A cargo ship is heading straight for Terry Finn. The black hull slices through water, moving fast, pipes and hardware protruding from the deck with menacing beauty.

“It looks like it’ll crash right into us,” Finn says, pointing through the expansive window fronting his 5,800-square-foot contemporary home in Tolchester. If you follow his finger past the ship, Baltimore emerges in the distance, a toy city of multi-shaped blocks across a swath of gray-green water.

Ships and tugboats are daily entertainment as they make their way along the deepwater Bay channel that runs south toward Norfolk. “They’re amazing to watch,” says Finn, a former NASA official who is such a fan of things nautical he’s read every Patrick O’Brian novel. In fact, Finn commissioned two paintings by Geoff Hunt, the British marine artist whose work is on the O’Brian book covers, to hang in his study.

The two-story Kent County house became the full-time residence of Finn and his wife, Joyce Purcell, in September 2004 when they relocated from an early 1900s home in Chevy Chase. They’d expected to revamp the cottage on the property when they bought it in 1999, but a leaky basement and structural issues made them decide to tear it down. It took three years of planning, design, and construction to create a beautiful, livable waterfront retreat. They finally were able to move in (at least part time) in October 2002; they sold the Chevy Chase property last year.

“In a way, this house represents the child we’ll never have together,” says Purcell, who married Finn in 1994. (Purcell has one grown son from her first marriage, Finn has two from his first wife.) “The house was conceived by the two of us,” she explains. “It’s the product of love, creativity, deliberateness, and appreciation for where it happens to be. To say that we are proud of it would be an understatement.”

Where it “happens to be” is integral to the design of the twenty-two-room house, which perches near a bluff one hundred feet high, on two bayfront acres with sweeping water views on one side, tranquil woods on the other. Annapolis architect Chip Bohl worked with the couple for more than a year, studying their likes and needs and meeting with them every other week to create the home of their dreams—graceful, elegant in its simplicity, peaceful, and full of light. “We told him we like lots of glass, angles, white walls, stone, raised hearths, window seats, bay windows, fireplaces, wood floors, shingles,” Purcell notes.

On the street side, a curved slate walkway guides visitors to the large glass front door, through which the house seems to disappear, so seamless is the view across the slate foyer and spacious dining area, out the back window to the water. Gray-shingled with white trim and slender blue-gray steel columns, the house takes advantage of the water from every possible vantage point, never competing with it.

The feeling of peace and comfort created by the décor was a deliberate goal, says Purcell. The color scheme on the first floor—soft shades of green, white, brushed silver, gray, and ivory— is meant to blend with the landscape. She chose sofas and chairs from Crate & Barrel and the Washington Design Center and mixed them with pieces they already owned, such as an antique display cabinet of polished wood in the living room, with slender strips of curved wood crisscrossing the glass doors. A practical person at heart, Purcell decided on upholstery that holds up well, such as soft, stain-resistant Ultrasuede and heavy cotton blends.

Sixty-six windows, the largest spanning nine-by-nine feet, let in plenty of light. “We are captivated by light in all its variations,” Purcell says. “Sunsets are a daily source of joy.” Clerestory windows in the kitchen and family room bring a different “sort of unexpected” light, as well as glimpses of the treetops.

After Purcell retired in 1994 (after eight years with the Senate Budget Committee, and twelve at the National Academy of Sciences), she studied cooking at L’Academie de Cuisine in Bethesda; she assisted the director for two years.

So much time in a working kitchen let her visualize exactly what she wanted in her new home: a galley-style space that is “pretty much any cook’s dream.” Every-thing is handy within a few steps, with pullout shelves for pots and pans under the six-burner Thermador gas cooktop, lots of granite-topped counter space in what Finn calls “freckled green,” and a raised bar on the center island for prep bowls and finished dishes.

Accenting the large living room is a sleek and modern fireplace, custom-crafted of rectangular green slate in six stepped layers in art deco style, and a plush pale green wool carpet hand made in Tibet—but the most spectacular feature is the Bay stretching outside the vast windows.

The slate-floored dining room contains a simple round wood table with enough leaves (each stored on felt-lined custom shelves in the basement) to accommodate eighteen when opened. The family room, off the dining room and kitchen, has plaid chairs in earth tones, two sofas arranged in an L, and more never-ending water views. A sun porch adjoining the family room makes a cozy space for dining in warm weather or lounging on the slipcovered sofa Finn has hung onto since the 1970s.

Chestertown-based artist Vico Von Voss designed the hand-rubbed cherry banister that guides visitors up the wooden stairway to the four guest bedrooms and study. Stainless steel rods support the curved banister—which was molded to fit the couple’s hands.
As lovely as it is, the house was built to be functional. It has six bathrooms, two offices, two laundry rooms, his-and-hers walk-in closets, a guest suite over the three-car garage (which, from the front, blends into the architecture so you’d never know it’s a garage—exactly as they’d planned). The sturdy basement of poured concrete holds the heat exchangers for their geothermal heating and cooling system, which collects the earth’s natural warmth through fluid-filled underground pipes. Although more expensive to install than conventional heating, the builder recommended this eco-friendly technology because it saves money in the long run. Supple-mental radiant floor heat makes the stone foyer and two master bathrooms a joy for bare feet.

Enthralled by ingenuity, Finn enjoys demonstrating the electric shades that block sun on hot days and hideaway screens that slide from inside the walls to let in cooling breezes. Like the French architect Le Corbusier, he believes “a house is a machine to live in.” Among his favorite features are the forty-eight solar panels on the shingled roof to generate electricity—which sometimes exceeds the amount they need, allowing them to sell some back to the power company.

Relaxing on the family room sofa with one of the couple’s three cats, Farley, curled near her shoulder, Purcell talks about their meticulous planning and the professionalism of their builder, Winchester Construction Company of Crownsville. “We don’t have a single horror story,” she says, admitting this is atypical for a project of this scope. “Probably the biggest challenge was trying to build the house we wanted without spending an unlimited amount of money.

“Terry and I are both expressive communicators and control freaks,” Purcell says, laughing. “We only wanted to do this once, and we wanted to do it right.”

“We had to think ahead, do all our homework,” Finn chimes in. “That way you’re not making changes as you go. Just like designing a ship.”

Vicki Meade is a freelance writer living in Annapolis.