Sally Habermeyer hadn’t planned on filling her big Biltmore Forest house with lots of little houses. “But once I started making dollhouses,” she laughs, “I couldn’t stop.”
Sally’s dollhouses are only one twelfth the size of a real house, what’s called one-inch scale, but that doesn’t mean they’re teeny. “When people first see the dollhouses, they’re surprised how big they are.” Sally’s houses can be as much as 4 feet long and 3 feet high-— then “you must factor in the space needed to open up one or more sides of the house so you can see inside — you need a lot of room.”
Her favorite houses, the ones Sally likes to display, are her “historical” houses, architecturally accurate renditions of real older houses. “Except for the bathrooms,” she admits. “They aren’t strictly historical. But kids love bathrooms so I put them in.”
“I didn’t have dollhouses as a child,” Sally says. “That always amazes people who think adult hobbyists want to revive childhood passions.” And she was mother, not to little girls, but two boys who didn’t hanker for dollhouses. Blame the Grandma gene. “When my first granddaughter Vivien arrived nine years ago, I got the idea to make a dollhouse.”
“I’d always been crafty,” Sally says, so making a dollhouse wasn’t a huge creative leap — until she got into it. “That first dollhouse was the hardest thing I ever did.” She didn’t know anyone to give her the advice she now gives to dollhouse newbies: “Start small and simple.”
Sally let her dream of being an interior designer take over her first effort. It was a Tudor house, called The Harrison, nine rooms and six bay windows. “And then I had to decorate it!” It took almost a year to finish. “Because there’s so much work involved,” Sally says, “you keep thinking, ‘Oh, I’m not going to do this again.’ But it’s so much fun, you can’t wait for the next project to start.” Sally’s second historical dollhouse was The Newport House, based on Rhode Island houses — with seven rooms, a balcony and a porch — but only one bay window.
The foundation of Sally’s houses — the floors and walls, window frames and doorways — are made from kits that are pre-cut from plywood or MDF (medium-density fibreboard). Sally carefully attaches all the pieces together with wood glue. (“Don’t use hot gun glue,” she says. “It doesn’t last.”)
The most challenging part of making dollhouses is the next step — putting in electricity. ‘It’s hard to do,” Sally says, “but you really want to do it — the glow from the lights and chandeliers and fireplaces are what make the houses look so magical.” Houses like the Montclair, her third historical house, actually have outside carriage lights that work.
“My husband, Bill, is a great pro bono consultant on the electricity,” Sally says. “He doesn’t like to do it — he likes to tell me how to do it — but his help makes it all so much easier.” Electricity is the reason most of the walls in dollhouses are covered with wallpaper. “Dollhouse electricity is tape with wires in it,” Sally explains,” so after you carefully put the wire in place you cover it with wallpaper.”
Just like in real houses, choosing the correct wallpaper becomes an important part of the interior design. “You want all the walls to coordinate with one another, and still be special to the individual room. For example, the wallpaper in the nursery in the Newport house is a lovely old-fashioned pattern with children and animals.”
Next Sally adds the miniature touches that bring the house to life. She makes all the window treatments and bed coverings, all the “soft” objects. “You don’t have to sew for miniatures, you just glue the fabric on — so easy.”
What Sally doesn’t make herself, she gets from others. “A dear friend gave me the beautiful needlepoint rug in the Tudor house.” In craft stores, antique fairs and dollhouse shows, Sally searches for her houses’ treasures — the furniture and artwork, the people and the pets. Even the koi for the ‘aquarium’ in an upstairs conservatory.
“The dollhouse business has changed dramatically,” Sally explains. “There are few dollhouse stores left — most have become Internet websites.” This means that dollhouse makers can find one another with just a few clicks of a mouse. Friendships, advice, and objects come from all over the globe.
Most of the lower priced items are from China. The more exquisitely crafted items, such as fine furniture, come from Europe, often from companies that have been in business for generations. In the Newport house, the design for the petitpoint fireplace screen Sally made came from a kit designed by a lady in England. “It’s probably a good thing I didn’t start this hobby until later in life,” Sally admits. “Because it is expensive.”
Sally has made more houses than the complex historical ones. A pirate house, a North Pole house and a sea captains’ house, in which “several retired ocean commanders sit around the fire and tell their tall tales.”
Although she hasn’t completely finished her 11th dollhouse — a fourth historical house called The Thornhill, with 14 rooms — Sally is already planning her next projects. “My granddaughter Vivien’s birthday is on Halloween. Can you imagine — a house with spider webs and ghosts and all the people in costumes. Now, won’t that be fun?” And her grandson, Will, wants her to make him a “submarine house,” in honor of where “his grandpa spent his Navy career.”
“But first,” Sally says “I’m going to see the model railroad layout in the historic train depot in Hendersonville.” She wants to get inspiration to add landscaping to her houses. And there might be an ulterior motive, she confesses. “Bill loved model trains when he was a boy — who knows?” she laughs. “Hello, trains? Goodbye, golf?”