AMERICAN HOMES AND 
GARDENS 
December, 
Nestling in the heart of the Green Mountains of Vermont is ‘‘Muckross,’’ one of its most interesting estates 
Muckross 
By Agnes Boss Thomas 
mystic Black River on the North, is secreted 
one of the most unique, as well as the most 
4|| retired estates of New England. For al- 
though ‘‘Muckross,” as it is called by its 
owner, William D. Woolson, is accessible by a ten-minute 
ride either by trolley or motor car to the quaint village of 
Springfield, still it is entirely secluded by its two ridges and 
deep valley which its area of 600 acres affords. 
This retirement is further enforced by its five entrances, 
two of which are known only to its owner and his superin- 
tendent. But the main gate, located across the Black River, 
is illustrative of the quiet life and even feudalistic impreg- 
nability of Muckross. The door of this gatehouse is guarded 
by an electric lock controlled from the distant bungalow. 
As a consequence, visitors seeking admittance must first 
announce their presence by the use of the telephone closet 
adjoining the door. ‘Then if they are welcome, the door 
immediately swings open by the same subtle agency which 
winged the news of their arrival. But this is not all. For 
after passing through the rustic ante-room of the gate- 
house, the visitor is confronted by a steel suspension foot- 
bridge, two hundred feet long, which sways thirty feet above 
the river, and entrance to which is instantly communicated 
to the waiting host by means of a convenient signal bell. 
This air of mystery is again stimulated by the winding 
path which meets the bridge and leads to the bungalow in 
the glen, a distance of some two hundred feet: A walk 
rich in pulsing surprises and delight; for the visitor knows 
not whether the next turn of the path will swing across 
one of the rustic white birch bridges which span the gurg- 
ling brooks, or will unceremoniously plunge into a wooded 
thicket, or twine along high, cool ledges of shadowy rocks, 
with a constant chattering and final scurrying of the shy, 
curious creatures everywhere about. 
The bungalow itself, although refreshingly modest and 
unpretentious, is strongly individual. For, as the happy, 
though single host explains, it is an expression of “just a 
lone man.” Even the treatment of the roof—a low, four- 
gabled Japanesque structure—was built at the insistence of 
the owner, although, at the time, meeting with protest from 
the architect. But in a severe climate like Vermont, where 
the weather is below freezing outside and the house com- 
fortably warm inside, the heat from the latter melts the 
snow on the roof over the house proper, which causes it to 
run down to the broad jet where there is no heat under- 
neath. Here it freezes, building up a ridge of ice from two 
to six inches high, which sets the water back to an angle 
that puts it through the shingles and down the ceiling and 
