Light Retreat -- A Bachelor Builds A Cozy Skagit Valley Getaway

IF YOU STAND IN FRONT of Tom Wake's fireplace and crane your neck a little, you can see the inscription carved behind the beam above. In big black letters it proclaims, "To thine own self be true."

The line from "Hamlet" could well have come from Wake's own lips.

In planning his Skagit Valley vacation home, Wake, a bachelor and product manager in the marketing department of a Seattle company, tried to create something tailored to how he lives, not someone else's notion of what a weekend house should be. The result is a cozy, practical retreat that's as solid and self-effacing as its owner.

Situated on a grassy plain near Bow, not far from where Chuckanut Drive begins its scenic ascent, the house hides its airy, timber-frame interior under a veil of craftsman details. Tapered rafter tails protrude from the edges of the roof, shading silvery shingled walls accented with diamond-shaped insets. Board-and-batten panels punctuate the corners of the building, which was raised several feet above the ground as a flood precaution.

A towering basalt fireplace presides over the two-story living room. On the opposite wall, a floor-to-ceiling window drinks in the western light, filling the 1,750-square-foot interior with a rosy glow at twilight.

Massive fir beams, reclaimed from a Longview lumber mill, frame the edges of the room and support the fir ceiling.

Seattle architect Larry E. Johnson and project designer Jill Sousa placed windows in each corner of the building, providing a sweeping view of the surroundings from nearly every room while illuminating the spaces from several directions. "It's light all the time in this house," confirms Wake.

Placing windows in the corners meant eliminating posts that ordinarily go there. To compensate, the construction crew from The Cascade Joinery in Everson doubled the supports elsewhere, establishing a pattern that's repeated in the railings bordering the upstairs loft.

Now in his 50s, Wake hopes to retire to the house someday. To prepare for any contingency, he asked Johnson to design the home so it functions on just one level. The architect obliged, fitting a master bedroom, bath and compact kitchen on the first floor.

The scored concrete floors were treated with a mottled brown stain and covered with a sealant. The surface can withstand gritty boots or the punishing paws of Wake's 125-pound Rhodesian ridgeback, Latte. Radiant heat keeps the surface comfortable underfoot and prevents pipes from freezing when Wake is away.

While building the $250,000 home, the owner became intrigued with arts-and-crafts furniture and artifacts. A collector by nature (he owns one of the Northwest's largest collections of vintage stereograph cards, the 19th-century precursor to the Viewmaster), he started acquiring arts-and-crafts-style furniture a piece at a time. Even after two years, the place is still sparsely furnished, with assorted tables, a bookcase and a few oak chairs arranged haphazardly around the living room. "One person can only sit in so many chairs," Wake quips.

The fireplace mantel and surrounding cabinets display hammered-copper pieces designed by Albert Berry of Seattle, the only arts-and-crafts artisan of note to emerge from the Northwest during the first half of this century.

A central staircase skirts the back of the chimney, connecting the main floor with the lofted study and guest room above. Transom windows line the bedroom's interior wall, bringing more light into the room.

A deck extends over the front porch, providing a leeward shelter where Wake can scan Skagit Bay or huddle by a woodstove after dusk. Chuckanut Mountain rises out of the north, its evergreen shoulders crisscrossed with clear cuts. The summit is a favorite launching site for hang-gliders, who drift through the sky above Wake's home and skim to a halt in the tall grasses below.

At first, the trespassers were alarmed to see Wake building on "their" turf. But after the owner assured them they could continue to land there, they formed a friendly alliance. However, no amount of persuasion could tempt Wake to try the sport himself.

Wake has other plans for the 22-acre parcel besides turning it into a landing pad. Raised in the farm country of South Dakota, he hopes to plant his own crops after he retires. In the meantime, he experiments with different plants and has established an orchard alongside the neighboring railroad tracks.

When he's not tending the trees or exploring back roads with Latte, Wake can often be found strolling the nearby dike, binoculars in hand, as he scans the sky for eagles, falcons, hawks and any of the migratory birds that descend on the bay each winter. Like them, he's adopted this bucolic valley as his home away from home.

A Pacific Magazine contributor since 1985, Fred Albert is editor of Seattle Homes & Lifestyles Magazine. Greg Gilbert is a Seattle Times photographer. ----------------------------------------------------------------- Building stronger walls

LIKE MANY TIMBER-FRAME homes, Tom Wake's Skagit Valley retreat features panelized construction. Instead of erecting walls using dimensional lumber with insulation inserted later, Wake's builders, The Cascade Joinery, used stressed-skin panels, also called structural insulated panels (SIPs).

A 4-by-8-foot sandwich of oriented strandboard and expanded polystyrene, SIPs go up quicker than conventional walls and are usually better insulated, cutting heating bills as much as 40 percent. They are 2 1/2 times as strong as stud walls, and can be ordered in sizes as large as 8 feet by 24 feet.

According to the Structural Insulated Panel Association in Washington, D.C., a SIP house costs no more to build than a stick-frame house. No wonder the production of SIPs is increasing at a rate of 25 percent a year.

For additional information or a list of SIP manufacturers and suppliers, call SIPA at (202) 347-7800, Ext. 203. The address is 1511 K Street N.W., Suite 600, Washington, D.C. 20005. - Fred Albert