Where Inside Ends: Thresholds on the Coast

Everyone wants an "indoor-outdoor" house. It's on every client's list, a little ahead of the kitchen island. And almost everyone underestimates what it takes, because most of the year the coast gives you wind, rain and mist rather than a barbecue.

So we think about thresholds as places, not as lines. A threshold is somewhere you stand, take your shoes off, and decide what comes next.

The wide door

Sliding glass is the obvious move. A pair of large panels that stack to one side, opening a whole wall to the deck. In summer, it feels like the house has dissolved. In winter, it feels like a window to a storm.

Both matter. We specify thermally broken frames and double glazing, and we keep the track recessed so the floor runs through level. A raised sill is a tripping hazard and a cold draught. We also set the door under a deep roof overhang, so it can stay open in a drizzle without rain blowing across the floor.

The covered deck

If the wide door is the invitation, the covered deck is the room that accepts it. A deck is much more useful when it has a roof. A few feet of overhang will keep a table dry through a shower. More than that and you begin to have a second living room.

On the coast, wind is the other consideration. We place a short screen on the windward side, in timber slats or glass, to take the sting out of a breeze. A deck shielded on one side can be warm on a day when the open ones are bitter.

Floors matter too. Tight-spaced boards, slightly textured, sloped a hair away from the house. They drain and they dry, and they feel good on bare feet.

The boot room

This is the threshold nobody puts in a magazine and everybody ends up loving. A small enclosed space between the front door and the house, with a bench, hooks, a drain in the floor and a deep sink. Sandy boots, wet dogs, muddy children, all of it stops here.

Without it, the beach comes into the kitchen. With it, the house stays calm and the family stays happy, and the whole indoor-outdoor idea becomes something you can actually live with. We put one in almost every house now.

The view as threshold

The last kind of threshold is made of light. A window that frames a single tree. A skylight over the stairs. A glass corner where two walls meet and the landscape wraps around you. These don't open, but they perform the same job: they let the outside inform the inside.

A simple test

Stand at the edge of a room and ask where you'd put a cup of coffee, a wet coat and a book. If there is a good answer for each, the threshold works. If there isn't, it's still only a door.

The next piece looks at the coast's most reliable visitor and how we plan around it: Designing With Fog.