Plural Marriage Homes: Is there a shortage in the Somerset Hills?

Plural marriages are nothing new. Multiple spousal arrangements are biblical.

The infamous Cain, after slaying his brother Able, begged God for mercy and then went on to live an eventful life--sharing it with more than one wife and several children in tow.

Centuries later, home buyers can direct real estate agents to dive into the MLS (Multiple Listing Service) database and not come up for air until finding homes that fit their specified criteria.

"We want new construction on three acres with six bedrooms,"  a couple might say to a real estate agent. "And it must have a breakfast nook on the east side of the house, graced by morning sun. As for the public spaces, each room must overlook a water view."

Choices seem endless for home buyers today, but do not always meet increasingly specific demands. For example, in scanning the boxes to check for current MLS listings, not a single space is provided to accommodate plural marriages.

Maybe I should've bought Blaisden, the last Showcase House in the Somerset Hills. But it was snatched up even before crowds lined up to buy tickets to gawk at each room.

That settles it. I have no choice now. I must have a custom home built. After all, my five husbands and I deserve suitable quarters.    --OpenHouseScribe

Is the "Sleeping Porch" Gone with the Wind?

Rhett Butler should have made his presence known in the Somerset Hills of New Jersey,

If he had, he might have stumbled upon an open house in Bernards Township that boasts a sleeping porch off the master bedroom.

A porch? Designed for sleeping?

Long before air conditioning was invented, Scarlet  herself would have swooned on a hot summer night in New Jersey, where the humidity can become more oppressive than Mr. O'Hara's overseer.

Whether a home was a formidable cotton plantation or a more every day abode, the sleeping porch was a common feature throughout the deep south.

Traditionally, ceilings and overhangs were painted blue, the color believed to be the same as in Heaven. As with many traditions, beliefs come and go. And so have the modern take on the need for the sleeping porch.

Still, I cannot help wondering if the sound of crickets whistling through a sleeping porch screen would be more soothing than air conditioning whooshing through a squeaky air vent. --OpenHouseScribe

Design Bigamist Blends Classic and New

I admit, I am in love with two distinctly different design styles: classic and new. Does this make me a "design bigamist?"

I cannot commit to one or the other. I swoon at the sight of a fireplace hand-carved two centuries ago. Merely standing in its presence immediately transports me back in time. I embrace the journey.

And then I step into the next open house, only to be mesmerized by the sense of freedom simple lines inspire. With much joy, I breath in and out, admiring the lack of clutter, feeling somehow peaceful in open spaces with high ceilings filled with natural light from a bank of windows adorned only by their stark frames.

Who knew naked glass would be more appealing than custom-designed window treatments in silk or damask? 

It occurred to me that I exist in a time warp, where one century folds over another. Some people may sit defiantly in one or the other, embracing the traditional, honoring central hall colonials and interior design fashions from the past.

And then others are more focused on the future, and have stripped away any remnants of days gone by, eclipsing history with an eye for exploring what may be coming next.

At last, I believe I finally sighted a compromise to my dilemma. A fusion of my favorite elements is entirely possible, at least in a master bathroom.

Note the contemporary influence in the simple lines of the soaking tub, one whose forerunner had clawed feet. The sconces on the walls are also streamlined, but sconces are hardly new creations. No matter the shape, they nod to an era long ago gone by.

While bathrooms have evolved from functional nooks to elaborate  mini-spas designed to indulge the senses, there is one facet of this one that fascinates me and another that leaves me cold.

I am fond of how the organic wall lends the room a primal quality found only in nature. Somehow, it is the perfect solution for pulling together two opposing design styles, the classic and the new. But I am sometimes dulled by neutrals so pervasive today. Occasionally, I long for the past where interior designers presented enormous wallpaper books to their clients. Flipping page after page showed samples with coordinating fabric for a window treatment and shower curtain. But in today's home, glass--frosted, architectural and clear--have replaced that ritual.

Pity. I miss the scent of fresh wallpaper paste wafting through yellow stripes and coordinating floral fabric. --OpenHouseScribe

Unpaved Road Leads to Bucolic Bliss

I turned onto Lamington Road in Bedminster, thankful to escape the four lane traffic on Route 202/206. Just past the Clarence Dillon Public Library, only an occasional pickup truck would be in sight, often with a horse trailer in tow. With any luck, I'd see a horse and rider trot by, with no need for a trailer at all.

I was in God's country now. Or maybe Noah's. There were enough animals around to fill an ark.

I passed one horse farm after the next--two of them for sale. Some were clearly custom built within the past couple of decades, while others had deeper roots. I spotted a plaque predating a home prior to the American Revolution in 1776. Another sign announced "Sheep & Lambs For Sale." Still another proclaimed "Preserved Farmland," thanks to The Gackstatter Foundation.

I wasn't in the market for a farm, historic or new. And I certainly wouldn't know what to do with a sheep or lamb. But I did know the Trump National Golf Club was in this neck of the woods, about three miles down as the crow flies. Regardless of how a crow actually flies, rumor has it that the club baring the Trump name offers a helicopter landing pad.

Pity. My helicopter was in for repairs. I needed to rely on my car.

For all the daydreaming the Somerset Hills inspires, I had to put it aside. I was on another mission to preview a home new to the market. I had to stop the thought that kept running through my mind:

'Shoud I be wearing riding boots? Or golf cleats?'

No question about it, I was heading in a promising direction. Then again, I could be wrong. My GPS announced I was to turn onto an unpaved road. Was its compass broken? Was I still in New Jersey? Or had I magically arrived in the middle of Iowa?

I was tempted to turn back and preserve the treads on my car's tires. But the farther I traveled on Cedar Ridge, the more intriguing my adventure became...

In all their majestic glory, a flock of wild turkeys was swooping in for a landing in an open pasture--one that served as the front yard of a home that could have been a cousin of Scarlet's beloved Tara. Most promising of all, dotting the landscape were more impressive homes, without and without a large red barn or equestrian facility, and not a single sheep or lamb in sight.

Ah, yes. Unpaved road or not, this neighborhood was one I would not snub. It must rank high as a best kept secret of unique and desirable locations in the Somerset Hills, if privacy and nature are sought.

My ultimate destination was a slightly more modest abode by comparison to its neighbors, but appealing nonetheless. Its rustic charm was fitting for the blissfully bucolic setting. At first sight, it was reminiscent of a farmhouse transported from somewhere in a European countryside. Ironically, the listing agent said the owners were European themselves, originally attracted to the house by that very same trait. 

Inside, close attention was made in every nook and cranny to assure modern updates blend seamlessly with mid-century features. They will please the next buyer of the property, as will the architect's blueprints that are all ready for possible expansion.

In this setting, there's plenty of room for that without ruffling the feathers of wild turkeys. --OpenHouseScribe