After about two years, it was time to move. The yellow house now features reclaimed beams from Matthew's grandparents' barn in Whitefield, Maine. There is a sturdy, toe-deep hearth made of locally sourced stone. Unexpected color combinations include, but are not limited to, Mediterranean teal, Anjou pear orange, and tomato bisque, such as the red painted on the trim and used on the kitchen counter. Looking at it from the outside, it's hard to choose a favorite element. “I love the kitchen space. It feels great in there,” Matthew muses. “[And] I'm excited about the Maine Wood Mill floor. I think it looks beautiful too. ”
Matthew's aunt Cindy made the stained glass for the house. “When the sun goes down, you get this cool light,” he says. The cutout where the window was installed hangs on the opposite wall.
Wood floors tell a story as you move through the space. “When he feels the cup under his foot, he remembers that he used to walk on trees,” Matthew explains. But beyond the physical properties of the floor, it is part of the story that Matthew began writing. A magazine-style essay about a sawmill in Maine, and in particular about its owner, Bjarki Gunnarsson. Writing and home improvement became intertwined. Matthew got factory pine for the floor, installed the floor, and ruined the floor. Cupped floors are not good, but they look beautiful to the untrained eye. And more or less (and more) this journey and essay morphed into his recently published debut novel, Bjarki, Not Bjarki.
The office is full of thoughtful touches, from the five-degree shelf to the drawings of childhood monsters to the stacks of Bjarki drafts and books that aren't Bjarki. The Doritos art on the wall is a gift and a tribute to one of Matthew's books, “The Six-Foot-Three-Inch Man and the Doritos.”