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FrontRangeLiving.com -> Architecture -> Swedish Cabin
 HISTORICALLY
SWEDISH, BUT MADE IN AMERICA
By Niki Hayden
Gunda Starkey fell in love with her house long before it belonged to her.
Like a cottage straight from Europe’s old country, this summer getaway offered
a new home to someone who could embrace and preserve cabin architecture.
"As soon as I walked in the front door and saw the living room logs, stone
fireplace, the high ceiling, I loved it. It looked so warm and cozy," she
says.
 The 1930s cabin suffered from all the ills of time: drafty windows and poor
plumbing, a sinking bathroom floor and frayed roof. But charm could not be
overlooked. Perched like an icon of Swedish folk architecture on the side of a
mountain, the high ceiling and hand-hewn beams beckoned. Cheerful red shutters
and stands of aspen trees added an allure.
And, Gunda, who is allergic to many of the chemicals used in modern homes,
recognized a home "built from honest materials," she says, "wood,
concrete and glass." Gunda pleaded with the owners to think of her should
they decide to move. When that day arrived, they contacted her and the deal was
clinched. This was the house, she instinctively recognized, that would be hers
forever.
 Unlike other mountain cabins, with front porches, single stories and a
bungalow look, this cabin is straight from European fairytales: a Swiss
farmhouse or German Alps retreat, the grandmother’s home in "Little Red
Riding Hood." A home with the aroma of gingerbread and Gruyere fondue, it
sits squat on a mountainside with a high roofline, one small bedroom
built into a second story.
Tall pine logs rise high, as high as two stories, but with a lofty open
airspace. For only about 1300 square feet, the large main room creates a
spacious and central living area, with a small kitchen, bathroom, two bedrooms
and an entryway circled around the big room. The home remained an architectural
mystery in her mountain town until its builder knocked on the door one day.
 An elderly man stood in the doorway and announced that he
was the carpenter. In 1932, he was a 21-year-old Swedish immigrant, who built the summer
home for a wealthy family. His only pay of room and board lasted for one year.
The logs had been felled from a forest fire, which he shaped with simple tools
and pulled by horses to its current location. By himself, he had designed the
house exactly as he had learned in Sweden.
"He was slightly built, not a big, huge Swede," Gunda says,
"and he did all this by himself. He was 92 when we met him and he was so
proud of this house." Just digging a foundation in mountain soil tests the
limits of current day machinery. The daunting tasks of building in the mountains
during the Great Depression can’t be overlooked. Talent, experience and sheer
determination must have been driving forces.
 Despite only two bedrooms and one bath, the house originally sheltered
parents and their six children. By today’s standards, with Gunda’s husband
and two children, space was tight. A single bathroom remains, the only drawback
of the home. But now that her children are grown, Gunda says the cabin is
perfect for two.
Gunda’s original reason for purchasing the cabin lies in her near deadly
brush with pesticide spraying more than a decade ago. Since that encounter, she
has struggled to minimize her exposure to chemicals and allergens. She added formaldehyde-free insulation, put on a new roof, installed
additional plumbing and replaced the bathroom floor. Workers removed anything
that contained allergens like carpet or chemically drenched building materials.
 With each change, Gunda researched to find the most environmentally friendly
way to rehabilitate the cabin without changing the original charm that first
attracted her. The woodstove is a distant memory. A new pellet stove, one that
emits little pollution, was installed. It’s a cozy fire, she says, without the
problems of wood burning or the misery of wood chopping. Propane is kept only
for a backup generator.
The front porch was redesigned to be a master bedroom, while the original
parent’s bedroom now serves as an entry way. The original front door opens on
the side of the house, perhaps evidence of changing foot patterns over time. Now
that door opens to a side deck, with holes cut to accommodate aspen trees.
An old stove, given a new life as a storage unit, adds heft to a tiny
kitchen, The newer, sleeker stove sits tucked modestly in a corner. Gunda has
chosen to put off window replacement for now until she can find wood windows
that she likes.
 The informal architecture was intended to be a retreat and escape from
city life. A few steps away would lead to wildflower walks and mushroom
hunts. Stars appear brighter without the wash of city streetlights. The air is
thinner and clearer away from highways. The reasons to live away from city
hustle and bustle may remain, but these mountain cabins now are lived in year
around. It only makes sense that upgrades in electricity and well water have to
change with the times, too.
When holidays arrive, the cabin glows with antique ornaments, pine boughs and
berry sprigs. A red and white tapestry sets the colors of the rooms, with a
cheerful red and white quilt thrown over a couch. Red skiis and collected
Ponderosa pine cones, red-and-white checkered tablecloths, red candles holders
and European folk art sets the stage for a long winter’s night. Just outside,
a frosty world envelopes the mountain town in silence until the spring thaw.
 Gunda describes her home as "primitive but well-crafted. It came with a
sense of history, and at a time when so many houses look alike, with this one,
you feel connected to the environment around you."
When Gunda’s cabin was built, only the hardy and durable survived winter in
these mountains. Logs for cabin walls and large stones for a sturdy fireplace
were all that were needed. Times have changed and we demand more comforts, but
these old cabins provide a stalwart comfort that’s hard to beat and impossible
to replace.
"This is a solid house with a lot of character, obviously built by
someone who know what he was doing and did it right with the honesty of
materials. I know there are no wood shavings held together by glue," Gunda
says. When character often takes a back seat to square footage in many new
homes, an old mountain cabin defies current tastes and comforts. But for those who love and
cherish these rugged buildings, continuity and rustic style are
prized and protected above all.
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