The Andresses settled on a lot facing the small cul-de-sac that Bob Heuser had added at the last minute, to accommodate the redesigned drip field. “We did consider a lot facing the street,” Meghan says, “but we didn’t like having traffic in front of the house, and worrying about Kendal wandering into the street.” She points out that their house in Sadsburyville is also on a cul-de-sac.
What about the size of the lots at New Daleville? “We weren’t too worried about that,” she says. “Our lot here is only two thousand square feet, so they were a big improvement. Since we both work, we didn’t want to have to take care of a large backyard.” However, they were concerned about the closeness of neighboring houses. “We didn’t like the regular lots, where the houses are about twenty feet apart.” That was the other reason they chose a cul-de-sac lot. Because of the side driveway and the pie shape of the lot, there will be about eighty feet between them and their neighbors. “We spent a lot of time making sure exactly where the houses next to us would be located.”
The lot that the Andresses chose is actually the largest at New Daleville, almost a quarter acre. “Ryan was charging a sixty-five-hundred-dollar premium for these edge lots,” Meghan says. “But when we went over the plans, we discovered that there was a nine-foot drainage easement on one side, where we couldn’t plant or put in fencing. So we were able to get them to lower the premium to fifteen hundred. We were the second buyer, so at that point they were willing to do just about anything.”
The Andresses had bought their Sadsburyville town home before it was built, so they had experience working with a builder, choosing options and upgrades. Even though production-builder models are standardized, between color choices (at New Daleville there are six vinyl siding colors, four shutter colors, and three trim colors, depending on the model), the interior upgrades, and the various options, the buyer of a typical Ryan house has to make fifty to a hundred individual choices. Scott and Meghan went about it methodically. They looked at the plans and fired off almost daily e-mails with long lists of questions for the Ryan sales rep — Oliveira’s predecessor. Is there one heating zone or are there two? (One.) Can we add a laundry chute? (No.) What is the material of the front walk? (Brick.) How many overhead bulbs are in the basement? (Not sure, we’ll check.) “We looked at the Sheldon, the Melville, and the Austin, comparing the base prices and the cost of combining various options,” Meghan tells me. “We made a lot of Excel spreadsheets.”
They chose the least-expensive Sheldon. “When we built our Sadsburyville house, we knew we wouldn’t be in it very long, so we didn’t spend money on a lot of extras,” says Meghan. “But we plan to be in our New Daleville house for a while, and we wanted a model that we could afford to upgrade, with better cabinets, hardwood floors, recessed lighting, things like that.” Their town home has a sunroom off the kitchen that they like, so they chose the morning room option, as well as a two-foot extension to the family room. They added doors to the living room, which they plan to use as a study. They dispensed with fireplaces — “we have neighbors that have them and just don’t use them” — and bay windows. They decided to leave the basement unfinished. “We want to install lots of built-in storage, so we’d rather finish it ourselves.” Although Mike Linthicum had told me that each model had a limited range of specific options, in exceptional cases, Ryan will accommodate what they call a nonstandard option, assuming the change can be easily made and the buyer is willing to pay. The Andresses wanted to substitute a shower stall for the tub in the master bathroom, which cost them $1,200. Altogether, the various options added $45,000 to the base price of the house and increased the total area to more than two thousand square feet (their present home is sixteen hundred square feet). After they signed the contract, Ryan introduced its mortgage incentive plan, so they took that, too, insisting on the $15,000 bonus options. Which extras did they add? “We got better countertops, a vaulted ceiling in the master bedroom, upgraded cabinets in the bathrooms, and a carpet upgrade,” Meghan says.
In her first e-mail of questions (thirty-five of them), Meghan asked for a copy of the homeowner association agreement. “We read it cover to cover,” she says. “Our town home development has a homeowner association, and we got caught off guard because we hadn’t read the documents closely. It turned out that you needed permission to extend the flower beds in front of your house. We applied to the architectural committee. What was frustrating was that we got turned down, while other people just went ahead and did it, ignoring the rules.” Meghan is critical, but she sees community associations as a necessity. “I wouldn’t want to serve on the board, but we go to the meetings and participate.” The fee at New Daleville will be $130 a month, more than double what the Andresses pay now. “I want the public gardens and park space to be taken care of, and that costs money,” says Meghan. She is happy that the children’s play lot will be built soon at New Daleville. “They promised us a play area here,” she says of their present development, “and in three years they still haven’t built it.”
As a home buyer, Meghan deals exclusively with the builder. She is aware that there is a “town architect,” who has reviewed the design of their house, but from our conversations it is obvious that she associates him with the township, not with the developer. She likewise credits Londonderry with requiring tree planting and landscaping in the public areas. Although the subdivision is largely the result of Joe Duckworth’s vision — in that sense he is the founder of New Daleville — at this point in the process, the developer has become largely invisible.
By early June, the Andresses’ house is nearing completion. The Sheldon, like the Melville, is a simple box. Covered in light gray siding, with a deep front porch, it resembles a farmhouse. The porch roof is propped up by two-by-fours, awaiting the delivery and installation of permanent columns. It’s raining lightly as I pick my way across the muddy front yard. This is still a building site. A Dumpster full of construction debris and a portable toilet are parked in front.
Scott Andress is waiting for me on the porch; he’s a small man in his early thirties, with a brush cut. He’s wearing construction boots. He and Meghan have been visiting the house every few weeks. We’re joined by Greg Norbeck, Ryan’s project manager, who is responsible for supervising construction. The first thing that Scott asks him is if there is any news about the water connection. Without water there can be no settlement, and the uncertainty about exactly when the house can be occupied has caused Scott and Meghan to delay signing their mortgage. Signing locks in the interest rate for sixty days — if the settlement date is postponed beyond that, the guarantee expires. They are nervous, since rates have been creeping up, and yesterday, unable to wait any longer, they signed. “Don’t worry,” says Norbeck. “I’m sure we’ll have the water connected in a week or two. Then we’ll install the carpeting. We’ve tested the plumbing system with compressed air, but I don’t like to put in the carpet until we have running water, just in case. If there’s a leak, it’s bad enough replacing Sheetrock.” He adds that the township has approved a buried emergency water tank for fire protection, but he seems unsure about exactly when it will be installed. In any case, he’s scheduled the settlement for June 23, three weeks from now.
Meghan is the last to come in out of the rain. “Greg, tell me that the front porch is leaking because the roof isn’t finished,” she says. He confirms that they’re waiting for a special order of aluminum roofing, to match the dark green color the Andresses chose for the shutters. “I hope it’s as good as the regular material,” she says. “Actually, I think it’s more expensive,” he says. “Great, great,” she replies. She has also noticed that the porch ceiling is buckling in places. Norbeck says it must have been improperly installed. “I’ll make sure it’s redone,” he promises.
We go upstairs. Meghan points out that the ceilings are a slightly different color than the off-white walls. “When we bought the house, that was standard. Now they paint the walls and ceilings the same color to save money, and it c
osts extra to have white ceilings.” She says that they had Ryan reverse the swing of the master bedroom door so it wouldn’t interfere with the bathroom door, but now she notices that the light switch is in the wrong place. It will have to be moved. The master bathroom is small but airy, thanks to the extremely tall ceiling. “I like it, too,” she says. “When we got the cathedral ceiling in the bedroom, we didn’t realize that it included the bath.” Scott has noticed that there are irregular cracks between the window frames and the wall opening. “That’ll get caulked,” Norbeck says, “you won’t notice it.” There’s a lot of caulking in the house, since the standard of on-site workmanship is not high. I can see why Ryan tries to get as much done in the factory as possible.
Meghan says that she would like to vacuum the floors before the carpet is installed. “Don’t worry,” says Norbeck, “I’ll make sure it’s clean.” As we go down the stairs, Meghan asks if the single light fixture will be sufficient to light the staircase. “I think it should be enough,” Norbeck says. “But we can always add another one. It’s not a big deal.”
Meghan spots an oddly located towel bar in the powder room, and sure enough, when Norbeck brings a set of construction drawings from his truck, the bar turns out to have been mounted on the wrong wall. “We’ll get that moved,” he says. The inspection is a series of small negotiations. Sometimes the builder has missed something, sometimes the buyers change their minds. Sometimes one side prevails, sometimes the other. Sometimes it’s nobody’s fault.
The kitchen is nice though hardly fancy, with dark wood cabinets, Corian counters, and a vinyl floor. The view out the morning room windows, however, is spectacular: rolling fields, clumps of trees, Charlotte Wrigley’s barns and silo in the distance. When I mention it to Meghan, she says, “Isn’t it great? As soon as we saw it, we put down money to reserve this lot.”
Scott has noticed that one edge of the sit-down countertop is not beveled to match the rest. At first, Meghan is not convinced that it is worth complaining about. “We have other battles to pick,” she tells him. But as she looks longer, she changes her mind. “Do you see it now?” he asks. “Yes, I do. Definitely.” Norbeck adds another note to his thick binder.
There is a three-foot drop from the outside door in the morning room to the ground. Meghan asks about steps. Norbeck isn’t sure, since the construction drawings don’t show any (many owners add a deck or a raised patio, so Ryan typically does not provide steps). She points out that there is a concrete path leading to the door, and Ryan has installed a lockset on the door at their request, so this door is definitely an entrance and must have steps. Norbeck agrees and says that they’ll be either concrete or Trex, referring to the synthetic wood material that is used for porch floors. “Oh, definitely Trex,” she says. “Please.” He hesitates. “I’ll just tell them it has to be Trex,” he says.
Norbeck says the rain has delayed putting in the driveway, but he expects that to be done early next week. Meghan asks about the landscaping. “We put in sod over the whole lot,” he says. “We usually try to do that as close to settlement as possible.” Meghan is concerned about watering. “I could bring some hoses and stuff over here,” she says. “I’d hate for it to die.” Norbeck says that his people will do it but quickly adds, “There’s no guarantee on the sod. If a patch dies, we’ll replace it. But not if your entire lawn dries up and your neighbor’s is green.”
Building a house, even a highly standardized and rationalized “product” such as a Ryan home, is complicated. Construction starts with excavation and poured concrete and ends with carpeting and light switches — and sod. These bits and pieces, crude as well as delicate, must be brought together, if not seamlessly, at least smoothly and quickly. That is why housing has confounded generations of advocates of industrialization and mass production. At one point, all house construction is individual: this house, this place, these people. The Sheldon model was designed by NVR’s architectural division two years ago, but this Sheldon is the result of what is happening here, today. It needs someone like Greg Norbeck to coordinate the work of the many different trades. It needs vigilant buyers. It needs nitpicking, adjustment, and smoothing out to get it right.
“Cookie-cutter,” snobbish critics call builder houses, but the Andresses’ future home reflects personal involvement in numerous small ways. It’s not the same as having a house designed expressly for you, of course. But there are no cost overruns, no nasty surprises, and I must admit, no headstrong architects to confront. I’ve designed houses for individual clients, whose participation was necessarily great since we were starting with a blank slate. Still, it is obvious that Meghan and Scott are caught up in the design and construction of their home. When they move in — they hope in a few weeks — this will definitely be their place.
We leave the house and stand on the half-finished porch. It’s stopped raining, and the sun is out. Meghan turns to Scott. “Are we happy?” she asks. He nods. Yes, yes, they are.
Two and a half weeks later, I meet Jim Weidner, Arcadia’s construction manager, on the front porch of the Michener model home and ask him about the water situation. He tells me that testing and adjusting water quality has taken longer than expected, but that he’s been promised the finished houses will have running water in a day or two. New Daleville must also have fire protection, but I haven’t seen any sign of a water tank. What’s going on, I ask Weidner. He rolls his eyes. “The supervisors approved a buried tank. We were supposed to borrow a steel tank from a company that we do business with, but at the last minute the owner got worried about liability and said we had to buy it. He was asking too much, so I found a concrete tank that we could leave in place once we didn’t need it anymore. The township engineer has been pretty adamant about the need for a buried tank, but I thought it wouldn’t hurt to ask one last time. Since the construction of the booster pump was going so well, I said, and it looked like it would definitely be finished by August, did we really need to bury the tank? ‘I guess not,’ he said. I guess not! So now we’re renting a standard steel water container. It looks like a small Dumpster. I expect delivery at the end of this week, on Friday morning, which will allow the builders to settle their first houses in the afternoon.” Just in time.
From my vantage point on the porch, I look over the rest of the site. The neat picket fences, trimmed lawns, brick walks, and carefully tended shrubbery of the model homes only serve to accentuate the generally untidy appearance of the surroundings. The grass on the unbuilt lots is getting longer. Red earth is piled up around freshly dug utility trenches, and orange and black telephone and cable conduits stick out of the ground at intervals. Building materials are piled untidily along the road beside two unfinished basements, which now makes eleven houses in various stages of completion. When I go over to get a closer look at the Andress house, there is a painter’s van parked outside. The porch roofing has been installed, and carpenters are putting up the columns. But the driveway is not done, and neither are the sidewalk, the front path, or the landscaping. It’s pretty obvious that the house won’t be ready for June 23, which is only three days away. When I ask Meghan about this later, she says that, despite the water problems being solved, for some reason the work on their house has been delayed, and their settlement date has been pushed forward to July 13. They plan to move the following day.
29
Moving Day
After all the houses have been sold, New Daleville will represent a total investment by buyers and lenders of about $40 million. All this is the result of an initial private investment of $2.5 million.
When George Washington was seventeen, he worked as an assistant surveyor on the new town of Alexandria, Virginia, a no-nonsense subdivision of eighty-four half-acre lots. The only fancy touches were the street names: King, Queen, Prince, Princess, Duke, Duchess.1 Street names are a chance for the developer to set a tone for a project — and to leave his mark. In his plain fashion, William Penn named the east-west streets of Philadelphia after trees. Henry How
ard Houston renamed several of Chestnut Hill’s numbered streets after Indian tribes: Seminole, Navajo, Cherokee. For New Daleville, Jason Duckworth has chosen the names of early Londonderry settlers — McGrew, Robinson, Neill. The main thoroughfare will be Wrigley Boulevard, to commemorate the owners of the family farm that once occupied the site.
Scott and Meghan’s house is on Columba Street, named after the patron saint of the original Londonderry, in Ireland. I visit them on July 16, two days after their move. It’s an imposition to show up so soon, but Meghan has assured me that it’s all right.
Throughout this long project I’ve been looking forward to the day when a family actually moves into a house. Now that it’s happened, it seems like an anticlimax. There should be a ceremony, like a ribbon cutting or a ship launching. All the people in the New Daleville story should be here: Tom Comitta, to give a homily on neotraditional neighborhoods, Joe and Jason Duckworth, Dave Della Porta with his pro formas, Bob Heuser carrying a roll of plans, Mike DiGeronimo and his design do’s-and-don’ts, Tim Cassidy and the planning commission, the Londonderry board of supervisors, Mike Linthicum leading the Ryan team, as well as a group of out-of-town visitors, the Seaside contingent, Robert Davis, Andrés Duany, and Melanie Taylor. All of them lining Wrigley Boulevard, applauding Scott and Meghan as they move into their new home.
Instead, there is just the same little house, whose construction I’ve been following, off and on, for the last three months. Now it’s finished: porch, front walk, driveway, shrubbery, and lawn (rather burnt-looking since we’ve just come through a heat wave). Finished but different. There are cars in the driveway, Meghan’s Jeep with a small trailer attached, two aluminum lawn chairs and a small child’s chair on the porch, a rug drying on the railing, a doormat and a scuffed pair of sneakers. The previously empty windows have Venetian blinds. Through the open garage door I can see piles of cardboard boxes. In other words, there are signs of life. It’s as if someone had flipped a switch, from “House” to “Home.”
Last Harvest: From Cornfield to New Town Page 25
