How it Feels to Live in a 650-year-old Wooden Home. 2008 Qtr 2
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How it Feels to Live in a 650-year-old Wooden Home.By Tom Miller |
Cozy. And more than a little strange. You stand in front of the home, and realize that this wooden home was actually built sometime in the middle ages, during the time of the crusades, the black plague, before the discovery of the New World. Way, way before Tivo.
That’s what I’d call a sustainable building. And did I mention it’s made of wood?
It’s a Black Forest farm house. In southwest Germany in the state of Baden Wurttemberg. Just 100 kilometers or so from the Swiss border, near a town called Saint Georgen, in a village called Wolfsgrund.
Volkmar Sachsse, my friend, purchased the home, which had been empty for about 30 years, and set about restoring it to live-in condition. The feeling you get now that it’s all fixed-up is cozy. But don’t go thinking about Hansel and Gretel gingerbread tiny and cozy. This is an original Black Forest working farm house. Three stories, built into the side of a hill. Over 100 ft. long and about 40 ft. wide. Made of wood.
The home was designed to last a long time, and to shelter the farmer, his family, the hired farm workers…and the animals. All in the farm house. Here’s how it worked: the home was divided in half on the first and second floors by a hallway, with one door serving as the front, and the other opening to the pasture.
On one side of the hallway, the farmer and his family lived. The space was dominated by a huge, circular ceramic hearth that provided radiant heat to the grandparents’ room, the farmer and his wife’s room and the kitchen on the first floor; plus, the heat from the chimney flue helped heat the upstairs rooms where the children slept.
On the other side of the hallway, the farm animals occupied the first floor (when I stay there, the four horses, assorted dogs and several cats provide the appropriate noises and smells to make it an authentic experience). Above the stables were the unheated rooms for the farm hands, who entered from exterior doors under a huge overhang. (Now the unheated second floor has been incorporated into a part of the living space, with a large office and family room. But it still retains all of the original walls, ceilings, windows and stable noises.)
The third floor is basically one large room for storing hay that is dropped through a chute above the stables to feed the livestock.
It’s truly an ingenious design. Built into the side of a hill means that no heavy lifting is necessary, as each level has easy access from ground. Walls are thick. Windows are small, and the extra air space between the inside panes and the outside panes provides plenty of insulation. The radiant heat from the tile hearth has a wonderful warming effect, even in cold weather (though today it is supplemented by gas heat).
When Volkmar was renovating the home some years ago with the help of his wife, Erika, and son Robin, he was determined to keep it as authentic as possible. All wood was milled within a few kilometers of his home. And when he asked about the warranty on some of the millwork, the millworker told him that if he painted or sealed the wood, there would be no warranty. But, if he left it unfinished, his great-great-grandchildren would be enjoying the wood he was getting ready to install.
Certainly, the roof and other parts of the home have been replaced over time. But the basic wooden structure is just as it was constructed. You can still see old carvings in the beams in the hayloft. Perhaps “magical” might be another way to describe it.
So, what’s the point in writing about a 650-year-old house when the issue at hand is 21st century sustainability? It’s certainly not to say that “they don’t build ‘em like they used to” or anything like that. After all, how many of us would like to sleep in the same unheated house with the farm animals?
Rather, for me it serves as a reminder that the homes we build for ourselves are important to us. They help define who we are. And they reflect our aspirations, hopes and dreams. Wouldn’t it be great if the homes that we build now will, in a few hundred years, be viewed as sustainable testaments to our practicality, our care for the environment and our responsibility to our great-great-grandchildren? (And don’t forget to carve your initials in the frame.)
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