Before the concept of aging in place became widely recognized, architect Michael Hughes took a groundbreaking approach to retirement living by designing a custom home for his parents in rural Georgia. The project, completed in 2001, demonstrated an unprecedented level of openness about long-term planning for elderly care and challenged conventional approaches to senior housing design.
The innovative residence, simply called "The Home," stands as a 3,000-square-foot, two-story structure with three bedrooms and three bathrooms, plus a 1,000-square-foot garage and workshop on 3.5 acres along Stonecipher Lake in Eastanollee, Georgia. Located about two hours northeast of Atlanta on Route 17, the small town was a dry county until the early 1990s, where old moonshine stills now serve as roadside displays instead of traditional welcome signs.
The unusual location choice for Joseph and Barbara Hughes, retirees from suburban Alexandria, Virginia, came about through family connections. Barbara's brother had retired to Eastanollee a decade earlier and convinced other relatives to follow suit. "There are now three sets of my uncles living within five miles of this house, two sets of cousins, and three sets of third-generation relatives, both retired and not," Michael Hughes explained. The area's appeal was enhanced by its affordability, with five acres of prime lakefront property costing just $30,000.
Architecturally, the concrete block and stucco structure appears almost alien among the split-levels and mobile homes that populate the area. The building announces itself through a smooth cement driveway that winds down from a dirt road, expanding into a broad entrance area that leads visitors to what Hughes describes as the "backside" of the house. The design deliberately presents the most functional elements first, resembling what one might mistake for a suburban supermarket's service entrance.
From the lake's perspective, however, the view reveals the home's sophisticated design elements. The large windows and distinctive twisting roofline, which Michael likens to "a stick of melting butter," create an unmistakable sense of human-scaled living space. A concrete ribbon bisects the house and garage, leading to a small outdoor patio and grounds that slope down to the earthen lakeshore and blend into thick woods on both sides.
The home's most remarkable feature lies in its thoughtful accommodation of aging-related needs. A ramp angles toward the front door, tucked along the building's side, while the two-car garage and workspace includes an unfinished loft with plumbing hookups for potential conversion into an in-law or live-in nurse apartment. This forward-thinking design element exemplifies the unique foresight that makes the residence "retiree-ready."
Inside the main house, painted concrete floors provide durability and low maintenance, while ramps and wide hallways lead to a sunken living room facing the outdoor patio. The layout flows back up to a primary bedroom, office, guest bath, and primary bath equipped with both a whirlpool tub and roll-in shower. Strategic placement puts the laundry room conveniently close to the bedroom, and all doorways measure a wheelchair-friendly 36 inches wide.
The first floor maintains complete handicap accessibility except for a small eating area off the kitchen, which offers its own lake view. This space serves either as a refuge from mobility equipment or represents a practical compromise, since ramps require additional room to achieve proper rise. Upstairs features another large bedroom and bath, plus "attic" storage accessible through an unassuming door at the hallway's end, requiring no stairs to reach.
The upstairs bedroom showcases one of the home's strongest design features: a massive window that projects from the front of the house. Michael deliberately ensured this view surpassed that of the living room to encourage his parents to continue using the stairs for as long as physically possible, promoting ongoing mobility and health.
Overall, the residence feels like a custom creation by someone fascinated with industrial materials in the style of Frank Gehry, featuring soaring walls, a floating staircase, and a bridge replacing a traditional enclosed upstairs hallway. Indeed, Michael had worked as an intern in the offices of both Frank Gehry and Richard Meier, bringing big-city architectural sensibilities to rural Georgia.
The home's stark, cardboard-gray appearance and minimal landscaping make it resemble an architect's scale model dropped into the Georgia woods. However, this austere aesthetic serves practical purposes: emphasizing low maintenance and cost-effectiveness, major concerns for retirees living on fixed incomes. While redwood cladding might have better integrated the geometric shapes into the natural landscape, wood requires ongoing maintenance through staining, painting, and replacement, demanding both financial resources and physical effort.
Michael constructed the entire project on a budget of approximately $250,000, including all materials, land, and labor costs. He provided much of the labor himself alongside relatives and friends, while a local contractor had quoted $350,000 for the complete project. Only concrete work and roofing required professional contractors, and all materials came from local suppliers. Interior fixtures were either purchased affordably from Home Depot or custom-made by Michael and his father.
The deliberately unfinished interior and bare-bones landscaping serve an important psychological purpose. Michael had observed certain "couch-potato tendencies" in his father's previous retirement lifestyle. In their new environment, Joe Hughes remains physically active and "in much better shape than the day he retired," with numerous small projects providing ongoing purpose and engagement.
The home offers endless opportunities for meaningful activity: gardens to plant, kitchen cabinets to finish, bathroom mirrors to hang, and the garage loft representing a long-term but manageable project to tackle or supervise. "There's more to do here than Basket Weaving 101," Michael noted. "It's a fallacy that when you're 55 or 65 you're going to stop thinking, stop being capable of inventing something."
The design process benefited from the unusual architect-client relationship, with Michael's parents wielding considerably more influence than typical clients. A chunky alcove cut into the smooth Sheetrock of the gracefully curved living room wall houses a five-foot-tall curio cabinet, a dark-stained wood piece handmade by Michael's uncle and displaying Barbara's collectibles. "My brother cut down a tree and made this," Barbara explained. "Mike wanted to stick it in the hall, but I said I'd really rather it have its own special home."
While Michael privately acknowledges this decorative element disrupts the room's clean lines, the compromise seemed reasonable given that he achieved his stainless-steel appliances and black-slate shower. Barbara's extensive Peanuts memorabilia collection, however, remains diplomatically hidden behind closed doors in the downstairs office.
Despite modest requests like Barbara's desire for "just a coat closet by the front door," the elder Hughes couple expresses obvious delight with their new home. They particularly enjoy sharing stories of local residents' astonished reactions, such as "I bet there isn't nothing like it for 21 counties around." A favorite tale involves the UPS driver who, during construction, came sliding down the driveway to warn Joe that his architect son "may be messing with those funny mushrooms." The driver has since brought friends by for tours.
"I like to be with people the first time they see it," Barbara said. "We've had folks call it anything from a boat ramp to a Jetsons house." Her own initial reaction to seeing the project model was "Oh, Michael, what have you done!" But her perspective has completely changed: "Every time I come up over that driveway and catch a glimpse of it, my heart just jumps."
However, the home represents both progress and compromise in accessibility design. While the ample halls meander and expand following the walls' sinuous curves, traditional safety features like handrails and easy-grip handles are notably absent, as are standard accessibility symbols. The roll-in shower, though spacious, places the nozzle too high to reach from a wheelchair, with temperature controls requiring an uncomfortable stretch. The bathtub, raised high off the floor, presents significant entry challenges, and even the front door operates manually only.
These design idiosyncrasies underscore that the home serves not as a universal model but rather as a conversation starter about aging-in-place possibilities. The design specifically addressed the current needs of the Hughes family, assuming the advantage of nearby relatives and anticipating that Michael and potentially his own family might eventually move in to provide assistance.
While Barbara Hughes insists she and Joe will "never, ever, ever" move again, standard senior group housing and transitional board-and-care facilities remain more realistic long-term destinations for most aging Americans. However, the project's most impressive achievement lies in Michael's open discussion with his parents about aging issues, including the possibility and strategies for managing potential disabilities. This approach points toward a new national frankness about long-term planning that was revolutionary for its time.
"When my father first read my write-up on the project, he said, 'Oh my God, he's building us a coffin,'" Michael recalled with amusement. The home can indeed appear as a twisted, coffin-like structure either rising from or sinking into the swampy Georgia earth. "But one day about two years after they moved in, Dad sat down on the patio and said, 'You know, I really like this house—it's easy to live in.' That's the biggest compliment I could get."
