Something miraculous happened when I spotted the house on the narrow dead-end street that lies in the shadow of St. Mary’s Church in Annapolis’ historic district. Wanting to move from the suburbs, I had been on the hunt for a home to rent downtown. And here it was. In an instant, I felt this was where I belonged. Despite its ‘50s bathrooms and bread-box-sized closets, I immediately took it—if only because I wanted to live on a street that looked like it belonged in a Norman Rockwell painting set on Spa Creek. A few months later I had completely fallen in love with my address, and when the run-down 1960s deckhouse next door went on the market—complete with leaky roof, an infestation of carpenter ants, and the field of bamboo in the back yard—I bought it, hiring Annapolis architect Joe Boggs, who had designed a large waterfront contemporary for my late husband and me in Bayberry Hill.

Boggs described my new purchase as “architecturally challenged.” The house was on two levels, one below grade, so from the street it looked like a tiny rambler. In order to maximize my view of Spa Creek and gain additional floor space, while remaining on the same footprint, I wanted to add an upper level—nothing too elaborate, just a simple renovation. But what began as a little rehab turned into a project of a much grander proportion as the discovery of the house’s seriously damaged foundation made renovation impossible.

The first step was to get permission to rebuild the house from the Historic Preservation Commission of Annapolis. The thought of dealing with them was daunting. At the same time I was concerned about my neighbors’ opinions concerning my plans. I met with each one affected by my house prior to my hearing before the Historic Commission.

The commission has one tough job. These seven men and women appointed by the mayor are responsible for safeguarding the city’s three centuries of historic architecture. This is no easy task given some of the wacky requests I saw from other applicants while waiting for my turn the night of my hearing. Although I had to make some modifications to my initial design, I found the review process to be fair and reasonable. The commission’s primary concerns were that the house be sympathetic to the neighborhood, that quality materials be used such as true divided windows, and that the builder be mindful of scale and proportion.

We followed their guidelines and used real stucco, cedar shingles, and a cedar shake roof, and finished it off with copper gutters. While I prefer contemporary architecture, the exterior design had to blend into the neighborhood and not feel out of place. Inside, I wanted an open contemporary floor plan with the drama of a 10-foot ceiling on the main level. Since I didn’t want a lot of retaining walls, a structural engineer was called in. This resulted in a series of steel beams hidden in the ceiling of the main level to hold up the top floor. The end result is a design Boggs and his associate, Angela Healy, describe as “a little bit of a mission look mixed with Cape Cod style.”

I like minimalism—clean, simple lines without a lot of clutter. I don’t like bedroom furniture either, so a huge side-by-side closet was placed directly off the master bedroom. I’m a writer and work at home so I wanted my office to have a good view of the water. Since I sometimes like to work very early or very late, I also wanted my office and library to be on the same level as my bedroom.

From the day I signed my contract with Horizon Builders to the day I moved in, the house took six months to complete—probably a historic district record. Now my plan is to take time collecting a few pieces of art and sculpture. Good architecture is art, and I don’t want a lot of accessories or too many things cluttering the walls, taking away from the design of the house and my rooftop views.

Now that I’ve been through the entire process of building a new house, I sometimes fantasize about starting all over again, learning from my mistakes. My biggest one is that I didn’t pay enough attention to the smallest details, like where to put the electrical outlets and light switches. I also should have checked room dimensions more carefully; I thought my master bathroom was going to be much bigger. I hate the faucets in the master bath, too. I didn’t really love them when I picked them out, but I was just tired of making so many selections, so I settled for them, and now I’m sorry. All in all, not a bad “regret list” for someone who doesn’t know a thing about building a house.

Overall, I love it.

Mary Ann Treger is an Annapolis-based freelance writer.