An Accessible House of Our Own

By Sarah Yates

In our family, I’m the one with the working legs. My daughter of seven has quadriplegia cerebral palsy and walks with a walker. My husband has a neuropathy affecting his legs and walks with a stick. When we faced those facts, it was clear we had to find a flat house.

After an intensive search, we found it on Roslyn Crescent, a riverside bay of suburban bungalows amid a sea of highrises and two- to three-storey older houses. We had wanted to stay in Winnipeg’s Osborne Village to allow our daughter to attend the same school, where mainstreaming is a way of life. This part of the city suits us all. It’s accessible to everything and cosmopolitan enough for our tastes.

We wanted a house with level access to enable Gemma, our daughter, to move outside and inside independently. But even a flat house needs some renovation to make it workable. When we first bought our new home, four concrete steps led to a narrow four-foot-wide hall and a 30-inch door. There was a leaning one-car garage. The bathroom on the main floor was much too small; its 24-inch doorway and narrow space between the sink and tub would preclude any walking device. The carpeted basement was also inaccessible.

We decided to concentrate on the main-floor living space. We hired architect Michael Levin from Victoria to draw up the plans. Levin’s plans included major changes to both the interior and exterior living areas. An attractive integrated ramp, garage and deck would lead to a wider front doorway. Two skylights were to be installed in a new roof to bring light into the middle of the house from another source. The dining room walls would be demolished to admit the light, open the space and make the kitchen and dining room interactive. The openness would give Gemma much more ease of movement throughout the house.

The architect met with the assistant city planner to review his ideas. No city bylaw difficulties would compromise the plans presented. Detailed drawings were made and we tendered the contracts. I obtained a building permit.

The challenges began immediately thereafter when our lawyer explained that the crescent had a caveat disallowing any building on the first 50 feet of property from the street. With the city’s building permit in hand and faced with an outdated piece of legislation due to expire in less than 18 months, I advised the lawyer to ignore it. Nothing appeared on our survey.

When we began to build outside, the folly of that decision haunted us. The neighbour to the left of us worried about his view and talked about a neighbourhood committee. My husband and our contractor met with the group of two to explain the reasons for our design and to try to find an acceptable compromise. Meanwhile, our contractor went around the small crescent to measure where houses, decks, garages and any other structures infringed on the 50-foot caveat. The house next door was nine feet forward; two doors down, a deck with a seven-foot fence extended into the front garden by 15 feet. Violations continued around the entire crescent.

Within days, Winnipeg experienced torrential rains and severe flooding; the basement sewer backed up, destroying the carpets and baseboards. Heavy rain poured onto the main floor in buckets. The fake-brick siding turned to mush.

When the builder opened up the walls to enlarge the doorways, we discovered that structural beams had been removed in a previous, illegal renovation. We raised four new crossbeams, installed T-beams, then widened all the vestibule doorways, eliminating a wall that had divided the kitchen nook and dining room. We installed a counter between the two spaces with an extension at the right height for our daughter to use as a table while in her walker (23 inches).

In the bathroom, structural beams had also been removed. We gutted the bathroom completely, taking space from a bedroom closet, re-beamed the room and enlarged the entranceway. Because the lifting involved in the care of a forty-five-pound girl is tough on the back, we installed an acrylic whirlpool bath with a shower. It’s large enough for at least two of us to bathe in comfort and provides therapy and relaxation when there is more time. We added a second sink, dropped into a pre-built formica counter with no cupboards underneath. At 26 inches, it is ideal for Gemma’s walker to be wheeled underneath. The new faucets have levers. The light switch was lowered to 31.5 inches and changed to a flush-mount switch, activated by touch.

In Gemma’s bedroom, we lowered the light switch and her closet bar to allow her to wheel inside, put on the light and choose her own clothes. The first day she went in and closed the door on us and the world, we knew our plans had worked. Finding a place to be alone is tough for a little person of seven who has a disability.

Throughout this project, the wisdom of choosing creative designers and contractors has been proven tenfold. Site modification is standard, but Erkel and Latter’s sensitivity to the architect’s intent and our taste and needs, and their attention to detail, changed the atmosphere of the house and made it ours. They continued to draw up revised plans and make suggestions about the way we could compromise to achieve what we needed.

With the interior renovation almost complete, the house problems seemed manageable. But we hadn’t banked on our neighbourhood "committee."

The fight over the deck, ramp and garage continued unabated and, despite the other illegal exceptions to the caveat, due to expire in less than 18 months, we had to hold up all exterior modification until the situation was resolved. In anticipation of construction, we’d demolished the garage, removed the fake bricks and added insulation to the front of the house. There, we had to stop. I fumed, but my husband and our contractors met with the protesters and made continuous compromises. Re-drawn plans pulled the garage back to only nine feet into the caveat, like the immediate neighbour’s house. It had to accommodate both cars lengthwise and an internal ramp. We needed the deck to extend 25 feet in order to integrate it completely with the minimum ramping needed. (Law specifies a one-in-twelve ratio, i.e. for every foot of elevation, you need 12 feet of ramp. When the ramp extends beyond 10 yards, you must allow a level turning-platform for safety. A handrail and guard are also essential.)

The informal efforts to compromise were halted when a lawyer who lived on the street and called herself "the barrister" began to call us regularly to threaten suit if we made any further moves. The man living on the other side of us, whom we named "the curmudgeon," simply cursed us at meetings and refused to talk. Now, there were only informal meetings to resolve the impasse. We attended various city council meetings, sought official approvals, and presented briefs, drawings and letters to various levels of council. Our three neighbours were seasoned fighters; they remained adamant.

We were advised to collect signatures. Those people who had broken the caveat themselves were wary or simply closed the door in our faces. They didn’t want to know. Even people we’d accepted earlier as friends refused to sign on our behalf, afraid to risk disapproval on the crescent. They suggested, as others did, that we simply put the ramp and deck out the back and forgo the fight. Neighbours began to discuss the park-like atmosphere of the unbroken lawns.

I took our daughter across the road to meet the older lady, whom everyone scoffed at as mad and who remained an upright "Miss Daisy" character, firmly opposed to change. Our presence must have embarrassed her and ultimately served to close the door on us. She refused to accept Gemma’s charms and her obvious needs. She was terrified and resentful of our daughter’s disability. Never before had I met with people who believed in "good work" -- as long as it is kept outside their own neighbourhood.

Finally, we attended a city council meeting with our daughter’s social worker, prepared to make yet another presentation. The man who had initiated the dispute, along with a reluctant "Miss Daisy," did an about-face and gave approval. Our city councillor allowed no elaboration on our part; he welcomed us to the neighbourhood and advised us to get on with building.

We started with the ramp and deck. But by the end of the week, "the barrister" had called, threatening to sue because the neighbours would never have approved plans including a deck. It must have been added! All of these people had seen the revised plans; clearly the deck had been part of the original plan. Nonetheless, we consulted our lawyer and agreed to halt construction. We answered no more phone calls.

The atmosphere around the crescent became decidedly chilly. The three protesters would walk back and forth in front of the house, muttering, staring at the property and conferring with obvious intent. Late one evening, under the cover of darkness, another neighbour slipped into our house and admitted that he and his mother had pretended to go out when the last neighbourhood meeting had been held. There was fierce pressure for everyone to sign against us and they couldn’t withstand it. We knew nothing about these meetings. They made the more public meetings we attended, in the spirit of seeking compromise, seem futile. Even our city councillor, who had helped us initially, suggested that we compromise. Cut the deck back.

When activist Theresa Ducharme offered to organize a convoy of wheelchair users to visit the neighbours, suggesting they wanted to move into the neighbourhood, we declined the offer. We didn’t want to escalate the hostility. We talked to the Cerebral Palsy Association of Manitoba, lined up their support and gathered signatures from people who recognized our need for the exception. The Institute for Barrier-Free Living out at the university offered consultation and tactical support. A landscape architect drew up plans to show how attractive our plans would be, emphasizing its beauty and naturalness.

A municipal hearing had been planned and a fierce letter-writing campaign ensued. In our councils of war, attended by our lawyer and my husband and me, we decided that it was best to remain amenable, rising above the bluster and hysteria which pervaded. We all feared that I couldn’t manage that cool after our "friends" had turned down my face-to-face efforts at appeasement. Our own lawyer brought in a colleague experienced in courtroom presentation.

It was obvious we were out of our league and we needed to find another approach. If we fought on the constitutional issue of access for people with disabilities, we might have won the case, but already our lives were becoming unmanageable with the emotional, financial and time-consuming angst of the delayed construction. The injustice infuriated me; we all felt drained by the continuous hatred which we had not previously experienced. I understood more personally the struggles of people who face racism.

Despite attempts to remain above it all, we internalized a great deal. Our daughter cried whenever we mentioned the deck. We comforted her but we refused to protect her from the reality. As we told her, "You’ll have to learn to fight, and fight well, for what you want in life, without compromising your principles." Naturally, she didn’t understand the finer points of such an argument, but my story about "the wicked witch and the three nasties" was one she savoured.

The city council ordered a mediation meeting, chaired by the same woman who had helped us with the plans. The neighbours suggested that their compromise was to allow no construction. It looked like we had lost our battle. The city council seemed poised to sign away our access.

I was furious and, no longer able to remain cool, called a friend in the newspaper. The timing was perfect. We’d followed the rules, had the right permits and done no back-room politicking. The media loved it. Next morning, we were front-page news; we were on national radio and on the television. We gained countrywide support. Instead of being fearful of the harassing calls, we became curious about who would call next. People stopped us on the street, in the public swimming pool and at the supermarket. No letters appeared in support of our neighbours, except one written by them to suggest we had been dishonest in our dealings.

Meanwhile, a friend from inside the city councillors’ offices faxed us the vitriolic letters sent to all of the councillors by our neighbours, and suggested we do our own back-room politicking. We still decided against it. We had neither the time nor the experience for it.

Despite our support from the disability community, at the municipal meeting we stuck to non-constitutional matters like precedent (existing exceptions to the caveat) and aesthetics. The matter of access remained our clinching reason. "Miss Daisy" hid her head and couldn’t listen when Brian Stewart, advocate and board member of the Cerebral Palsy Association of Manitoba, spoke in our defence. Rebuffed by our campaign of compromise, Theresa Ducharme appeared for the opposite side, suggesting that she would be proud to come in the back door! Winter passed without construction. We were allowed to build the ramp but no handrail.

When the ruling came, it was a peculiar compromise. The deck had to be cut back six feet and fenced to a height of only 36 inches. If more space were necessary, a cedar we’d planned to frame with the deck could be axed. What a curious way to retain the park-like atmosphere!

In the spring, we refinanced the house to pay legal fees and additional construction costs and drew up some new plans. We cut the deck back but we saved the cedar bush. As we started, "the barrister" phoned us one last time and suggested that the committee expected to see all revised plans to give their approval. Our lawyer responded with a polite one-line refusal. We had official permission to complete the work.

We’d sunk piles to a depth of 3.5 feet for the deck support, but after the judgment, we cut the support posts to ground level. Without the posts, to stop the anticipated shifting with the change of season, the contractor placed a concrete pad support underneath wherever the deck seemed springy. To cover the severed posts, we are developing a rock garden and planting some trees and vines. We built the garage with the internal ramp.

Finally, a dark desert plum-coloured stucco was applied to the house and garage using a technique called Spanish drag. The final effect has pulled together all of the disparate parts. The trim is a rich bordeaux. A wrought-iron roof support is painted teal for contrast. Much remains to be done, but the house has experienced an incredible conversion. When I drive up now, I feel amazed at its beauty and ease within the landscape.

Admittedly, the three neighbours in opposition still mutter and refuse our "good mornings." But the support we’ve had from others has been widespread. Best of all, the house is as accessible as possible, and our daughter revels in her newfound independence.

(Sarah Yates is a freelance writer living in Winnipeg, MB.)