Today, there isn’t a square inch of the property that hasn’t been reimagined. The view from Folsom Street is still a mysterious tangle of greenery, a head-scratching absence of a house on a block where triangle-topped Edwardians squeeze shoulder to shoulder. It was this strange setback—the house and yard are flip-flopped compared with all the other houses on the block—that drew the Flynns to the property in the first place.
In 2017, they told their realtor they wanted a sliver of Hollywood’s Laurel Canyon in San Francisco. He called them back 48 hours later and asked them to meet him at this off-market listing. It was the first and only house they looked at. After living in it as is for nearly two years, they decided it was time to make some tweaks. The construction, which was just hitting its stride when Covid arrived, took two-and-a-half years.
Now, the entry gate leads down a few steps onto a 30-foot long footbridge, which soars above an oasis bursting with spike-tipped ferns, carpet-soft clovers, drooping vines, and fat Japanese maples. The bridge is also the best place to view the house in its entirety: a cluster of geometric volumes punctuated with wide windows and sliding walls. The exterior is clad in charcoal-stained cedar planks, creating a dusky veneer that’s reminiscent of redwood soaked by years of San Francisco fog.