6 minute read
Phoenix Rising
On land once ravaged by fire, a designer builds a new home that celebrates a rebirth—namely, of the salvaged materials used to construct it.
by Anicka Quin // photographs by Jon Adrian
When designer Geoff Orr purchased this property in the hills above the city of Penticton more than 10 years ago, there wasn’t much to see. A forest fire had ravaged the area 15 years previous—one of the worst in B.C.’s history—and the land was just recovering. Orr was also going through big changes himself: he’d left Vancouver to move to the Okanagan and open a new firm, Farout Developments, with a friend from school. Transforming this burned-out plot of land into its own kind of phoenix would become his passion over the next decade.
After a season of camping on the property in an old Airstream, Orr crafted a tiny toolshed-cum-cabin using dead trees harvested from the surrounding land. This temporary home was humble—no heat in the winters (“just a lot of blankets”)—but attractive, with floor-to-ceiling windows salvaged from another building, and a lofted sleeping area.
As time and money allowed, he began to envision, and build, the home that lives here now. “I wanted to test the limits of a lot of different materials,” says Orr. The first was a set of glulam beams recovered from a condemned SuperValu in downtown Penticton. The beams had been a part of a convex roof in that grocery store, but Orr flipped them for his own roofline, creating a dramatic, upturned curve.
It was the start of a design that would be constructed almost entirely from reclaimed materials. “By the time I went to put in the second floor,” says Orr, “I found some more beams. And people started to support it and help out.” Friends and neighbours alerted him to more materials that Orr could use, including fir posts and beams from the Penticton Golf Club, the Banff Arena and the Muriel Baxter school, buildings that were all demolished but now live on within Orr’s home.
Working with reclaimed fir had another advantage: because the wood has already spent decades in the elements, it’s stable—unlikely to twist or settle over time as newer materials do. Because of this, the glazing that runs floor to ceiling around the home could be set straight into the structure without intrusive frames, preserving open sightlines to the foothills surrounding the home.
The house is almost entirely open concept—even the second-floor master bedroom is lofted to the main space below. “It’s open concept to the outside as well,” says Orr. “Really, the house is composed of just beams and glass.” The living, kitchen and dining rooms all wrap around a large, rammed-earth, wood-burning fireplace that’s double-sided. The sunken living room is designed with built-in furniture: beams encircle the room, made cozy with cushions and pillows to create a favourite spot for both Geordie the cat and Coady the Vizsla.
Outside, Orr and his wife, Katharine, constructed what they refer to as “the beach”—an ideal gathering place for family and friends to hang out on nicer evenings, around a firepit. “We’re a little ways from the lake,” he says, “so we thought it would be nice to have a beach to hang out at.” Hand-constructed wood benches wrap around a sandy firepit, and the water feature has become a natural pond: though they initially excavated to create it, the pond now fills and refreshes on its own with rainwater from the roof and runoff from the land. It’s also home to 100 koi, donated from locals who found they had a few too many, and waste from the fish is used to fertilize the surrounding gardens. (Katharine is a manager at the Garden- Works in town, so she’s the green thumb of the house.)
Orr has since built three cabins on the property, which he rents out through Airbnb: the Rumspringa, Scouse and Shire cabins are under 10 square metres and are also constructed of reclaimed materials—including the glass and windows—and each features 270-degree views of the valley. There’s no heat or electricity, but the couple provide lanterns, and hot water bottles on cooler nights. “The intention is to unplug,” says Orr. “You’re communing with nature, so there’s no wifi either.”
Given the charming names for the cabins, it’s no surprise that the main home has its own moniker, too: Fuego, the Spanish word for fire. An ode to the forest-fire origins of the home, the name also plays out in the interior design: the ceiling is stained in a charcoal black, and the same shade is reflected in many of the decor accents. “It’s a home that’s risen out of the ashes,” says Orr. “It’s really about transformation and change.”