Meet Our New Board President, Ed Hodges
By Ed Hodges
All I did was read an article in an airplane magazine about a glorious rustic hotel in an amazing setting, on a lake with mountain and valley views, and a turn of the century golf course. Departing the plane and neglecting to take the magazine I promptly forgot the name, but the compelling image of the place was imprinted on my mind. Architects are visual people. I surmised that if I just went to the Adirondacks with some research, I would surely come across the hotel I remembered, as it was famous enough to be in a magazine. I set out with my wife in the early nineties with a plan to travel the central Adirondacks to see as many of the great camps as I could by car, boat, or foot and find that hotel.
At the end of the week, we reached Paul Smith’s, famous for his hotel and hospitality, and we found a college? Northbrook Lodge was nearby and there we discovered that another camp just down the road known as White Pine Camp had just opened for tours. At the gatehouse I found the Adirondack Architectural Heritage (AARCH) brochure and made the decision to join. The hotel remained elusive.
Some 20 years later, the spring newsletter arrived in the mail and in it was a request for people interested in being on the board. I sent Steven an email indicating my interest and several weeks later he called and after a chat, he asked me to write a page or two on why I wanted to be on the board. What follows is my response to him:
My interest in Adirondack architecture is rooted first in the fact that I am an architect, second that I am a woodworker, and lastly, that special places often need advocacy.
As an architect, I am attuned to the components of place making and building articulation. I have a deep appreciation for the way Adirondack architecture harmonizes with its environment and accommodates human activities. I have practiced vernacular architecture as a professional and believe that the response to climate and the use of materials make places unique. That the architecture of the American southwest is different than the Florida Keys, even though both climates are hot, but one is dry and the other is humid. I was exposed to rustic architecture initially through the book, “Parks and Recreation Structures” by Albert Good published in 1930’s by the National Park Service. It references the architecture of the Adirondacks as inspiration for the style adapted for the national parks. Subsequently, I found Harvey Kaiser’s Book “Great Camps of the Adirondacks” which was the first real detailed exposure to the Adirondack style, which I read cover to cover.
Although I had vacationed for years with friends on Loon Lake, near Chestertown, I had not yet made the connection to what was around me. Harvey Kaiser’s book became the basis of trip to see as many of the camps as possible. I became a voracious consumer of all things about the camps. A great camps weekend at Sagamore, led by John Fruehauf gave me a foundation on which to expand my knowledge. We made our first trip into Santanoni shortly after AARCH got involved and visited White Pine Camp shortly after it was first open to the public. These events led to my membership in AARCH around 1995 so that even though I was living in Boston, I could stay connected to something I had a passion about. I recognize that, to use the title of one of the AARCH slide shows, “There is more to Adirondack Architecture than Great Camps,” but that has been my major interest and exposure to date, and I am sure there is much more to explore.
My first job as a 16-year-old was as a carpenter’s helper. I loved it. I worked construction all through high school and college, starting a design/build company with two of my teachers which paid my way through school. While an architect’s job is design, my greatest satisfaction is building things. While in Boston, I have renovated a Beacon Hill flat and am now at work on 1895 shingle style house in a renovation/restoration doing much of the work myself. This background leads me to appreciate the woodworking skill of Ben Muncil and others who brought the buildings to life. There is nothing more beautiful than the Topridge boathouse, elegant, exquisitely crafted and rustic at the same time. Many of the structures are done without architects and there is much to be learned from the expression founded in the practical experience of the carpenter. My visit to White Pine Camp led to my use of “live edge” (Brainstorm siding) on a private residence in Boothbay Harbor that was published in New England Home magazine with the title “Teaming with Nature” because it was designed to blend into the landscape rather than dominate it. I am fascinated by things like the process and expression of birch bark siding and how long it lasted when seasoned correctly. On my first visit to Santanoni, with its collapsed boathouse, I told my wife that I would like to rebuild the boathouse. I was happy when Michael Frenette was hired to do it and admired his work on one of my visits. It is still on my bucket list to work on restoration work at Santanoni if the opportunity exists.
Last week, my sister-in-law said that her family was going to Colorado and her daughter wanted to see a concert at Redrocks. I said that it was an amazing venue and commented that it would not be built today, and she asked what I meant. This is third reason I am interested in AARCH’s mission. Like many of the great public works projects carried out in early part of the century, Redrocks was constructed by the CCC and WPA labor for public enjoyment. Today environmentalists push agenda that nature is better in its natural state, a similar idea to the “forever wild” provision of the Adirondack Park law that has led to the destruction of many buildings. They would advocate that it would be travesty to alter the natural landscape, but in fact, it is this synergy of man and nature that makes Redrocks what it is, a stunning and inspiring place to see a performance. People don’t forget it. Another example is Frank Lloyd Wright’s Fallingwater. The experience of the falls is better because the house there. It enhances the place, accentuates the drama. Without the house, it is another beautiful place in the woods not so distinguished from many others. With the house it is memorable experience committed to the mind. I felt this way about Santanoni when I cross country skied in during the winter and skied out on the lake. It was so cold from the frozen lake and the surrounding mountains creating a temperature inversion, but it was peaceful and the fact that the building was there was comforting. We used its sheltering porch for a snack and some hot chocolate. Santanoni needed to be saved and people need to experience it.
Like the example of Redrocks above, many of the camps might not be built today for any number of reasons albeit financial or environmental, but we have them and they allow us the opportunity to experience this synergy of man and nature. A person may only experience it once, but that one time lets you know what is possible and when you know what is possible, you strive to reach a higher resolution or advocate for a better solution. I believe this is the value of these places and this is why I am a member of AARCH and interested in utilizing my talents to both contribute to and learn more about the architecture of the Adirondacks.
This remains the essence of what guides me in leading the Board today. I am a bit shocked, a lot humbled, and more excited about the opportunity to follow Dean as President. Sometime later Steven told me, “After I read what you wrote, it occurred to me I should ask every board member to write down why they want to be on the board. In ten years, I have yet to meet any other board member who has written their own “Why”, but I have met a group of wonderful, fun, talented, and passionate people who share a love of the Adirondacks, its communities, nature, and architecture.
This year at the Summer Celebration, I related this story to Rich Frost, and he humorously cleared it all up for me in saying, “we had to make sure you weren’t coming from the big city to tell us what to do.” And while I joke about getting lost looking for a hotel, it was in fact finding a passion and a group of people to share it with and to whom I commit to “help and not tell” in moving through the next phase of AARCH’s growth, continuing its advocacy, raising its profile, and endowing its future.
And if you are still wondering about the hotel that started this journey, you can check out the piece I wrote for AARCH in 2017, “How I Got to Lake Kora: A Case of Mistaken Rusticity.”
