My grandfather put countless hours of labor into that house while he was alive; it seems that the whole place is held together by nails and putty and will collapse at any given moment. The porch is slanted, the floor is creaky and in some parts of the attic, you can actually see down into the house. When they purchased the house, it was full of 40's rattan, bark cloth covered furniture which was eventually thrown out. The house has been host to endless family summer parties, overnight stays and I even lived there as a kid.
Though it is tiny, weathered and rickety, I still think it's the most charming place on earth. Staying there makes me want to abandon New York, throw away all my nice shoes and just live barefoot on the sand, selling good like a gypsy somewhere so I have money for cocktails to sip on the porch. This is one of the places I like to visit in my mind when I am stressed or sad; these pictures might explain why.
Welcome to 415 East Bay!