Texas residents John and Julie Connor had spent many summers visiting family near Seabeck, an unincorporated waterfront village and former mill town in Kitsap County. They loved the wildness of the southern Hood Canal and imagined a small retreat here of their own, so they purchased a large lot with lush second-growth trees on a north-facing bluff overlooking the canal, with a distant view to Dabob Bay. It would be their coveted second home.

Architect Eric Walter, co-founder of Seattle’s MW Works, was consulted to determine if a deteriorating cabin might be salvaged. He advised the couple to tear it down.

The Connors asked for a replacement structure that could stand up to big-boy weather. “After living through hurricanes and floods in Houston, which caused people enormous headaches with mold inside their homes and drywall that essentially disintegrated, we wanted to minimize the use of drywall,” Julie says.

“The project is not about big moves. It’s not some grand architectural gesture. It’s just enough of what you need and nothing more.” — Eric Walter, Architect and co-founder of MWWORKS

“It’s like the story of ‘The Three Little Pigs’ — we didn’t want to build a house out of paper mâché,” John adds.

With a humble budget and simple needs, they weren’t expecting MW Works to produce a design that would go on to win widespread critical acclaim and numerous awards, but that’s what they got.

“The project is not about big moves. It’s not some grand architectural gesture. It’s just enough of what you need and nothing more,” Walter says of his Northwest modern minimalist design.

Little House began life as Tiny House. The Connors elected to save money by building atop an existing foundation that measured 20 feet by 20 feet, which would produce a total of just 800 square feet for a standard two-story structure. The architects instead developed a floor plan cantilevered on all sides, allowing for a total of 1,140 square feet. This bit of foundational trickery is disguised by an exterior skirting of blackened cement infill panels, which complement the equally moody cedar siding that was oxidized to speed up aging and turn it black.

That is Little House’s lone subterfuge. Visitors have no trouble instantly reading the room. The bright interior is a master class in transparency, with straightforward deployment of simple materials.

“You can do a lot with shape and color,” John says. “You don’t need marble and leather.”

Smart simplicity. To warm the interior, walls are clad in lightly painted and disparately segmented medium-density fiberboard. The basic materials create a warm, welcoming environment and a spacious vibe.

The ground level contains a mudroom, a corian-countered kitchen, and an open plan living and dining area. Floor-to-ceiling glass offers views to the north of the water and the mountainous terrain. Two bedrooms and a shared bathroom co-exist upstairs.

The Connors are outdoor cats, and pleaded for a design that wouldn’t leave them scratching at the doors.

Basic materials create a warm environment.

Photo by Andrew Pogue

“We live most of the year in Houston and can be outside most of the time, although it’s a tad hot in the summer,” John says. “We wanted to be able to feel like we were outside even when it was raining. The architects responded with window walls,” giving the feel of outdoor living inside.

They also needed a “wash-and-wear” interior. As a second-home, vacation destination, the Connors didn’t want the interior surfaces to be “precious.” They wanted to plunk down their stuff, give their dog freedom of movement and make sure that everything was useful and usable. Think of it as smart simplicity.

To warm the interior, walls are clad in lightly painted and disparately segmented medium-density fiberboard, which is highly moisture-resistant, and pine plywood. Everything clicks together, as if the house was constructed of Legos.

Ranges of glass on the north and west facades provide a strong connection to the natural landscape. The remaining two sides were left mostly opaque to shield views from the driveway and neighboring properties. A firewood nook anchors the south elevation, where a thin canopy shelters a porch and marks the front entrance. A terrace at the northwestern corner beckons toward the landscape and serves as a jumping-off point to the trail system that meanders to the water’s edge.

Many rural holiday homes are unfortunately sited in accordance with an urban social imperative — face the road, face the neighbors.

“I hear so many vacation homeowners say, “I wish I could turn the house toward the view,’” John notes. “That’s hard to do after the fact.”

The Connors’ primary home in Houston is a spacious, traditional 1930s home, but Little House doesn’t feel cramped, partially because of high ceilings, the judicious use of off-white and black paint, and the finish on the plywood walls and alder floor. The Douglas fir beams above the dining table were bleached to match other wood species in the home, as if they were from the same family. Left to its own devices, fir tends to fade to fake-tan orange.

“We wanted to be able to feel like we were outside even when it was raining. The architects responded with window walls.”

Skylights help mitigate the northern exposure, especially one situated over the shower. The main-bedroom skylight allows for a celestial window to see the moon, the stars, and the sky — a literal portal to the cosmos.

For others looking for a second home, Julie offers a piece of sage advice: Be very clear about your priorities and how you anticipate using the home.

“Look carefully at other projects completed by your architect. If you could imagine enjoying living in those spaces, you can probably translate that into a successful project.”