For the past two summers, I have rented my own house for the month of August and temporarily relocated to what can only be described as a circa-1970s hippie construction experiment in Menemsha.

Let’s call it Hippidome.

(Joan Didion would be proud, I think, as I put on my oversized dark sunglasses and head out into another perfectly imperfect Menemsha day.)

The house comes with broken screens, an impressive population of spiders, plenty of ants that seem particularly attracted to the faintest suggestion of anything sweet. There is the occasional mystery repair, and broken appliances, weathered and ripped beach towels- the unmistakable wear and tear of a summer cottage, and evidence of decades of minimal maintenance.

And yet, I love it.

Because sometimes the imperfections are part of the charm.

The best part of this rental is the house comes with a key to a private beach beneath the Gay Head Cliffs. Another feature is it has a sprawling front porch large enough to host friends, family, cocktails, dinners, and the occasional misty August evening when no one wants to go inside.

The nights are cool. The air is salty. The sunsets are magnificent.

This summer has been particularly interesting because my workdays have been spent between two completely different architectural worlds. On one end of the spectrum, I have been working at a magnificent private estate designed by architect Robert A.M. Stern—thoughtful in every detail, from its relationship to the landscape to the architectural elements that make a house feel both timeless and completely at home on Martha’s Vineyard.

And then there is my little Menemsha cottage.

Crunchy hair. Salt-covered sandals. Sandy floors. Open windows. A completely different kind of perfection

Perhaps it’s no coincidence that a new opportunity recently entered the room.

A prospect called.

And, as it happens, the property is located on Prospect Hill in Chilmark.

The house has a familiar vocabulary: 1970s architecture, cedar siding, skylights, narrow hallways, and wonderfully quirky, almost ship-like spaces. Built by local craftsmen—and built well—it has the character and confidence of an era when Vineyard houses were less concerned with being polished and more concerned with simply belonging to the landscape.

Like many summer houses of its generation, however, it has experienced its share of deferred maintenance and accumulated belongings.

But the bones are there.

And then there is the view.

The property faces toward Menemsha and enjoys extraordinary views stretching toward the Gay Head Lighthouse. From the third floor, the landscape unfolds in a way that makes you immediately start imagining where the lunch table should go.

My work with the owners who live in NYC will be part curator, part organizer, part stylist, and part local resource. Before the property is handed off to a broker, Home Gig Creative Services will help prepare it for its next chapter—coordinating the removal and donation of contents and vehicles, helping edit and simplify the spaces, identifying opportunities for styling and staging, and educating the owners about the local processes and possibilities that can help them make informed decisions before bringing the property to market.

It’s not about turning a Vineyard house into something it isn’t.

It’s about seeing what is already there.

Sometimes that means carefully styling a room. Sometimes it means removing twenty years of accumulated things. Sometimes it means understanding which imperfections are charming—and which ones need attention.

And sometimes it means recognizing that a slightly eccentric 1970s house with cedar walls, skylights, narrow passageways, and a spectacular view may be exactly the kind of property someone else has been dreaming of.

I couldn’t be more excited about this new project.

There is something wonderfully Vineyard about the timing of it all: spending August in a ramshackle Menemsha cottage, working among the refined architecture of a Robert A.M. Stern estate, and then finding myself on Prospect Hill, helping another distinctive house prepare for its next life.

From high architecture to hippie architecture, apparently, Home Gig is here for all of it.

And I have a feeling the view from the third floor might just become my new favorite lunch spot.