Fallingwater

Actually, this should be called "Mostly Cumberland, MD with some Fallingwater" because as wonderful as a well designed house is, it has nothing on the madness that is small town America. I love it.

Fallingwater is probably the most iconic house in existence, after the White House. Most people don't know the name, but one look at this picture that I have stolen from the internet and you will know exactly what I am talking about:

The house was designed by the renowned American architect Frank Lloyd Wright, and depending on whom you ask it is either his "most well known" project or his "most perfect" project. Regardless, visiting it is an experience that was thuroughly enjoyable.

Prior to this, the only other Wright home I visited was the Robie House in Chicago. Claire, her father, and I toured the building last summer and I was very impresed with it. However, because of how the neighborhood had changed in the intervening years I was not really getting the full Wright experience. I've often been told that with a Wright house the landscape is an extension of the living space, but it was not until I set foot in Fallingwater that I understood this.

Every window in the house provides a spectacular panorama of the valley in which the house sits. Every porch and veranda seems to float right into the view. You don't feel like you are in a house, but somehow floating amongst the trees and the river. This experience is, obviously, carefully engineered by Wright, who moves you and your eye around the house like he were directing a film. It's an uncanny experience to be in a place that so determines your experience of it. It really is like Wright is there, telling us how to feel and what to look at.

Though what you see around the house is important, what is more impressive is what is hidden. Open stairways are carefully angled to hide other rooms as you pass over them. Each bedroom at the house has it's own cantilevered terrace over the falls, but the orientation of the house blocks any view of the path to the house, or the guest house up the hill. I've never experienced this kind of careful and considered design, where the house itself is not only a work of art, but serves as the channel through which something beautiful is experienced -- in this case, the wild Pennsylvania countryside.

During our tour, the guide pointed out some supporting pillars that had little flanges on the side. From the bottom of the path, the pillars look like stunted plants, with stubby branches. But from the top of the path looking down, the angle of the pillars is such that all the flanges disappear. I think this was a subtle thesis for the entire house: that in this space, certain things will be presented to you, and others intentionally hidden.

Here's some crappy pictures that I took. Hopefully I'll have some better ones soon.

This is a very difficult photo to unpack. Just let it sink in.

I should mention that this whole trip was the brain child of my pal Keith. Our journey was a strange one, driving 3 hours into the backwoods of Pennsylvania. This trip also took us along Route 68, AKA the National Highway. This is really quite the road: plunging through mountain passes, and winding around the rounded Appalachian peaks. Being a highway, it meant that we found ourselves far more entertained than we would have been on a toll road. Seeing things like the site where Noah's ark is being rebuilt; signs that welcome you to Maryland, and ask that you "drive gently;" houses covered with icicles; a road sign that simply says "BEGIN" in large, block letters; and of course, Cumberland, Maryland.

We stopped in Cumberland on our way back from Fallingwater looking for something to eat and, of course, adventure. From the road, it looked like a strange, rambling, complicated old-style city in a valley -- like Cincinatti, but smaller. Churches, bridges, and houses jutted around at strange angles that I found truly intriguing. However, once dismounted, we found it to be eerily empty. While it was clear that much work had been put into cleaning up buildings and developing a downtown, the only people we saw were inside restaurants. The following pictures I think go a long way toward fleshing out the experience of Cumberland.

I like to call this one "Trashy."

Cumberland, MD is the kind of place where you can buy a Confederate flag rug and a Robert E. Lee Knifegun in the same store.

(In there defense, we did see some hipper, cooler stores around. But this is funnier.)

There were five of these tableaus, each more politically incorrect than the next. This one is the winner by virtue of the pink leopard.

The mid-1950's Boy Scout handbook was mostly a grimoire for calling upon the ghosts of dead Indians.

Keith R. meets a mysterious long-necked figure in Cumberland, MD.

Truth be told, we had a great time exploring this part of America. It was weird, it was kind of crappy, but I liked it a lot. It's a small town that hasn't given up, and is trying very hard to reinvent itself. There's some really neat things to see in the town, especially if you are like me and love old buildings, winding streets, and numerous beautiful churches.

I should say that we had a PHENOMENAL and REASONABLY PRICED meal at an Italian place downtown. Everyone was very nice and curious about us, which was sweet. The drivers were another story, though. Indeed, navigating the sprawling roads and blind corners of the city was a bit of a challenge even when you are not being tailgated. It did, however, provide a major insight into the nature of the city: Cumberland Maryland is the kind of place where you accidentally drive to West Virginia.

Enough said, I think.