxurious home may be secured. It is difficult for him to find adequate help to solve the problem if he keeps the cost within reasonable limits. He may know where to begin; he seldom knows where he will end. Usually the first thought should be to preserve the old home, or the greater part of it. The architect is almost certain to advise demolition and the erection of a new house, asserting that the new structure will be no more expensive than the remodeling of the old, which may or may not be true. But he does not always know what is best, as he is usually unfamiliar with the farmers’ needs and traditions. Sacred associations usually cluster round the old farm house; every room and door and window may be associated with some epoch in life’s history. Through yonder door came the happy bride a half century ago; in yonder room the children were born;—every nook and corner has some tale to tell, some happy association. We cross oceans and mountains to view the birthplaces and homes (which happily sometimes are preserved and held sacred) of a Burns and a Shakespeare. Then is it not well to preserve the farm houses, where possibly are the birthplaces of many “Cromwells guiltless of their country’s blood.”
The first thought, then, should be to save and improve the old house, not to destroy it. But most of these farm houses are either too low or too high: that is, they are neither one- nor two-storied, but a story and a half. A two-story wing may often be placed either at the front or side, and may serve to give dignity to the house; or a lower room or two, a few comfortable chambers, and an entrance hall or vestibule may be added. Such addition would make it possible to remove the low, flat-roofed, leaky kitchen to more appropriate quarters. The formerly unused parlor might be transformed into a living-room, the former living-room into a dining-room, and the old dining-room into a kitchen. The details by which this evolution is made must, of necessity, be worked out by those who are to occupy the house. That home is enjoyed best which is planned by those who have to pay the bills; therefore, I shall not go into detail of arrangement. My object will have been accomplished if I succeed in creating a greater respect and love for the houses of our ancestors, and shall have stayed the hand of the iconoclast. Any one can destroy, but few can create.
So reasoned the college graduate on his return to the old homestead. The old house ([Fig. 27]) was improved by making slight additions and some minor changes. Even the green window blinds and the white siding were not disturbed, only brightened by the use of old-fashioned, unadulterated paints. The major effort was along the line of improving the live stock and making the acres more productive, soon resulting in surplus funds, which were used to erect the large and commodious barn. Simultaneously with the barn came the icehouse, and the windmill for pumping water. The observant passer-by instinctively knows that here are all the outward indications of morality, intelligence, and a rational and progressive system of agriculture. If the family be judged by what is seen in this picture of the farm above ground, the conclusion must be reached that here is a true home.
How different the impression is when we look through the open roadside gate in the next picture ([Fig. 28])! Lack of intelligent purpose and of neatness and thrift is written upon every structure, and is especially shown by the want of any logical plan in the arrangement of the numerous small structures. The house, which stands just to the right of the beautiful tree, is modern in many respects, but the front is supported by numerous Grecian columns nearly twenty feet long, as inappropriate and as useless for a farm-house as is a coon’s tail on a lady’s hat.
Fig. 27. The old homestead.
Fig. 28. Lack of intelligent purpose.
Instinctively we judge people at first sight, and largely by the clothes they wear and the manner of wearing them. So we judge, and often very accurately, of families by the houses which shelter them and the objects which surround them. One can easily tell much of the character of a man by the style and tip of his hat. What noble deeds, what lofty aspirations in this day and age of plenty and opportunity, should we expect to have birth and fruition in the house shown in illustration [Fig. 29]! This building is not located in the country, but in the suburbs of a small, prosperous inland city. Unfortunately, this village is unlike many beautiful country villages and small cities in western New York in which there are no poor people. What a depressing effect this building must have on the well bred country lad who passes it weekly on his journey to and from the post office!
But how easy to go from one extreme to the other! Too many farm houses stand alone, unrelieved by noble trees or by modest planting of appropriate shrubbery, looking in the distance at the setting sun like lofty, whitewashed sepulchres. On the other hand, the house may be made dark and damp by over-planting. The house shown in [Fig. 30] is a comfortable, fairly attractive stone structure, but is made gloomy and damp by the superabundance of evergreen and deciduous trees which fill all the space, barely thirty feet, between the house and the highway.