Texting with elk (a post from our designer)

Written by AZ architect & designer, Rob Ludden

views facing north to Whitefish Mountain.

Brad and Sydney’s great narration of the evolution of the design from a “plane-centric” apartment to a true home is spot on. Especially the few days (weeks, months?) deciding on that 5-degree rotation on the site location. And the compass. Too much fun.

For me, it began with a suspiciously vague email (to Terri and me while we were traveling):

“Next Spring.” Ha. Well, we were only one year off, perhaps.

With an “always interested in discussing ideas” reply, we kicked off a fun romp of a design journey which has been a whole lot of fun to navigate with Sydney and Brad. By the way, it went way beyond a ‘brain pick’.

The result is a place that embodies the personalities of Brad and Sydney, and is grounded in the place they have chosen to make home.

In thinking about the latest iteration, there are several embedded ideas which will help to understand some of the big moves we will see as the house is realized. Here I get a bit esoteric. No apologies.

Foremost, it is all about the view. Brad could not stop pounding on the view to the mountains. It reminded me of the concept of the pueblo town square. A space where the wall is the distant mountains as is the river/lake, which everyone knows. Sometimes over the horizon and unseen, but always part of our lives. Not the artificial wall of any room, our world is defined by a connection to the land. This is the place where we live.

As we worked to realize this idea, the walls began to disappear.

Then, suddenly Brad texted me from one of his many, many unsuccessful elk hunts. As amazed as I was, being a non-hunter, that you actually texted the elk in order to hunt them, it occurred to me that we were also creating a camp. Here one can lie in bed at night or sit by the fire and look out at a night sky full of stars. In the morning you see the sun light the peaks. Very cool. Texting under the stars.

A scene from one of Brad and syd’s backpacking trips. camping served as inspiration to create the feeling of indoor-outdoor living throughout the house.

Well, until the night train rumbles through, whistle blowing.

The house is also a gathering place. Friends and family arrive, sequencing through the Foyer and an antechamber and emerging into the Great Room, all with glances to the views beyond. Now christened the “Viking Hall”, the great room is an undefined space in which gatherings are held, meals are prepared and eaten, fireside chats are had, movies are watched, all while glancing lovingly at the hanger housing that additional family member, Brad’s plane.

Now that I think about it, where exactly is that plane, Brad?

The great room (aka the “viking hall’. Shown without the kitchen island and furniture, of course.

We now have a gathering place in the field. To anchor the design, the devil is in the details and we need a set of rules. Modern Rustic provides the guidelines. The spaces are all about clean lines. A stage background against which all the wonderful clutter (all perfectly arranged, I hasten to add) of daily life is featured. The surfaces are softened and also animated with art, lighting, furniture. Sydney and Brad are selecting wood cabinetry, woven light shades to warm the space. Furniture is next.

The light and shadows of the sun through the south window above the sink countertop will clock the day. A sundial of sorts. In winter, the low sun penetrates almost all the way to the north wall of the great room. The Sun Room warms through those serious windows. Albeit for those short days. Very Scandinavian.

The Sun Room’s South Facing windows will let in a lot of light and warmth. The East facing window has view of the great northern.

south-facing windows of the Great room let in light. Sydney and Brad plan to build a big farmhouse table to serve as the kitchen island.

In the warm season, (all 5 months of it?) the windows open to catch the breezes and the whole house airs and cools. The sliding wall of the great room opens (toward the hanger….) for many gatherings to be held on the patio. Taking the west wall of the Viking Hall outside. So the west wall of the central plaza is….the Hanger. Very esoteric.

Back view of the house showing the walls of windows that open up to the backyard and patio

I could go on about the imminent “Hanger club” (the future space built out of the hangar itself). However, that is all Brad’s, although he and I did align on the important selection of the floor urinal that will be installed. The Hanger will be a fun space, perhaps even including movie nights. 

Which will be important, because I am not convinced there is an actual airplane. Kind of like Brad and the Elk. Do either really exist?

aerial view of the lot showing the placement of the house, hangar, and shared runway for common access to the strip.

final floorplan for the house!

The land.

Sydney walking in the field the very first day we discovered it (Sept 11, 2018)

On February 22, 2019 at 9am I wrote one of the biggest checks of my life. We had received some news I’d been eagerly waiting for. The title for the land I had been arduously working on (jumping through the legal hoops of development, city meetings, and trying to understand the regulations around land divisions) had finally been put in my name. But on that day, what I actually felt was a little annoyance. Annoyed that it took SO long…. Or that it felt like it took so long. Maybe that was just my impatience, because this piece of land was so special. A dream property. Literally a dream, because when I first discovered this undeveloped land alongside Whitefish’s Airport – a grass landing strip that could provide endless opportunities to backcountry adventure just steps from my house – there was no way I thought it could be possible to build a home there.   

It all began with passion. A passion for backcountry aviation, for the town and community of Whitefish, for all the adventures that exist in and around this beautiful corner of Norwest Montana, and a passion to someday own my dream home here.

At the end of last summer, Sydney and I were driving back into town from a weekend spent in the North Fork and I decided to take the scenic backroad. I’ve gone this way many times before, but on this day, we noticed a brand-new spec home being built on the far corner of fallow land that used to be an old farm. This land, I knew, bordered Whitefish’s only grass airstrip that I had flown into a dozen times but had no idea that anyone could build out there! Right then, the seed of an idea was planted about someday owning a piece of that land. The dream: a place with views of Glacier Park, Big Mountain, and the Whitefish range.

Whitefish is a small mountain town 20 miles from Kalispell, the place I grew up, and I moved back here in 2015. After spending 10 years in Colorado and traveling the world, it was time to come home. I learned how to fly right when I moved to Vail and it’s since become my favorite passion. So of course, one of the first things I did when I moved back to Montana was start exploring the backcountry skies. Whitefish has long been home to a sleepy little grass landing strip (58S) that, until recently, was just outside the city. That all began to change when Vic, a local developer, purchased the barren farmland that bordered the strip and began the process to get it annexed into our city limits. His goal was to get the land subdivided and sold off in 6 different parcels ranging from 2.5-4.9 acres each. While this was already in motion that day we drove past, it was all unbeknownst to me.

As fate would have it, a few days later I was out at the local watering hole, The Great Northern Bar (aka “The No No”) and ran into James, a local acquaintance. He mentioned he had just purchased some of the land from Vic and was planning to subdivide and sell it. I was ecstatic!

That next morning, I had breakfast with my good friend and realtor, Will MacDonald, and recounted the story. He said, “Let’s go take a look at it!” After filling up on breakfast burritos, we headed to the strip. Upon seeing James’ land, I realized right away that it wasn’t going to work – there wasn’t any access to the runway. But we walked around. I was immediately drawn to a piece of land nearby the windsock that bordered the strip. I just walked right to it. It felt right. I stood there taking it all in and said, “Will, I’m not interested in any piece of land but the one right here that I’m standing on. Can you find out if there’s any way I would ever be able to own this?” Not knowing who owned it, what plans were already in motion for it, or if it would ever become for sale, Will went to work.

Two days later, Will called. “Well, I have some good news and bad news. The good news is, Vic owns that land you want and is planning to try to get it annexed and subdivided. The bad news is, there’s no guarantee that will happen, when that will happen, what the price is going to be, and whether or not you’ll even be the lucky guy who gets it.”

Well, I just blocked out the bad news. There was still hope and I just knew right then that the universe was on my side.

Fast-forward through the next few months. They looked a lot like this: mixed feedback, a rollercoaster of weekly meetings, city hearings, reading through documents, calls with the state of Montana, filings, calling everyone with questions, and thousands of emails. But sure enough, just before 2018 came to an end, the subdivision was approved, and the dream was about come true. Happy New Year!