Tour a Mountaintop Napa Valley Home That Lets the Starlight In

Many would struggle to find a silver lining in their weekend home being incinerated during one of California wine country’s infamous wildfires. But Buttons and Ridgie Barton, along with their Napa-based architect, Brandon Jørgensen, seem to have mastered that rare art. When their Mount Veeder A-frame that had been “added onto over and over again to the point there was barely any A-frame left” was destroyed in 2017, they calculated the exact square footage a new house on their super-steep lot was allowed to be—2,316, per Napa County’s 25% increase rule. With that figure in mind, Atelier Jørgensen set about to engulf the couple in warmth, while simultaneously creating extraordinary expansiveness.

Essentially, what the pair of “interesting cats” (in Jørgensen’s words) were after in their future primary residence was oxymoronic. They wanted to feel like they were outside, while also being cozy; supreme snugness alongside extreme openness. And all of it within a strict square footage. “We were constantly playing that game,” says Jørgensen of the puzzle to reach the exact footprint achieved: “2,316 point zero zero.”

Despite obvious challenges, the architect was lit up by both the property and people, with whom he became quite close. “When I first visited their site, naturally, everything was burned—that was the depressing part,” says Jørgensen of the five acres that are “like being in the Sierra Nevadas but you’re in wine country. The old trees had been charred but were still alive, and I looked at them as California sentinels. There was just a lot of inspiration.”

A lightning-fast design process thanks to decisive decision-making on the part of his “dream clients” led to a bronze-black exterior on a home that, in a way, mirrors its injured-but-still-thriving landscape. Like those charred trees, “if you were to cut it open, you would have this warm interior,” Jørgensen says. “They really wanted that concept carried through throughout the house.”

The Bartons sought maximum natural daylight and also moonlight, so Jørgensen conceived a 30-foot-tall living room volume–slash–primary bedroom loft clad in glass. “When you’re standing or sitting in the space, your peripheral vision doesn’t pick up on the ceiling. . . which kind of curves up toward the sky. It feels like you’re outside,” he says. The home’s orientation was also incredibly precise, so that the sun never beams directly inside it. “In the morning when they wake up the sun is shining through the trees,” Jørgensen says. By night “you can see the entire sky. I’ve seen the Milky Way there. It’s phenomenal.” The exact positioning of the primary bed was tedious too. Ultimately they landed on the spot where, when the Bartons’ heads rest on their pillows, they can gaze upon specific beloved constellations.

“In 30 years of experience, I’ve never had clients bring camping chairs and sit on the construction site from morning to evening,” Jørgensen says, impressed. “They were there every day, all day long, and they didn’t interfere at all. They literally were just excited to watch.” The architect describes witnessing 13 months of unearthly and eccentric environmental conditions as the house was being built, particular moments his clients had described—of the sun setting through certain clouds, thunderstorms in the distance or the Alpenglow that directly inspired the spur-of-the-moment construction of a fire pit. “We only made three subtle changes, but they all had to do with capturing these moments of light and landscape outside,” Jørgensen says. “It was constantly a conversation.”