After years of collecting rare and wonderful art from Papua New Guinea to Bhutan, Marilyn Lyons had dreams of designing a home on the Chesapeake Bay that would showcase her treasures—ceramics, textiles, paintings, and antiques that she’d acquired during her travels as a museum professional. She and her husband, Dr. Clark “Corky” Graham, hired Annapolis architect Wayne Good to draw up the plans while they were still living in Pascagoula, Miss. But Mother Nature intervened. Lyons’ artworks, and every other possession, vanished in September 2005, when Hurricane Katrina swept away their Gulf of Mexico residence. “There wasn’t a house in the area still standing,” recalls Lyons. “Not a brick was left.”

With nothing left of their art collection or their household goods, Lyons and Graham carried on with their plans to move to an Annapolis property they’d purchased in 1995 but hadn’t inhabited for more than a decade. “When we bought it,” Lyons explains, “we were absolutely compelled by the view, the wildlife, and the park nearby”—now a daily destination with their soft-coated Wheaten terrier, Madigan. “But it was pathetically built. When we were interviewing architects, they all said the same thing: ‘We can have it in the dumpster in two hours.’”

With the help of Good, their dream took shape as a 4,000-square-foot, three-story contemporary house that makes the most of its South River setting. Good explains that his inspiration for the project came from the nineteenth-century “shucker shanties” that were once common in the Bay region. “A simple cottage with vertical board-and-batten siding—that was the vernacular,” he explains, pointing out the clean lines and high-pitched gable roof of the design. “You wouldn’t find this house in Cape Cod or Charleston.”

His version adds a few modern notes: a wealth of custom glass, ten-foot-tall ceilings, and stark, white walls. Random-width oak floors provide warmth while the board-and-batten motif, repeated throughout the interior, softens any hint of austerity.

The front of the house, almost entirely glass, offers floor-to-ceiling water views animated by tundra swans in winter and leafy oaks in summer. Its crowning feature is a three-level folly, a glass tower of twelve-foot-by-twelve-foot rooms. Accessed by a bridge from the master suite, the second and third stories of the soaring cube connect to each other via a handcrafted ship’s ladder. Underneath them, an open porch invites casual repose. Triple-hung windows set into the folly’s walls can be opened to take advantage of river breezes. “This is Corky’s favorite spot in the house,” says Lyons, waving a hand around the middle room. “And it’s a great place to have a glass of wine.”

Views are equally expansive from the living room, where glass walls on two sides surround the beige brick fireplace. Lyons has begun to rebuild her art collection; on the mantel, Mississippi painter Jamie Tate’s vivid landscape recalls the aftermath of Katrina; pots by Talle Johnson, a Chattanooga-based master potter, are interspersed among Oriental rugs and choice antiques (including a marble-topped nineteenth-century dental cabinet). A bold block print by Walter Anderson of Mississippi crowns the family room. Beyond is the open kitchen, appointed with stainless-steel appliances and a farmhouse table. The space includes a separate pantry, laundry area, and plenty of counter space for prep work—a must when Lyons’ son, a chef, comes home to cook.

“At the beginning of the project, Wayne asked each of us to write a letter explaining what we wanted from the house,” Lyons recalls. “We both said, separately, that lots of air and light passing through were most important to us.” Later, after Good returned their memos, the two were struck by how perfectly the house matched their requests. The tempest-tossed prelude has led them to a new port—one that both agree is “a great space to live in.”