Our Story

My husband and I own a charming historic home, Hillside Farm, just outside Philadelphia. It’s a lovely property with giant trees and rolling hills, an enormous barn, a chicken coop, and a constant stream of friends and family. 

Hillside began as a 300-acre dairy farm in 1717. Nearly 200 years later, it underwent its first restoration. In 1902, Richardson Brognard Okie, who was then still a young, untried architect, managed to buy the old farm for $15,000. (The original deed to the property was signed over by William Penn.)

The house, a typical six-room tenant farmhouse, became Okie’s architectural laboratory and a home for his wife and two children. The enormous barn sheltered his horses­­, who participated in the nearby Devon Horse Show, and his small herd of dairy cows. For over forty years, he made the long commute from his beloved farm into Philadelphia to work with his wealthy clientele until his untimely death in 1945. 

Oakie’s farm was a 90-acre plot that merged city and country, sophistication and rural practicality. Unlike many of the Colonial Revival homes Okie would later become famous for, Hillside retained its original personality and character.

In the 6 decades following the esteemed architect’s death, the home fell into complete disrepair. Due to arson, the barn had burned down, and many of the outbuildings were essentially ruins. Hillside was no longer the proud farmstead of Pennsylvania and Northern Delaware’s quintessential architect. Rather, it was a sad memory of happier times gone past.

By the time Bob and I got it, it would take several years to renovate the home and the outbuildings. The old copper pipes were corroded to such an extreme that during our first week or two in the home, I flushed a toilet upstairs, and my husband Bob (downstairs) was surprised by a gush of water that came down on his head like a waterfall. 

I’ll never forget standing in the basement with our beloved friend and architect, Betsy Grace, a local Okie expert, as we discovered the original ax markings on the beams from 1717. 

Bob and I took our time planning how the finished property should look. Hillside is a farm, not an estate. It’s wild and free by nature, but we wanted that freedom to grow out of a solid structure. Even wild things can be orchestrated and have a clear flow. In our opinion, this is the greatest sort of beauty. 

We wanted defined, intimate spaces in the vastness. All over the property, you’ll find Adirondack chairs and benches nestled under trees and between beds of flowers. Outdoor dining and living spaces echo indoor ones with fire pits and fireplaces. Our goal was to make it easy for our family and guests to be together comfortably. 

Beyond the living spaces, I wanted every single place your eye looked to house something thoughtful and lovely. Behind cabinet doors, in hidden nooks and crannies, nestled on stone walls, we’ve displayed the words that matter most and artwork that makes us happy.

Hillside is where we found home, not because of the house itself but because of the life and beauty we experience within its walls. 

Hillside is where Bob and I snuggle in front of the fire and dream up our next project. It’s where the kitchen door is always open, rain or shine, night or day. It’s where there is time for mulled cider and warm chocolate chip cookies and long talks with neighbors and family. It’s where our children want to be with their friends. 

My days at the farm are spent shuttling my kids back and forth between swim meets and school trips, baking for the next visitor, and working in my garden. It is a busy, full life that Bob and I have come to cherish.

The barn is always full of one group or another, learning how to bake apple pies with apples from our orchard or rooting our favorite football team on. Over the years, the farm has become the site of family reunions, weddings, endless laughter, and a few tears. Everyone fits inside Hillside. Everyone is welcome. Every corner holds a memory. Every object, meaning. 

The thought of writing about our life at Hillside never occurred to me. Rather, the idea for this book was planted during a lunch with friends. “Ruth,” they said adamantly, “you have to write about this!” 

“This?” I asked curiously. 

“The farm! Your story! Your life.”

Really? Write about my life at Hillside? I chuckled and put the idea in my back pocket, never expecting to take it out again. But, like a persistent seed, the idea refused to stay buried. Instead, it took root and sprouted straight up. And before I knew it, one page after another, a book was born. It took all of us working together. My daughters did the calligraphy and illustrations, and Bob cheered me on.

Like Hillside, the book is a representation of Bob and me. We have flipped many homes, but Hillside is the apex of our rehab adventures. 

For one year, we documented our life at the farm through words and photographs. In spring, we planted bulbs and threw garden parties. We gathered eggs and baked quiches. We celebrated new life and growth and all the color that comes with it. In summer,  the fun and games went on from morning till night. Family and friends flowed in and out, and the BBQ never stopped. In autumn, we picked bushels of apples, baked crisps and pies, shut our garden down, and remembered why we are thankful for one another. In winter, as the snow covered the fields, we stayed warm inside with soups and stews and favorite books read by the fire. The monotony of the cold was broken by holiday parties and the promise of a new year. From our favorite traditions and time-earned wisdom, to family recipes, gardening ideas, and hosting tips, for one year, we captured what “home” means to us. It is our hope that you will feel at home in its pages and be encouraged to make your house a home for others as well.

Welcome to Hillside Farm.