Karin Blake

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I went to a small, progressive Quaker school in Pennsylvania," begins Karin Blake, "in a wonderful old building from the 1700s. There were two classes—eight people in each—in two rooms where the fireplaces were usually going. We actually took field trips to William Penn's house. And we were surrounded by Pennsylvania German farmhouses. Growing up in Bucks County, you learned through osmosis: the German influence, stenciled walls, all that beautiful color everywhere. I loved it."

If, as Freud proposed, adulthood is childhood writ large, then Karin Blake was destined to remain enchanted by the 1830 Cape Cod house she took over three years ago from her family. Located near Penobscot Bay in Maine, it had turned into a dilapidated edifice whose bare American bones resonated deep within her own.

As with most old farmhouses, the structure's native charms needed supplementing. About half of the old house is new—particularly the bedrooms.

"I've been going to Maine for years," says the Los Angeles-based decorator. "My grandparents had a summer home on the Cape, and every year, the day school was out, it was there we headed. That old house, with its familiar smells, was very exciting. And since we were always sailing, we went up to Maine all the time."

It was nostalgia for her own idyllic youth that prompted Blake to want to re-create something similar for her own son and daughter. "Continuity is important for children. I had it as a child and wanted my kids to have the same experience. Even though they were being raised in California, it was important to get them out, to get to know the East Coast."

Especially Maine. "Maine attracted me because it doesn't have the crowding and commercialization that's happened in other areas. I had a little farm on Martha's Vineyard, which I stupidly sold. When I lived there, the island was so charming, making what has happened since so sad. Maine, however, filled that void." She pauses, laughing, "No T-shirts."

Though the original house sat lakeside on over 100 acres, "the place was in terrible condition. The floors were a mess, it needed painting inside and out, and we had to gut the kitchen. Beyond that, the two barns had to be completely salvaged."

"I love strong, primary colors," Blake says. "A little bit of red in every room really helps."

A daunting task but one Blake jumped on, ultimately creating a 15-odd-room (tiny ones notwithstanding) summer vacation haven, a much-improved version of the original home, where she and her family spent "at least a month every summer." Even more personally, its warren of rooms provided the perfect backdrop for the true passion of this decorator's life—collecting folk art. Indeed, a walk through its cascade of spaces is a flight of the imagination, a merry jaunt through whimsical Americana.

Take, for instance, the living room—a cozy area dominated by, once again, an always-lit fireplace over which hangs a dazzling, spread-winged eagle—"a stern board," according to its owner. On the low table, meanwhile, an impish whirligig holds court. "He's a railroad man with a little cap on," she says. "and whoever made it used original railroad buttons."

Though Blake usually prefers to let her folk art do the talking, in this instance, when it came to the sofas, she eschewed her customary neutrality—"I generally use off-white fabrics to set off my folk art"—in favor of a heavy brown floral cotton. "I felt I needed something darker to take the wear and tear of children." The floor, meanwhile, is equally kid-friendly."Sponging floors covers a lot of sins, so I painted the wood floors gray and sponged them with cranberry. With all the traffic—my grandchild, my son's dogs—it never shows a thing."

Blake's obsession with folk art dates back, naturally, to Bucks County. Raised around some of the best of this indigenous American art form, she understood its value long before others.

"As an adult, I began buying folk art right away, which gave me an advantage," she says. "Everybody in California was buying Danish modern when I first married, so I didn't have a lot of competition. Now, of course, it's more difficult."

Still, Blake's shrewd eye is evident throughout the house. Gracing the stair hall, for instance, is the perfection of an Amish quilt, its severe red-and-green pattern seemingly more modern—than folk—art. "I've always loved the geometric—as opposed to the flowery—quilts," she explains. "As a child, I'd see them hanging on clotheslines, selling for five dollars each."

If Blake has a favorite genre, it's animals. "I'm a complete animal person," admits the decorator, pointing to the beguiling wood hound dog who sits guard, staring out a window. "He's very folk. They think somebody might have carved him as a firehouse dog—a mascot."

As with most old farmhouses, the structure's native charms needed supplementing. Consequently, she says, about half of the old house is new—particularly the bedrooms. "We have tons of those," she says, "including a summer wing of bedrooms, just behind the porch area where the kitchen ends, that aren't heated and can be shut down during winter to separately drain the pipes. Of course, the fireplace there works beautifully and is always roaring, even during summer to accommodate the cool Maine nights."

When it came to the master bedroom, all Blake craved was space and more space—a problem, since the room had two doors. "Rooms in New England are so small anyway, and two doors gave even less." Her solution was to eliminate one and create a suite—a sitting room with a fireplace that leads into the cheerful bedroom, with its apothecary chest, queen-size bed (over which hangs a sign announcing Furnished Rooms) and splash of color in the red-accented braided rug. "I love strong, primary colors," she says. "A little bit of red in every room really helps."

For dining, the family has two choices: the actual dining room, with its "lovely old two-board farm table that we found in one of the barns," or the kitchen itself, boasting a hutch table surrounded by Windsor chairs. When extra chairs are required, Blake reaches for one of four thumb-back chairs that line the dining room wall. "I love the Shaker style of hanging chairs on the wall, so I've done it in all my houses. If the two benches around the farm table are full, then we just reach up and pull down a chair."

Of course, no room in Blake's house would be complete without a touch of the folk. "I collect shooting gallery figures," she says, motioning to the metal figure atop the farm table, "which were everywhere when we were kids going to carnivals but are now so hard to find. And only recently I discovered why: During World War II, they were melted down."

Clearly, Karin Blake's dream of continuity in her children's lives has been a triumph. "This house is something I wanted to pass down to my children, both of whom are very much in love with New England," she says. "In fact, because of this house—and my love of animals—my son ended up being a veterinarian who lives in Maine. He's in heaven," she laughs. "And it's all my fault."