Riffin' on Redwood

Back at the Old Homestead in Echo Park, I realize the simplicity of Lautner’s intent: Bring Nature in, Float the roof on paired, angled 2x8 “V” supports down the middle of the house, and Let There Be Slab!

So simple. The foundation is a “T” of red cement rectangles, roughly oriented North to South on the hillside lot, to maximize the astonishing views of the ocean in the Southwest, Forrest Lawn in Glendale to the Northwest, and the Griffith Park Planetarium and Hollywood sign to the West. Mornings bring the Eastern light in slowly, buffered by the hillside dotted with pine and eucalyptus behind the house.

The redwood and glass outer shell maximizes the light, while offering the best possible cross ventilation when the sliding glass floor-to-ceiling doors are slid open.

On hot summer nights, our mom wraps us in wet sheets, sets up our pillows on the redwood chaise lounges and opens both sets of doors. Sometimes, she plugs-in the big floor fan just to move the stultifying August air. We don’t have air conditioning, nor do we need it, except for the occasional Santa Ana heat waves.

Redwood siding wraps the inner and outer walls where the glass stops. Dad puts up a ballet bar for me outside the dining room when I turn eight. The glass door serves as my mirror so I can check for correct alignment. The bar also is perfect to grab while turning around on roller skates to go back the other way - sweeping eucalyptus pods out of my path with a broom.

Each closet in the house has a redwood bi-fold door, or pair of bi-folds on the bigger closets. Except for the linen closet outside the bathroom, they are all set down the middle of the house. There’s a six inch raised-platform floor, and the roof of each closet is set a foot or so below the lowest part of the “V” shaped ceiling, allowing the light from the closet to radiate upwards onto the expanse of textured white, while simultaneously lighting the interior of the closet.

The redwood is alive, glowing and burnished with wax, and it softens the angles and hard textures of glass and cement. I love this wood and pet it as I walk through, bidding adieu to my childhood home. 

I remember the story, but not the event: Age two, wearing socks, holding a child’s tin shovel, leaning against this redwood wall where the upright piano now rests. My slippery socks and polished red cement floor conspire to make my feet slip out from under me. The shovel catches my neck. Mom, Dad, and brother Mel think I’ve broken my neck. I lie still on the floor long enough that they panic and pick me up. I’m  bleeding. They pack me into the Desoto with wet bath towels. I cry all the way to Irving J. King’s practice of General Medicine. Perhaps there are stitches or simple butterfly tape. I don’t remember - even the story - about how it got put back together.

On a recent trip to New York, Mark and I sleep at his sister’s house. The lighting in her bathroom is just right for me to see a small scar which I don’t remember ever seeing before! Oh! The story must be true.

Back at the old homestead in my mind. I say good bye to all such memories of hurt. I’ll keep the memories of tree-climbing, perfecting roller skating moves on the patio, practicing giving birth to dolls with Angelika and Kitty Cooper in the playhouse, Halloween haunted houses built with neighborhood friends, sliding down the dry fox-tail-covered hillsides on cardboard, dirt clod fights, mining for clay in the sandstone, forts we built in the weeds, flying kites on Kite Staff, the rope swing hanging from the tree angled out over the hill out back that made it feel as if we could really fly, and making forays into Elysian Park by way of the Baxter Street Stairs.

Good bye, dear house.

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Watching my dear granddaughter make memories on her redwood deck and climbing structure in the back yard this weekend gives me great pleasure. We draw chalk pictures and words. She climbs and swings and slides. 

She and her Gran'Pun and I plant Petunias, Sweet Peas, beans, African Daisies, watermelon, Stevia, tomatoes, Spearmint and Chocolate Mint (can you believe it?) in pots just off the deck. She will water them faithfully, or not. In either case, she will learn what's required for living things to grow: water, sun, food, and love. Despite the occasional redwood splinter from that aging deck, SHE is thriving!