The front of John and Alison Dillow's house follows the gentle curve of the driveway. With its original broad painted shingles and trim, it looks very much as it did in 1918.

His five-acre estate, formerly apple orchards, was shaped into gardens framed by evergreens. It was an appropriate setting for a man whose family had gained from the sale of timber and sought to preserve that richness for future generations through tree breeding.

As was the case with several of Seattle's pioneering lumbermen, the Eddy family had left Maine for Michigan for the Pacific Northwest as the great East Coast and Midwest forests were depleted to build American towns and cities. In 1903, James and his brother John partnered with David Skinner to purchase the Port Blakely Mill Co. on Bainbridge Island. James realized that in order to benefit from trees, you needed to replenish them. He became one of the first tree breeders in the country.

In 1918, he consulted with Luther Burbank about producing better forest trees through breeding experiments and joined him at his California nursery to explore the potential. These early experiments led to the establishment, in 1925, of a research station in Placerville, Calif., that, by 1931, had become the most complete arboretum of pines in the world. Eddy funded the station until it was turned over to the U.S. Forest Service in 1935.
 

The formal dining room is linked by folding French doors to an arbor-covered veranda that extends the dining and entertaining area outside in good weather.
The wood-paneled entrance and stair hall is handsome but understated. Its low ceilings harken to Colonial-period New England homesteads. From the entrance, you can look directly into the living room and its windows onto the water view.

Eddy's home recalled the New England traditional architecture that was part of his family's geographic roots. Built by Howard S. Wright Sr., the 10-bedroom house wraps around the driveway in an unpretentious manner that downplays its size. The modest entrance is framed with nonsymmetrical wings that bend slightly (coincidentally creating some quirky angular bathrooms and storage areas inside). Its interiors, while spacious and well-proportioned, are also understated, with low ceilings throughout. There is no fancy woodwork or decorative molding, only first-growth fir paneling in the stair hall and quarter-sawn oak floors. This and the 8-foot ceiling heights reinforce the early New England Colonial ambiance.

Yet the house is designed for entertaining and also for maximum light and ventilation. Its principal rooms are oriented toward Lake Washington and are spacious, despite those low ceilings. French doors open on hinges to connect living and dining room to outdoor living areas. Two large skylit bays, one in the informal kitchen/dining area, one in the den/family room on the other side of the house, turn these rooms into solaria. Previous owners opened up the original kitchen with rough-cut timber and beams but complementary fir cabinetry.

Otto Holmdahl laid out the grounds and pathways. At the time, he was one of only a few landscape designers practicing in the Puget Sound area. His interest in native plant materials and regional landscape made the landscape designer and his client the perfect match. He also took pleasure in forming concrete aggregate into steps and walkways — a style he repeated in his work at Woodland Park and the Loveless Studio Building courtyard later in his career.

In the early '80s, Edward and Wendy Furia spent a year and a half to upgrade and restore the house and grounds. They had the property placed on the Washington State Register of Historic Places and the National Register. But by the time John and Alison Dillow saw it eight years ago, the house had fallen into disuse.

The couple was living in Madison Park with two daughters and a son when they found the house. Alison's sister, who lived nearby, suggested they look at it. Coincidentally, a friend of Alison's parents had owned the estate from 1963 to 1980, filling it with five children and "stuff." In a 1980 Seattle Times magazine article, Patricia Latourette Lucas recalled, "We liked to think that no amount of clutter could disguise its gentility, and we often tested it, spreading ourselves thickly throughout its 27 rooms."

The Dillows bought the property in bankruptcy. It had been on the market for five years but hadn't sold. "It looked like a wreck aesthetically," says John, "but the bones were here."

It is apparent from John's delight showing off the rooms and grounds that the family takes pleasure in their efforts to repair and paint. He talks about unearthing the concrete pathway from the driveway while chopping away at the overgrown ivy some years ago. He saw to replacing decayed decks and reroofing with wood shingle. Inappropriate track lights are being removed and traditional wall sconces are returning.

While the principal living rooms and the grounds might capture the attention of a visitor, the small details are what inspire John. He loves the huge closets tucked into every available space and the seemingly endless built-in cabinet drawers for storage. And he proudly shows off the attic, completely sheathed with clear-fir bead board and outfitted like a ship's berth, with four built-in bunk beds on the east side and dormer play areas on the west with storage drawers everywhere.

It is, he says, "sleepover heaven for kids."

The master bedroom is directly above the living room and has windows and French doors onto its own ample south- and west-facing terrace.

The attic is shipshape with build-in bunks and storage drawers of high-quality fir.

The house is set back and above several planted terraces that partly screen it from boaters on Lake Washington.

Lawrence Kreisman is program director for Historic Seattle. He serves on the Seattle Landmarks Preservation Board. Benjamin Benschneider is a Pacific Northwest magazine staff photographer.