On Nantucket, a legal maneuver to protect historic homes from stripping

On an island where the average home sale last year was more than $4 million, Ginger Andrews' Scallop Shanty is a golden ticket.

If she were inclined, Ms. Andrews, a fourth-generation Nantucket resident, could sell the waterfront structure next week for a life-changing sum. The prospect is intoxicating – at least for some of her acquaintances.

“They'll say, 'You could have a chef!'” Ms. Andrews said. “'Or: 'Don't you want to travel the world?'”

But she has a different goal: to defend her weathered, 19th-century cabin from buyers who want to gut its unadorned interior, install modern layouts and luxuries and erase a gritty legacy that has already largely disappeared from the island 30 miles offshore of Massachusetts. .

With no children to pass the property on to, Mrs. Andrews has turned to a little-known legal maneuver that is having a moment's notice in Nantucket and elsewhere in New England. She adds a conservation restriction to her title deed, requiring any future owner to preserve the essential features of the structure. She also plans to ensure that scallops, who have long shucked their catch in the narrow kitchen, can continue to use the building, the last working scallop shack on Old North Wharf.

“It's my way of looking at the tide of development here and saying, 'Stop,'” said Ms. Andrews, 69, as she stood in the bare kitchen one morning last month with a small space heater blazing against the cold . “It's the last remnant of the working waterfront.”

To the tourists who swarm the wide brick sidewalks and cobblestone streets each summer, Nantucket looks like a stunningly complete time capsule, packed with pristine examples of colonial and Federal architecture. Elegant mansions built by 19th-century whaling captains give way to warm brick storefronts, lovingly restored. The public library, with its towering white columns, is a masterpiece in the Greek Revival style.

Behind the picture-perfect exterior, however, a steady erosion of history has been going on for years, preservationists say, as ultra-wealthy newcomers have remade the interiors of period homes and swept away centuries-old walls, stairs, fireplaces, doors and windows.

The trend first caused alarm in 2000, when the National Trust for Historic Preservation named Nantucket one of the nation's most endangered historic places. It cited the demolition of old structures, the removal of original interiors and new construction that was not in keeping with the island's character.

Although all of Nantucket is listed on the National Register of Historic Places — the nation's largest list, covering 5,000 structures — local officials have the authority to protect only the exteriors of buildings. As more owners have sacrificed original interiors in favor of new floor plans and amenities, more and more longtime residents are considering preservation restrictions as a last-ditch way to preserve history.

After adding roughly one new limited deed over the past two decades, the island now has five pending, said Mary Bergman, executive director of the Nantucket Preservation Trust, who administers the deed restriction program. A similar regional effort, run by the nonprofit Historic New Englandadded last year six houses in four states to the list of 125 protected properties, tying the previous record, said Carissa Demore, team leader for the conservation services organization.

The numbers are small, but they may reflect changing attitudes, conservation leaders said.

“Ultimately, the old house, with its integrity and authenticity, will be the rarer and perhaps the most desirable,” Ms. Bergman said. “There's something very appealing about preserving something real, and that seems to be becoming increasingly important for younger people who have grown up in a digital age.”

Philip Carpenter, 74, a retired builder, grew up appreciating old things. His father, an antiques dealer, and his mother, a collector, bought a house on Fair Street in Nantucket for $12,000 in 1962, he said, and carefully guarded its original features. With its five fireplaces, interior wooden shutters and classical Greek Revival stair carvings, it remains “remarkably undisturbed” nearly two centuries after its construction, he said.

After watching countless new neighbors tear apart the interiors of their historic homes, and grieving each time, Mr. Carpenter said he had no reservations about imposing a restriction on the home he owned. parents had inherited – even after friends who work in the real estate industry warned him. it would reduce the value of the property.

“There are more important things than money,” he said, “and we are losing that sensitivity.”

Peter Dorsey, a real estate agent specializing in antique homes north of Boston, said a deed restriction could increase a home's value for the right buyer by ensuring its historical significance. “It complicates things in a good way,” he said, “because it makes sure the buyers are the right people.”

Like Mr. Carpenter, Ms. Andrews is grateful to older relatives for teaching her the value of the past. Her grandfather, a Nantucket fisherman, bought the gray-shingled cabin above the harbor around 1906. Mrs. Andrews learned to shuck scallops there and played king of the hill on the mountain with discarded shells outside.

By the time she inherited the building in 2000, the wooden posts on which it stands were rotting and sinking. As she fortified it—renting space to scallopers who dropped their catch there—the surrounding dock quickly changed. Other old waterfront buildings were sold for millions and turned into luxury cabins with coveted docks.

As she welcomed visitors on a still, sun-drenched winter day, Mrs Andrews said she hoped to turn her barracks into a museum of the working waterfront – with working scallops among the attractions. In the kitchen, where orange rubber aprons hang from hooks near the wooden-hatch front door, she described with infectious zeal the art of shelling scallops.

Not that scallop fishing is any more romantic. “It's hard work in the cold,” said Ms. Andrews, an ornithologist, artist and writer who fished in her youth. “You have to accept the fact that snot will fall down your face all day long.”

Of course, the island's skyrocketing housing costs have endangered more than just its historic architecture. Year-round residents, including fishermen, workers and city employees, struggle to stay on the island, a problem that seems more pressing to many than preserving ancient homes.

As the housing crisis has grown across the country, more conservationists have tried to work with housing advocates, including on Nantucket. That's what the leaders plan to do purchase of a historically protected former rescue station to be used for workforce housing, and a “home recycling” program relocates and reuses older homes that are slated for demolition.

Michela Murphy, vice chair of the historic district commission in Provincetown, another expensive resort at the tip of Cape Cod, sees the two goals as inextricably linked.

“Our job is not only to protect the structures, but also the culture and way of life,” she said. “If we can't house our workers, the people who keep the city running, we end up with a place that is not sustainable.”

Keenly aware of the need on Nantucket, Ms. Andrews said she has made plans to transfer the home she lives in. a 300-year-old building passed through her familyfor use as affordable housing after she is gone.

With each easement costing $5,000 to $20,000, much of which goes to lawyers, safeguarding history isn't cheap. The Nantucket Preservation Trust monitors deed restrictions once they are in effect and hires experts to inspect protected properties annually to ensure no unauthorized changes have been made. Thanks to the successful fundraising, the trust is prepared to go to court if someone tries to carry out a prohibited construction project.

Four years after Mr. Carpenter initiated the restriction on his Nantucket home, the legal agreement has passed state review and is awaiting city approval. He said he opted for “draconian” measures, barring future owners from installing insulation or replacing original shingles.

(Updates to the kitchen and bathrooms are allowed, as in most such agreements.)

His three adult children, who will inherit the property, were not entirely happy with his decision, Mr. Carpenter said, “but it is non-negotiable.”

Once the legal documents are signed, he expects to feel a great sense of relief.

“I'll feel like I'm leaving the legacy that I want to leave,” he said. “It's a beautiful old summer house, and it will be.”