South Mountain Company

Martha’s Vineyard’s integrated design/build company

This blog provides up-to-date news of goings on at South Mountain Company and occasional musings from John Abrams (and others).

Stick A Fork In It

By John Abrams |

When I first learned carpentry, it was part of a seat-of-the-pants effort to create shelter on the communes of the late sixties and early seventies. My teachers were books, occasional mentors (some of whom knew only a bit more than I did), practice, and pure dumb luck.

Later, when South Mountain (SMCo) became a design/build firm on the Vineyard, we hired carpenters of a similar breed – self-taught experimenters like Pete Ives, Heikki Soikkeli, and Steve Sinnett. In the late eighties, we were working on projects of greater complexity and it was time to hire a well-trained carpenter who had the discipline and orderly learning history that we did not.

We cast a wide net around New England and New York. We found some good candidates. The response that stood out came from Billy Dillon, a 32 year-old union carpenter who had graduated from a Hudson Valley apprentice program at 22 and racked up years of on-the-job experience since. He came to visit. We loved his skills and enthusiasm. We hired him.

Next week Billy will complete a wonderful, multi-faceted project at Camp Jabberwocky. It will be his last project at SMCo. Over the course of three decades, Billy has contributed to the company as an Owner, as a member of our Management Committee, and as the on-site lead for many of our most demanding projects.

Perhaps his most meaningful contributions have been made as a teacher. He has taught stairmaking, framing, timber joinery and other skills in a variety of settings, and he has been an extraordinary mentor to our young carpenters. Some of them are not so young anymore, but Billy’s lessons stay with them.

Chris Wike tells this story: ‘Do you know how to make a set of sawhorses? It’s the level cut of a two pitch! Mark the side of the 2by…’. Those were my instructions on day one of my new job. I had been working as a carpenter for many years, and knew my way around a jobsite. As I approached the pile of lumber to begin my task he called out, ‘work right off the pile, we will need the horses right after lunch.’ Eager to do a good job, I dove in. I knew he was testing me at this point and wasn’t just giving me some mundane task. It didn’t matter how many sawhorses I had built before or how great they might’ve been. Everything I needed to know for the task at hand was right there in those few words. He told me exactly how to do it, where to do it, and how long it should take me.

Chris goes on to say,

I learned pretty quickly how to work with Billy. You have to be ready to absorb. Whenever he gives instruction, he speaks deliberately and uses building trades vernacular that is vast, and authentic. There’s always an opportunity to learn while around him. You just have to be listening. He has a particular way for every task and he wants to share it with you, because someone shared it with him, or because he knows from experience it’s worthwhile to repeat. Those who have worked with him recognize that he is someone who is passionate about his work and committed to sharing his knowledge with those who seek it.

Chris is now one of our two next-generation Project Leads.

Although his instructions are crisp and his expectations high, Billy has always been keenly aware of how difficult the work is and how hard expectations are to fulfill. He has never been embarrassed by his own mistakes, and he expects others to make them too. He often says, “The only people who are making mistakes are the people who are working.”

Billy’s a good talent-spotter too. He actively recruited Rocco Bellebuono (our other next-gen Project Lead) to join South Mountain 16 years ago. Rocco tells how the association came to be: I met him in some random down-home eatery in Germany. We were both fresh off the redeye, and somehow connected before the start of a three week intensive drawing program. Dennis [Thulin], Kenny [Leuchtenmacher], and Billy were the first classmates I met. Little did I know how much that moment would change my life. Billy and I took an immediate liking to each other. We both loved to draw. And we both loved complex geometry, and how it could help us build mind-blowing beautiful wooden buildings. We were searching for the same thing.

Before we left Germany, Billy said to me ‘you should come and work with us’. Shortly after, I came to the Vineyard for a visit. It took some time to work out the details, but two years later I joined the South Mountain crew.

Billy has never ceased to be an inspiration for me. He recognizes the importance of giving and sharing the knowledge that he has, and even the knowledge that he doesn’t have! The quest. He has always embraced the arcane, and the elusive. The mystery of craft. He brings a lot of heart and soul to his work.

Carpenters haven’t been the only beneficiaries of Billy’s talents and generosity. Our Director of Finance and Administration, Siobhán Mullin, recently shared the following:

Over the years Billy has become a valued colleague and friend. He has always treated me with respect and shared his wealth of knowledge when I needed to learn something related to the field and his work. He showed me how to use a few tools in the shop, and has even helped me make my own Swedish cheese knife! His generosity with his time when my husband and I have needed advice for our personal building projects has been invaluable; Billy has been a constant resource. Then there are all the ways he has been involved with our family, like sharing his worn Adirondack chair plans with my Dad many years ago and teaching my boys (who he once liked to balance on one hand) how to make apple cider, tap maple trees, collect eggs, and drive a four-wheeler. I’m so happy for him that he is moving into retirement smiling.

Like Siobhán, I too am happy that Billy has chosen his moment, on his own terms, to “stick a fork in it.” That emblematic Billy saying (which means “okay, that’s done, time to move on”) inspired Phil Forest to make the giant fork that gets passed, at each company meeting we have, to a deserving recipient, who keeps it until the next meeting and chooses to whom it will get passed next. Billy was the first recipient years ago.

Billy’s retirement makes five employee-owners who have retired since 2011 collectively representing over 150 years of employment. Billy’s retirement is an exclamation point on the gradual departure of the old guard and transition to the new. Each of those five left us with a lot. Among the many things Billy leaves behind is an appreciation for the trades in our society and economy. In recognition of that, South Mountain is working to establish a scholarship program or contribution, in his name, that will enable young islanders to get the training they require.

It’s bittersweet to see him go, but Billy is embracing the moment, chomping at the bit, and excited about more time and travel with his wife Amy and daughters Lucia and Augusta. He’s got a list of projects a mile long.

For now, we stick a fork in it, but we look forward to continuing to learn from Billy in his retirement. He has plenty left to teach.

The Red Arrow Story

By John Abrams |

The Vineyard is full of narrow dirt roads that wind out along the ponds and into the hilly uplands. Until recently, many of these roads were unmarked; some still are. Years ago we used to make and circulate hand-drawn maps to help trade partners and suppliers – and our own crews – find jobsites.

Sometime in the 1980s we started making red arrows and strategically locating them along the way. The arrows themselves evolved and ultimately became a cut-out. Jim Vercruysse, our Shop Lead, who has been with us 30 years, has probably made and painted hundreds.

We mean to take them down when the job is complete, but many are left behind. In some cases, homeowners request that they remain. They may even paint them a different color. They may even paint them lime green.

In 1998, when we developed our Stoney Hill Road property, which included the development of Island Cohousing (a neighborhood of 16 houses and extensive common facilities) in addition to the South Mountain office, shop, and storage yard, we cut a new access road. We needed a name for the road. At a company meeting we held a brainstorming session to find one. Derrill Bazzy, former Designer and Owner, suggested we name it Red Arrow Road. He remembers, “All of a sudden it just popped into my head, made total sense to me, and when I suggested it to the group, everyone said ‘Of course!’ It was unequivocal.”

It stuck, so that’s how we ended up on Red Arrow Road (where we remain today, two decades later).

The Vineyard’s hundreds of dirt roads have some unusual names, like Pancake Hollow Road, Tar Barrel Road, and Glacier Glen. Some commemorate historic attributes of the particular road, like Blacksmith’s Valley Road, Fulling Mill Road, Oxcart Road, and King’s Highway. Or physical features, like Peaked Hill Pastures, Kettle Hole Lane, Rustling Oaks Road, and Clay Pit Road.

And then there’s Mud Puddle Road (which most of them are this time of year) and just plain Old Dirt Road (love that one), Beaten Path, and Goah Way.

Many clearly have a story behind them, like Pimpneymouse Lane, Robin’s Nest Road, Pennywise Path, and Black Duck Road.

There are even some numbered dirt “streets” along Edgartown-Vineyard Haven Road, that go from 3rd Street to 22nd Street, with some random Avenues (10th, 12th, and 13th) thrown in for good measure. This area is particularly bizarre because the numbers aren’t even in order, just helter skelter. What’s that all about? How did it happen? Stoner town planners or developers playing a joke on the rest of us long ago?

Back to Red Arrows. Remember that none of them will lead you to Red Arrow Road. In fact, even your GPS is unreliable for that task. It will lead you up the Edgartown-Vineyard Haven side of Stoney Hill Road – the worst dirt road on the Vineyard, where you are sure to bottom out multiple times.

Stick to the map below. And if you know a good story about how any of those dirt roads were named, let me know.

Eddie Cottle Sr.

By John Abrams |

Ed and his wife Betty in their Lambert’s Cove home. Photo by Mark Alan Lovewell, courtesy of the Vineyard Gazette.

Eddie Cottle Sr., the founder and longtime proprietor of E.C. Cottle Lumberyard., died on November 9th at the age of 87. Quiet, fair, modest, and generous, he had a big heart and a fine sense of humor. He lived on Lambert’s Cove Road in West Tisbury, where the yard is located, for almost his entire life.

For the last 43 years, E.C. Cottle has been South Mountain’s primary lumberyard. It was there long before we were here, opening in the early fifties when Ed was in his early twenties.

As it says in Ed’s obituary, “He worked tirelessly to make the lumberyard a very successful and well respected business. He appreciated his customers and his employees. He never forgot his humble beginnings and would often, very quietly, help a contractor or anyone else if he saw that they were struggling.”

Many years ago we needed a stationary shaper for our shop. There was one in the E.C. Cottle shop that was never used; it had a thick coating of dust and was piled high with Playboy and Penthouse. I asked Ed if he wanted to sell it.

“Sure,” he said. “We never use it.”

“How much do you want for it?” I asked.

“Oh I don’t know,” he replied, “Just put the magazines on the floor, take the shaper, and we’ll figure it out later.”

We moved the shaper to our shop. And for years after that, whenever I saw him, I’d say, “Hey Ed, we need to settle up for that shaper, remember?”

He’d mutter something and never answer the question. One time he said, “Oh forget it, we’re square.”

It became a refrain. Whenever I saw him, I’d say “when are we gonna settle up on that shaper?”

He’d chuckle and say, “We’re square.”

South Mountain still uses the shaper today.

My friend Richard Greene told me, at Ed’s internment, that the last time he’d had a laugh with Ed was at the opening of our new shop 20 years ago. The two were looking at all the beautifully crafted woodwork made from reclaimed lumber, full of nail holes and defects. Ed leaned over to Richard, grinning, and said, “Where I come from we throw that stuff away.”

Where Ed came from business was done on a handshake, loyalty was a virtue, and there was nothing but the truth. That’s good business, in my view. He was a good man.

Getting Out The Vote

By John Abrams |


During the last four days prior to the midterm election, my friend Kim and I worked to get-out-the-vote in the western suburbs of Richmond VA. We aimed for a congressional campaign that had the following characteristics:

• A great Democratic candidate
• A race too close to call
• A place we’d never been
• Easy enough to get to

Abigail Spanberger’s campaign in the 7th district of Virginia satisfied all four criteria (the cheap nonstop flights from Logan took care of the last one).

We contacted the campaign and told them we wanted to volunteer. Mackenzie, the assistant campaign director we were in touch with, asked, “Do you need a place to stay?”

“No,” I said, “we’re all set. Just tell us where to be, train us, and set us loose.”

“Perfect,” she said, “we’ll let you know where we need you.”

We flew down, checked into a small hotel in the old part of town, and went at it. Our first instructions were to go to a campaign center in Henrico County, which turned out to be a typical raised-ranch home in a middle class neighborhood fully adorned with blue and white Spanberger signs.

That local HQ was buzzing with cheery campaign volunteers including a 12 year old kid named Tyrell, who lived in the house and worked as hard as anyone. His bubbly personality and commitment exemplified the spirit of the place. He and the campaign operatives were organizing the volunteers and keeping track of comings and goings.

They trained us and gave us a voter list. The list had names, genders, ages, and addresses. Our job was to knock on doors and ask:
“Are you planning to vote?”
“Do you know where your polling place is?”
“Do you need a ride to the polls?”
“Are you planning to vote for Abigail?”

Over the next four days we found ourselves in a variety of neighborhoods, running from down-at-the-heels garden apartment projects to lower middle class to middle middle class. None were terribly prosperous, but some were a step up. We noticed that neighborhood behaviors seemed to be contagious. Positive care and negative neglect. In one neighborhood there would routinely be junk strewn around un-kempt yards while a nearby neighborhood of similar price point was tidy and well-maintained.

The first door we knocked on was in a neighborhood of 1200 SF post-war single family brick houses, the southern equivalent of Levittown. It was answered by three generations of an Indian family. They were happy to see us, they were planning to vote, they knew where to go, and they were voting for Abigail.

That was typical, but not all of our encounters were.

We spent most of the first afternoon in a subsidized housing project occupied primarily by African Americans. Rental units, two stories, 16 to a building, eight to a hallway, four off the second floor hall, four off the first. At least 75% of the occupants were single women, most with kids. Very few men. It’s not that the men weren’t home or out working, it’s that they weren’t on the voting lists.

Kim took care of the clipboard and checked off the boxes on the form: conversation concluded, not home, moved, deceased, inaccessible, refused to talk. I knocked or rang the doorbells and initiated contact, but mostly we shared the interactions seamlessly.

A 79 year old woman said she couldn’t get to the polls without help. We asked if we could give her a ride. She asked what church we went to. We said we’re not from here. She said she better not go with us because she doesn’t know us. We gave her the number to call for the campaign to arrange a ride.

A drunk, carrying a beer and wandering around the neighborhood trying to engage with anyone he encountered, saw us as his next prey. He asked what we were doing. We told him. He wondered what difference it would make. We went back and forth. (He liked the game.) Finally, we told him we had to get back to work. He left us alone.

A woman was walking home with three kids. Kim asked if we could give the kids Abigail stickers. She said sure, and we gave each kid a sticker and asked if she wanted one. She replied “Yes, and I can tell you that I’m sure gonna vote for Abigail!”. As we walked away the three little kids were all saying “thank you thank you” in sing-song voices as they proudly displayed their stickers.

A tall African American man was walking into one of the buildings and we asked him if he was planning to vote. “They won’t let me, although the constitution says I can.” A felon, we assumed.

“We hope you get your right back before 2020,” we said.

“I will,” he responded.

Even in the most rundown circumstances, there was plenty of heart. One apartment had a sign at the door that said, in Spanish, Arabic, and English, “No matter where you are from, we’re glad you’re our neighbor.”

The next day we were in lower middle class developments of vinyl-clad homes on quarter acre lots. There were roads, courts, terraces, and cul-de-sacs. It was a Monday so fewer people were home compared to the previous day. Each time we got no answer we left a campaign flyer on their door. We wrote in longhand their polling place address, and “Thank you!” There’s no way to know if some of those reminders made the difference between voting and not voting.

An African American couple about my age was sitting on their front porch smoking cigarettes. Their house was impeccably maintained, they were dressed nicely, and they wanted to talk politics. They were well-versed and had never failed to vote since coming of age (which would have been in the late sixties). They were centrists, big Obama supporters, and felt like the middle class was getting burned and shrinking.

Many people were very supportive of Abigail. A few said they were voting for her opponent, a few were still undecided, and a few said, “Not telling.” To the non-supporters, the undecided, and the non-revealers, we simply said, “Hope you’ll vote for Abigail; we think she’ll make a difference!”

Most people were very friendly, even though in some cases their door had been knocked on multiple times over the past few weeks by one of the campaigns active in the area. Women, especially African American women, were particularly enthusiastic. It was interesting to us that, in general, women opened the door wide and men opened it a crack.

On election day we showed up at HQ and were asked to help solve a problem. A polling location in Henrico County had been unexpectedly changed from a church to a school and it wasn’t clear that people knew. Most people we encountered had found out, one way or another, but at times our presence made the difference.

It all felt very real, and engaged. People from diverse backgrounds and ethnicities engaging in heartfelt conversations with varying points of views. People living their lives, caring about their futures, voting their consciences. We felt lucky to share some time with them.

And then, of course, there was the result. Abigail Spanberger triumphed over long-time Republican incumbent, Dave Brat. (Pictured above and to right you can see Abigail’s four year old daughter sharing the stage during her victory speech.) She was part of the blue wave of women and ethnic candidates that turned things upside down nationwide – or began to anyway. We are on our way to 2020. Trumpism is dead; it only remains to be seen how long and troubling the funeral will be. Better times ahead.

Peter Blackstone Ives, Friend & Partner

By John Abrams |

Pete Ives retired last month. Of the many long term employees/owners who have made this company what it is, Pete had the longest tenure (except for me, last man standing, apparently). His illustrious career here spanned 41 years.

He came to SMCo in 1977, just two years after my former partner Mitchell Posin and I came to the Vineyard and South Mountain began. At the time he was an accomplished mason, painter, drywaller, floor sander, tilesetter, and surfer. He’d never done a lick of carpentry. He said, “Just tell me what to do. I’ll do anything, as long as I don’t have to tell anyone else what to do.” He was loyal, dedicated, and skilled, but he feared responsibility.

Back then it was just me, Mitchell, Steve, Pete, and Heikki Soikkeli (I think). By 1985 there were ten employees. Steve and Pete came to me and said they wanted to stay at South Mountain and make their careers here, but needed a greater stake and more than an hourly wage. We decided to become a worker cooperative. Pete became one of the original three employee owners when we restructured in 1987.

And he stayed. Over time he began to find confidence in his work and himself. He learned to be a very good carpenter and then a project lead, first reluctantly, then with pride. So much for not telling people what to do. He was the Clerk of the organization, the only one we ever had until his retirement. He also became an essential part of the Personnel Committee for all those years.

His work at SMCo extended into five different decades. He was the responsible project lead for some of our most emblematic projects, like Sagan, Thistle, Hass, Weinstock, Hamermesh, Field, Howes, Cook-Kraus, Davis, and Lake-Hodgson.

His work culminated appropriately with the wonderfully playful Lee Treehouse.

Pete has been friend, colleague, and co-owner. I have seen his three children at birth, growing up, and grown. Clare has always been a constant, his partner in the truest sense.

My wife Chris always said he was the heart of SMCo. The keeper of the soul. The king of casual. Killing it with kindness. Getting the job done in the most stress-free way possible. If Pete was there, it was surely gonna be fun. And infused with craft. Always craft. He had an unbelievable touch with people and wood. Knew how to make both fit together seamlessly.

We are lucky to know him and grateful for all he’s been and done. His spirit will remain a part of this company for as long as the company endures.

Pete with Steve, Marko, and me in some God-forsaken foundation.

Jabberwocky: There’s Nothing Else Like It

By John Abrams |

Camp Jabberwocky is a magical place where dreams come true and nothing is impossible. It’s been that way for 65 years.

The first page of Clark Hanjian’s Jabberwocky: A Brief History of The Martha’s Vineyard Cerebral Palsy Camp begins with: “On a small island in the North Atlantic, off the southern shore of Massachusetts, there is a place where hope flourishes. The place is Camp Jabberwocky – a small summer camp for the disabled…”

On September 5th the last campers of the summer left Camp Jabberwocky. Two days later, we began a major overhaul of the main building, known as the Mess Hall, and other parts of the facility. The 14-acre campus, with 17 buildings, which usually falls silent at the end of the summer, is chock full of activity and change. In mid-May, just before the campers return, this transformation will be complete and Jabberwocky will be, we hope, just a bit more magical than ever before.

Last week, as Jabberwocky executive director Liza Gallagher sat with SMCo architects Matt Coffey and Beth Kostman reviewing the proposed furnishings and color schemes for the new space, she told us that the day before, as a session ended and campers departed, there were many tears and some wailing. Some of these campers have been here every season for 30 years.

This is where, as Clark says:
Disabled folks are at the center of a community rather than at the periphery.

The camp started [in the early 50’s] as a small experiment: a handful of children with cerebral palsy, a tiny summer cottage, a director, and a young assistant. From there, the camp has grown to a…volunteer staff of well over forty people [and several paid]. It now serves about one hundred disabled children and adults every summer.

Jabberwocky is a community. It has families and extended families, and grandparents, and children. It has births and deaths and marriages. It has oral history, traditions, myths, and legends. It has people with a full range of abilities, skills, and interests. And these people work, play, eat, and create together. They argue and dance together. They write and cry together. And like people in other communities, they are here year after year. A few come and go each season, but the majority are here living together every summer.

For most of the year, disabled people are in the minority. They are stared at, singled out for special treatment, and generally viewed as outside the mainstream of normal life. For a couple of months each year, the camp provides a break from this routine. At Jabberwocky, people with disabilities form the majority of the community. Their experience becomes the dominant experience. Their needs become the priority needs. Their concerns become common concerns. In these wondrous times the whole community becomes as family.

It is a record of experiments and risks. A portrait of cooperation. Jabberwocky is a tale of bountiful harvest from a few scattered seeds. It is an epic of generosity and thanksgiving. Stories like this are crucial to the existence of humanity. They remind us of what great things are possible in our limited days. And so, we need to keep telling them.

This summer we had the great good fortune to be a part of a new Jabberwocky program. The old red bus rolled into our yard on four occasions with a group of campers who came to do woodworking in our shop. “The campers were positive, upbeat, and hilarious,“ says Jim Vercruysse, our shop project lead. “My favorite time was at the end of each class when we would take a group photo holding up our finished projects and call out ‘JABBERWOCKY!’ It felt great to be part of such an enthusiastic and cheerful bunch.”

At the end of the summer of 1966 a counselor named Linda Yenkin wrote in the Vineyard Gazette:
We are all tired now, but when the children are gone and the camp is quiet, when there is no more Skipper wandering off and calling everyone he meets a pigeon, and when there is no more Kevin yelling in the Mad Hatter’s ear in the very early morning, “Move over, my bed’s broke,” when we no longer hear any more off-key singing in the condemned looking red bus, when all this is gone, then we will miss it all very much, and only then will we realize that we have to wait an entire year for the magic to begin again. But the magic never wears off.

There is, I’m certain, nothing in the world quite like Camp Jabberwocky. And now it will change. Some of the campers said good-bye to the old mess hall and “thanked it for the memories,” said Liza.

The project is part of a fundamental shift in our company’s work or, rather, an expansion of the breadth of our endeavors. Our high-end residential projects, affordable housing work, performance engineering, and solar design/installations continue, but another arena has become central: institutional work for non-profit organizations. At the same time as we have been completing the Jabberwocky plans, we have begun planning for a new campus for Martha’s Vineyard Community Services (our umbrella social service agency which serves 6,000 Islanders each year), and an expansion of the Island Grown Initiative’s Farm Hub.

Our previous experience with institutional work has been limited to master planning efforts, so this is new for us. Each of these projects requires significant learning. But that’s nothing new – we always seem to be doing something different that we must learn how to do before we do it. Exciting stuff. Keeps the blood pumping and the synapses firing. As long as the inevitable mistakes are minor, all’s well.

I can’t adequately describe the thrill of working with this organization and watching this project slowly find its form and round into shape. There are times in life when you know that you are doing what ought to be done, that the work that you are doing is bringing fundamental positive change to a place or an organization or a community. Those are particularly rewarding times.

In service to that notion, some of our recent strategic planning work has focused on committing ourselves to finding ways to engage in as much of this impact-driven work as possible. Now those opportunities are rolling in. Apparently, saying dreams out loud is the first step toward realization. Simple as that.

We’re off on an inspiring, soul-stirring ride at Jabberwocky!