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Tranquil, Realized

In the trees, three pavilions take serenity to new levels

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BENJAMIN BENSCHNEIDER / THE SEATTLE TIMES "The original idea was that the Arnolds had a rock outcropping that they liked to hang out on. So we backed away from it and made the living, dining, kitchen pavilion behind it," says architect Jeffrey Luth. "That set up everything else. There's a ravine that heads down to the water. We didn't want to block that up with building. We wanted the front door near the living pavilion and the master bedroom on the other side of that ravine. To connect the pavilions we used the bridge." BENJAMIN BENSCHNEIDER / THE SEATTLE TIMES The bridge, a peaceful path between pavilions, ends at a staircase that leads down to the craft room. The ceiling is stained ash, the windows are fiberglass. There is radiant heat throughout the home. BENJAMIN BENSCHNEIDER / THE SEATTLE TIMES Not even the sink gets in the way of the tranquil wooded view from the bathroom. BENJAMIN BENSCHNEIDER / THE SEATTLE TIMES The dining room flows into the kitchen, and both lead directly to the outdoor terrace. "I like the idea of making a house look like three simple pitched-roof shapes: One over the living area, one over the bedroom and the other over the garage. The line of the ceiling runs right through the outside," Luth says. BENJAMIN BENSCHNEIDER / THE SEATTLE TIMES Dick Arnold wanted solid, and B.J. Arnold wanted peaceful. They both wanted Northwest Asian. And here it is, illustrated in the living room. "I would do a detail, and Dick would call me up and say 'Naw, that's too complicated.' And he and I would fax things back and forth until it was OK," Luth says. "He was a wonderful client to work with because he was so knowledgeable. Every detail was negotiated." BENJAMIN BENSCHNEIDER / THE SEATTLE TIMES This reading nook in the Arnolds' bedroom illustrates the goals of "serene" and "peaceful" they were after in their Orcas waterside home. "There isn't a room without a view," says B.J. Mushroom-taupe on walls, couches and chairs create a quiet canvas for the pops of color and detailed Asian textiles. "I'm a tauper," B.J. says. "I picked out a taupe years ago, and now I take it in and just say, 'Match this.' " BENJAMIN BENSCHNEIDER / THE SEATTLE TIMES The Arnolds wanted a pond, which sits in the front of the home. It flows underneath the flying bridge. From her overhead perch, B.J. can watch the fish in the front pond. The roof is metal, the framing TGI with steel tubes for structural support and the siding is cedar.

DICK AND B.J. Arnold are no rookies when it comes to building a house. This place on the edge of Orcas Island is their eighth, or ninth. It's hard to keep track.

But this is it.

This serene and solid house, with its three pavilions and tall walls of glass, is the one.

This is home.

"It's serene and tranquil — and we're too old to move," they say together, laughing. "But really it's the design, the setting, the other accessory buildings separate," Dick says.

"It just works," B.J. says.

The Arnolds have lived on Orcas for 18 years, and this is their second home there. They are well acquainted with the island groove — and off-season lack of it, where a closed sign might mean closed, or it could mean we-forgot-to-take-the-sign-down-but-everybody-knows-when-we're-open-anyway.

Their lot is long and narrow, about 143 feet wide and 1,480 feet long, a little more than five acres. It stops abruptly on a high bank with Cypress, Lummi and Blakely islands just beyond. Three connected pavilions make up their home. There is also a cheery purple guest cottage, a studio and shop on the property.

It's really an artists' colony for two busy retirees: Dick works with fused glass; B.J. makes jewelry, creates fiber arts and paints. She also enjoys potting around the garden. Recently their creative bent found them taking cooking lessons at Christina's, the small but famed Eastsound restaurant.

The house is 2,900 square feet with one bedroom and 2 ½ baths. It is intimate, full of nooks and crannies, unfolding through a flying bridge that connects the living and master-bedroom pavilions and then down some stairs to an office, a crafts room, a tiny powder room. Little surprises pop up along the path. This is a house of quiet symmetry, where the energy moves in and out, back and forth. Like breathing. The long view includes Mount Rainier on a crystal-clear day.

"Serene" and "peaceful" are the words the Arnolds keep coming back to in describing how they feel on their tip of the island. What isn't water, which includes three ponds and a waterfall, is deep woods.

"There isn't a room without a view," B.J. says. "Even the laundry room has a view." Sure enough, it does.

Dick, the civil engineer, credits Seattle architect Jeffrey Luth of Soldano Luth Architects and his siting of the home. From the living pavilion they look due east and take the brunt of the southeast and northeast winds. Yet the house sits rock solid on a big rock that protrudes over the water.

That is no small praise, considering that Luth is the first architect the Arnolds have ever hired. They designed all previous houses themselves. "We were looking for Northwest Asian," B.J. says, and a friend gave them Luth's name.

The Arnolds also wanted separate living spaces in separate buildings, but without the weather. Luth came up with a flying bridge as the horizontal tie that binds. Vertically, an elevator prevents them from having to tote groceries up the stairs. For the interiors, B.J. turned to Jennifer Wilder of J. Rose Wilder Design at the Seattle Design Center. B.J. had once worked for an interior designer. "I don't take it seriously," she says. "But I love to play with the house."

She does have fun. With the color purple. It's her favorite, and she works it into pillows, throws, wall hangings, rugs, ottomans, even the office file cabinets and the watering can. B.J. is quite committed to it. She's had purple carpeting in her home since the 1970s. Purple yarn billows from her knitting basket.

A mushroom-taupe background on walls, couches, chairs and bedspreads are a quiet canvas for the pops of purple. Pairings with red and orange add exotic cheer. All the hues are given dignity and gravity by the Asian pieces throughout the house, collected by the couple on trips to Hong Kong and Japan.

The Arnolds just could not get enough Asian influence in their Northwest home, Luth says. "Make it more Asian! Make it more Asian!" he recalls his client chanting.

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