A hewn log house, a red-roofed barn, and a creek that has not moved in a hundred years.

Some houses arrive fully grown. This one was assembled the way a farm is — a main house first, then the porch that made it livable, then the outbuildings that made it a place. Hearthstone's Timberlake series gave the owners the bones: hand-hewn logs stacked to full height, dovetailed at the corners, chinked white so every course reads from the lawn.

The porch is the argument. Two stories of timber run the length of the south elevation, posted on stone piers, cross-braced in an X pattern that repeats down the rail — and interrupted, once, by a hewn 'H' set dead center. It is the only ornament on the building, and it is the whole point: this is somebody's house, not a catalog page.

Off the main house, the compound fills in. A stone-and-timber guest cabin sits a breezeway away. A summer-kitchen pavilion carries an ember-red roof and a cupola over an outdoor range, tile counter, and a deck that steps down toward the trees. A timber-frame barn holds the high ground, its red roof visible from the ridge road before the house ever is.

Below all of it, a creek runs through mown meadow — the reason, the owners will tell you, that the site was bought before the house was ever drawn. In late October the walnuts go gold over the water and the whole property looks like it was built the same year the trees were planted.

Details reward the walk: a cast-iron bell hung from a knee brace, a carved black bear at the entry posts, saw marks still legible in a dovetail corner, and stone laid up around ember-red doors on the lower level. None of it is decoration. It is what a hewn house looks like when it is actually lived in.