A Vision Soars

Above the Skagit Valley, old meets new with a fabulous view

MARY WHITON lives on the edge. The edge of a ledge, actually.

Perched high on a bluff over the all-things-green Skagit River Valley, Whiton's house looks like it just might take flight. The winged roof stretches skyward, waiting for a good gust of wind.

That's just what Anacortes architect Brooks Middleton had in mind. He sketched "with an eye for the air." Whiton was, after all, a flight attendant.

Tucked among a growing neighborhood of new homes, Whiton's place looks more modern than the others but doesn't give up its wonders from the street. Once inside the front door, however, it's got a real "top of the world, Ma!" feeling to it. That winged-roof tilt gives Whiton three tiers of dining-room windows from floor to ceiling on three sides in the room that is closest to the edge. It's like being outside.

"The dining room feels like the cockpit of an airplane," Middleton says.

It certainly does, and with only first-class accommodations behind it. Sitting on the living-room couch with Eric Clapton having a go at the guitar in the background, one has to ask "what?" and "huh?" a lot because that view out those windows is hypnotic. The kitchen, living and dining rooms are open, yet intimate.

The goal was to give every room (and bathtub) that view. And Whiton is not easily impressed in this way.

"I lived a block off the ferry in Edmonds," she says, "but this view of the valley and hills is my favorite view ever; the light, fog, colors in the fall."

Glancing around to soaring spaces punctuated with weathered wood and serious steel, Whiton says, "I have always wanted to build as long as I can remember. I wanted something that was clean but simple, but not cold.

"I think of this house as 'old meets new.' "

The two shake hands in the chunky old fir beams used inside. No has-been timber goes to waste if Middleton can help it. Giving the old lumber new life is a signature maneuver, and its use here adds warmth and simple elegance to edges and corners.

Also, much of the 'round-the-world furniture was handed down from a Merchant Marine uncle. She calls the style "recycle central."

"I wanted all the spaces to be usable," Whiton says, echoing the sentiments of many new home owners. Right before hooking up with Middleton, an enthusiastic Whiton took design courses at the Art Institute of Seattle.

"I'm the arbiter of taste for my sisters. I can do this for someone else, but it's impossible to do for yourself."

Building the house was "an education no school could ever give you," Whiton says. "We saw all this great stuff in school, and I'm thinking, how can I get this on my budget?

"When the contractor saw that there were pocket doors he said, 'Uh-oh.' But he was able to get everything at the local hardware store."

So, what's Whiton's favorite space?

She's tempted to say the kitchen/dining room. But then again . . .

"I come from a big family and food is love, so I needed a good dining space.

"I had 23 people here baking cookies, my Croatian grandmother's recipe. It was wonderful." But when 22 fewer folks are in the kitchen, Whiton figures she usually uses only 2 to 10 percent of her supplies there. A huge pantry holds the rest.

"And I asked myself, why does the island have all this stuff on it? Where else can I put it?"

The answer was in the "clutter catcher," a corridor behind the kitchen wall that holds the pantry, a closet, desk with a computer and the laundry. It's a place for the mail, keys and coats. Close the door and it's gone.

Her master suite sits off that corridor, tucked behind another door.

"I was thinking the other day about what my favorite room is," says Whiton. "And, you know, it's whatever room I'm in."

Rebecca Teagarden is assistant editor of Pacific Northwest magazine. Benjamin Benschneider is a magazine staff photographer.