Eve Harrison—co-owner of the design-build firm Harrison, Inc., with her partner in life and work, Eric Yeomans—found herself often quoting Yeomans’s maternal grandmother, Mavis, while selecting materials for this recreation and work barn on an island off midcoast Maine. Each time her children badgered Mavis to update her old but solidly constructed refrigerator, she would respond, “It’ll do me out,” meaning she’d probably go before her icebox.

The owners of this property, a couple with grown children, had originally hired Harrison to work with Van Dam Architecture and Design on the main house and bunkhouse, two separate 3,500-square-foot structures connected by a breezeway that accommodates six bedrooms. That was completed in 2010. The wife’s parents had a house on a nearby island, so the idea for the barn, hatched in 2018, was to create a multigenerational gathering place where family members and friends could exercise, play squash, meet in more intimate spaces, and work remotely. 

Harrison and Yeomans, along with integral team member Gabriel Taylor (who has since moved on), were to handle the design and build of the barn themselves, along with some design support from Rockport Post and Beam. It would not be visible from the house, so stylistically it could depart from the main structures. “It didn’t need to be the same,” says Harrison, “but it had to relate.” The solution was to carry over some materials and elements of the house onto the exterior, which translated to a peaked roof and similar windows in a darker color. Inside, Harrison used hemlock trusses like those in the main house.

But the similarities ended there. Harrison took inspiration from vernacular barn structures to give the building a sense of always having been there. But the rigorous attention she lavished on every detail is rare. And here is where Mavis’s spirit came in. Harrison says of her clients, “It was important to them to create a building that had longevity, which meant to me that we needed to choose quality materials that would last.” Materials, in other words, that would “do them out.” 

“Being historically grounded was essential,” Harrison asserts. “We all know what we’ve seen historically and what looks right.” A prime example was the double cupola design, which, she explains, “came through the creation of one drawing of the main timber-frame building and stick-on cutouts of cupolas we slid back and forth across the ridge.” They began with the more common single cupola in the center but were surprised that, because of the building’s approximately 3,500-square-foot area and height, this looked disproportionate. Sliding it toward the front of the building “made it look too much like a church.”

Adding a second cupola would not only balance the barn’s volume but also let in more light from above. Yet Harrison didn’t stop there. Typically, a cupola provides ventilation that allows heat to escape—windows with rain sensors that close automatically with the first drops of precipitation are common. But Maine’s punishing coastal weather takes a toll on these, so often they begin to malfunction. Instead, Harrison decided on windows that would not open at all, but resolved the heat-escape issue by designing and creating insulated panels around them that have ventilating properties to filter heat up and out through the eaves.

Windows received the same degree of scrutiny. The owners didn’t want to incur the expense of custom versions, but Harrison realized that standard windows wouldn’t work. “Single, tall skinny windows would have looked too modern,” she observes, “and would have thrown off the proportions of the glass between muntin bars.” Her solution? For the windows flanking the front entrance, Harrison combined two standard windows—a four-light and a two-light—thus harmonizing not only with the building mass but also with the six-light windows seen on old barns. Additionally, she added transom windows across the top of the entrance—a less common feature of historic barns, but characteristic of many area houses (and a riff on old hayloft windows). 

Naturally, rolling barn doors were a given. “Though we ended up functionally using Andersen windows and doors,” she observes, “we created western red cedar barn doors that roll across them. What I imagined was that, when they’re shut, it would signal [the homeowners] were away; when they were open, they were in residence. And the doors actually do protect the windows and doors in severe weather.” In “do me out” fashion, she says proudly, they are state-of-the-art. “You can roll them back and forth with one finger.”

With its many functions, the structure would house a squash court, workout area, intimate nooks for gathering, a bathroom, a laundry, and a kitchen with a small dining area, all with a garage tacked onto the side. The kitchen is minimally equipped and has no stove. “That was very intentional,” notes Harrison. “It was to be a magnet for children, and we didn’t want it to be unsafe.”

Other decisions were similarly based on safety. For instance, the rail around mezzanine spaces typically has a gap between the bottom rail and the floor. Though Harrison concedes this is more visually pleasing, she points out that the exercise machines would be on this level. “If anyone kicked something of weight under the railing”—say, a dumbbell or a 50-pound disc—“it could shatter the glass of the squash court,” not to mention injure one of the players. 

The squash court itself turned into a significant undertaking. After thorough research, the team landed on ASB SquashCourts, a world-renowned, German-based firm that partners with the Professional Squash Association. “They’ve done the science,” says Harrison with confidence. But difficulties arose in transporting the court to Maine. She offered solutions but was politely told that the company would handle it.

However, when she learned the parts had landed in Canada and would be shipped by barge down to southern Maine, then trucked up several hours just to be put on another barge to the island—all involving delays—Harrison put her foot down. With what she characterizes as “some stronger, more unequivocal suggestions,” she prevailed. “The court was repackaged from containers into trucks, driven to our mainland landing site, and barged to the island in much shorter order.” 

Around it is a mezzanine, and the whole space is flooded with light. The 18 lights of the original plan skyrocketed to 71, all on dimmers “to allow a full spectrum” and accommodate the visual impairments of older generations. Downstairs, the 8-by-12-foot bathroom was ingeniously designed to accommodate three separate compartments that can be closed off from each other, so someone can shower after squash while another takes a bathroom break, and still another can use the vanity mirror to put in their contacts. 

Outside, landscape architect Rob Krieg collaborated with Harrison, Yeomans, and Taylor on the grounds. That too had its challenges—namely deer, who are forever alternating their diets. “Roses, smoke bushes, herbaceous perennials, and hydrangeas all were eaten to death,” recalls Krieg. Besides installing and reinstalling perennials, they also planted a meadow over the septic field next to the barn and built stone patios with rock that had been excavated for the building’s foundation. 

The thoroughness of the barn’s conception ensures that, for this family and its subsequent generations, it will “do them out,” just like Mavis’s refrigerator—if perhaps with a lot more intention and sophistication of design.