In preparing to renovate our home — planning, as we were, to replace most of the existing structure — the very first thing I did was reach out to a handful of local architects. A few didn’t return my call, a few were too busy to take on new work, and one agreed to meet with us to walk the property and listen to what we had in mind.
He was a nice enough man, born in Vero Beach and a life-long resident. He spoke at length about our gated community and some boyhood adventures he had here. A serious surfer at one time, our beach had been a favorite, until something changed (I can’t recall what he said) both here and along Vero’s coastline, ruining what was great. And were we aware, he asked — grabbing Jim’s attention — that right offshore, say two hundred yards straight out, there was an enormous lobster hole where locals routinely harvested giants bugs, dozens at a time? At least, he qualified, it used to be that way, although he hadn’t gone in decades.
Unfortunately, our project didn’t interest him. He remembered when our house was built. He had driven past it a few times and noted that it hadn’t aged well. Touring the rooms, he agreed that the floor plan left a lot to be desired. Currently, he was midstream in an oceanfront project for a wealthy family. Without saying it, I knew that he viewed our modest undertaking as beneath him.
Honestly, I wasn’t surprised by his indifference. Still, I had hoped that he might volunteer a few brilliant insights, pearls of wisdom, or something of the sort to make his visit worth our time. He offered none.
Afterwards, I was at a loss about where to turn. Perhaps try to find a newly-minted architect just getting started? Or go ahead and meet with a design-build firm — although, in my mind, I first wanted to concentrate on design, figuring out a number of key challenges, before giving any thought to construction. Combining the two made me feel rushed.
So I did nothing for a time . . .
Then one day, online, I came across an advertisement for a residential design firm located in Merritt Island. The website provided enough promising information to prompt me to call the office and make an appointment for an introductory conversation. We met with the owner/ principal designer and a second designer. There was also an office manager, but that was it: a small outfit in a converted house a few lots from the local airport.
The owner, we learned, had become interested in drafting in high school, going on to earn an A.S. degree in Drafting and Design Technology. He had completed hundreds of varied residential projects by this point, his portfolio maintained in a thick, unwieldy, three-ring binder. He categorized his work into four types: remodels, additions, custom homes, and stock plans. The actual product he delivered was large-format, permit ready, color construction plans with all necessary drawings and details to build from.
Once completed by him, the construction plans were forwarded to a third-party engineer for review/redlines/approval.
His process for working with clients was largely identical to what an architect would do. It started with a design phase, during which he would go on-site as needed; we would methodically identify and capture our goals, ideas, budget parameters; from which he would produce an initial set of drawings. In the customer review phase, drawings would be altered to incorporate our feedback, refine solutions, and add detail, undergoing as many rounds as necessary to produce a set of documents that we would formally approve. These documents would then be translated into construction plans, reviewed and approved by an engineer. Finally, he would charge an hourly rate.
Jim and I were sufficiently impressed to move forward, initiating the design phase the very next week. My first request was for a set of plans for adding a second floor on the west side of the house, comprising two bedrooms, two bathrooms, ample closets, a game room, and staircase. I had toyed with this idea as a way to provide guests (and possibly future grandchildren) with their own private space, located — not incidentally — on the opposite side of the house from our bedroom. After two months of back and forth, I shelved the idea on the grounds that we’d end up with as big a home as the one we had left to downsize in Florida.
Now focused, I needed to completely change the existing floor plan for what amounted to a third of the house, centering on the kitchen and a second duplicative family room. I knew what I wanted and had roughed it out on paper through many iterations, although I wasn’t entirely convinced that I had it right (Jim was no help). My intention was to add a room, stealing from a garden, on the front side of the house, then re-purpose space from the useless family room to add a powder room, hallway closets, expand the kitchen, add a large walk-in pantry, and create a proper separate laundry room. It was quite a puzzle, with many different ways to make the pieces fit.
It took about two months to devise the plans. I made lots of changes exploring lots of options. The owner/principal designer throughout was a joy to work with: highly creative, a trusted sounding board, infinitely patient, good sense of humor, always accessible, service oriented. I felt zero pressure to move forward with decisions I wasn’t absolutely ready to make, and I felt totally at ease to explore ideas wherever they led.
As a bonus to this optimal working arrangement, the price we paid was significantly less than what we would have paid a mainstream architect — particularly so given how much time I took to convince myself that we had arrived at a perfect floor plan. To be sure, if we had wanted to build a new, premier property, we would have probably gone with an architect. But knowing largely what I wanted going in, adding only a single new room, and not knocking down every existing wall, the residential designer pathway proved ideal.
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