Grandparents are backyard buddies at the King-Mowery compound

By Deborah Salomon     Photographs by John Gessner

Living with or near the in-laws spawned “All in the Family” and “Everybody Loves Raymond,” award-winning sitcoms exploring the ups and downs, the inevitables and hystericals of family life. By these standards one extended family occupying a cluster of three homes built during the 1920s in the Southern Pines Historic District would flop in prime time. Because harmony, not discord, thrives here.

Really, what’s the likelihood of the father of two toddlers inviting his wife’s parents, Renate and Jim Mowery, to move from Virginia to a classic Weymouth “cottage” renovated, by him, for them? Then, when it came on the market, he purchased and renovated the house next door as lodgings for visiting relatives.

Who is this visionary?

Steve King.

Day job: Oncology radiologist.

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Eyebrows were raised, comments made. “This wouldn’t work for all families,” Steve concedes. “But we had a great relationship with my wife’s parents. We had traveled together.” He certainly did not underestimate the advantage of having grandparents 50 yards away.

Steve had lived in his house for many years. He knew the elderly couple beyond the back fence. After they died, he considered acquiring their house for a historic renovation which, he learned, entailed applications, documentation, building restrictions and copious paperwork.

But the ambitious amateur already had a stable of subcontractors and experience gained remodeling his own home. And now, he had a reason. “You’re retired — come live here so you can be around the grandchildren,” Steve proposed.

“I was thrilled,” says Roberta King, the Mowerys’ daughter. “Mom and I are extremely close. I could have my baby and my parents too; we helped each other.”

“It was an interesting process, an outlet for me,” Steve says. “I don’t get to do much creative stuff.”

The idea to invite Renate and Jim jelled when another of the four Mowery daughters was accepted at Duke University Medical School. The chemistry and geography were in place; Renate and Jim, youthful and active, accepted.

Jim, a former Army officer and Reynolds Aluminum executive, met Renate, a language teacher, while stationed in Germany. As a child she lived for 10 years in two rooms with no running water on a farm outside Munich. Jim grew up in a typical Southern post-war family house on a dirt road near Richmond, Virginia. The couple returned to Virginia to raise a family in an impressive Southern Colonial, which Renate had just spent six months refurbishing. Fortunately, yet another daughter was happy to take on that house, facilitating the Mowerys’ relocation.

The best part, Renate beams, was, “Steve did everything.”

“Everything” meant gutting the sunroom (dark walls, smelly indoor-outdoor carpet over concrete), refitting kitchen and bathrooms, building bookcases in almost every room (“I’m a reader,” Jim says), refinishing hardwood floors all without moving walls or altering the footprint, per historic property restrictions.  An addition was, however, possible. In an obvious yet bold move, Steve converted the garage into a “fun” room with bar, entertainment equipment and posters. For a wall he used a massive pair of sliding wooden barn doors. The garage ceiling hid the original patterned tin, which, uncovered, adds texture and antiquity. Across from the garage (which could become a main-floor bedroom if needed) new construction allowed a laundry and bathroom.

As for the rest, “We just wanted something comfortable,” easy-to-please Renate says.

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Comfort, in these circumstances, meant restraint. “I had to find a balance between their comfort and budget restrictions,” Steve says. The new kitchen — moderately sized, as are all the rooms — contains no grand appliances or service island. Instead, a sturdy cupboard with drop-leaf table top provides storage, preparation surface and breakfast bar. The kitchen carpet is Renate’s prize: “We were on a Mediterranean cruise. In Istanbul we stopped at a rug place, where I saw this.” She fell in love with the pattern and superb quality. The size was perfect. But she hadn’t brought credit cards or cash ashore. No problem. The merchant followed them back to the ship, where the transaction was completed, and shipped the rug to the United States.

Renate also loves white wicker, using it generously in the sunroom and bedrooms. “To me it’s light, not depressing,” she says. Other furnishings in dark, polished woods suggest European origin; the dining room credenza — weighty, with angular lines — comes from Germany. “Before I said, ‘I don’t want this old thing, it’s not modern,’” but she never regrets keeping it or other handsome heirlooms placed sparingly throughout the house. “I’m not a collector,” Renate adds, with the exception of Hummel figurines displayed in a curio cabinet made by Jim’s dad.

From the coffered dining room ceiling hang four small chandeliers instead of one large. The living room, with fireplace set into a “floating” wall setting off what was once a Carolina room, continues the European aura with graceful velvet upholstered chairs, a Chinese screen, more bookcases, window seats and family portraits. Renate has chosen pastels throughout, except for deep gold walls in the dining room.

The garden is Renate’s design and showplace, with grass so thick, so perfect it appears artificial, bordered by clumps of black-eyed Susans. Flower-filled urns flank the front gate, increasing curb appeal. Renate relates a horticultural omen: “I transplanted a Japanese maple from Richmond. A seed fell into a planter in the front yard, where it grew 6 or 7 feet tall.” Even a weed vine that sprang up over the backyard fence resembles an illustration for “Jack and the Beanstalk.”

Next door to the Mowerys’ white stucco cottage stands the pink stucco three-bedroom guesthouse where well-known Southern Pines residents Peg and Hollis Thompson raised five children. Steve knew the Thompsons; he arranged the purchase before they passed away on the same day in 2015. “I’ll hold onto it awhile as a guest house. I wanted to renovate it, to keep the neighborhood looking nice,” Steve says.

And to keep the family together — a place where 11 cousins, now ages 9 to 22, can gather close to parents and grandparents, just not too close. A place where nobody is crowded at Christmas. A place with a swimming pool, a trampoline, pet accommodations and a long dining table.

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The Mowerys have lived in Southern Pines for 13 years now, watching their granddaughters grow from infants to teens. Boundaries have never been a problem, Roberta confirms. “If (my parents) know I’m by myself they might walk in, but if Steve’s home they are respectful.” The Kings’ children beat a path from their house to the gate opening into Jim and Renate’s yard. “My daughters are always running over to Oma’s house to show her something.”

Looking to the future, Roberta also realizes that having her mother and father a minute away may have health care advantages, since Steve is a physician. Several of her friends report waiting too long to make a similar arrangement.

A century ago, multi-generations still lived under one roof or close by. Grandparents were part of a child’s life. Aunts, uncles and cousins visited on weekends. Since then family structure has evolved — or devolved — with unsettling results.

But the old ways work well at the Mowery-King compound except, Roberta notes, for this small glitch:

“All my sisters are jealous.”  PS

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