They're activist restorers, too

David Kairys opens the door of his centuries-old Mount Airy home in his Saturday best: comfy shirt, broken-in jeans. He stoops to maneuver his 6-foot frame beneath the kitchen door's low archway. Evidently, its 19th-century builders weren't quite so tall.

Kairys, a celebrated civil-rights attorney - his well-documented tilts with the FBI, Peco Energy Co., the Philadelphia Police Department, the National Rifle Association, and others have kept journalists busy for decades - can restore homes with the best of them, it turns out.

Since 1988, Kairys, now 67, and the love of his life, Antje Mattheus, 55, have been the guardians of Cresheim Farm, a two-acre slice of history not far from Germantown Avenue.

When they bought the property, the four main buildings needed more than paint and prayers.

" 'You're absolutely crazy' " was their friends' reaction when the couple made settlement, recalls Mattheus, a native of West Germany who is writing a book about the property's extensive history. (An ardent political activist, Mattheus met her husband when he represented her after a minor post-demonstration incident with the State Police.)

But the couple knew they had secret weapons: themselves. Kairys' undergraduate degree is in engineering, and in Mattheus' family everybody, male and female, knew how to fix a home's ills. Her mother built bathrooms, for example.

"My mother-in-law worked on the floor in the carriage house" - at age 75, Kairys says.

Before they bought the property, with its barn, carriage house, farmhouse, and springhouse, the couple and their two daughters lived in West Philadelphia. They had restored that house, but decided they wanted a second home in a more rural setting. So they took their time and scouted the area.

"We were looking for a stone house with a little piece of land," Kairys says.

When she first learned about the farm, Mattheus says, "I didn't know I was still in the city . . . we were absolutely flabbergasted" that a farm still existed within the city limits.

But not shocked by what they were in for. After looking at the structures, Kairys says, he knew all four needed new roofs, electrical upgrades, and other major work.

Kairys and Mattheus went to a restaurant in Chestnut Hill and worked out their bid on a napkin, he says. At the time, money was an issue: His clients weren't exactly well-heeled. Plus, the couple still owned the house in West Philadelphia.

They could buy the property, Mattheus figured, if they could convert the carriage house into an apartment.

The farm's owners accepted their bid, and Kairys and Mattheus were ready to renovate as soon as they got the keys. "We went to settlement with plywood on the roof of our cars," he says.

The carriage house was done and rented in one month. "We did all the work," she says.

Caretakers of hundreds of years of history, Kairys and Mattheus have shown remarkable respect for the space they call home. Ordered by the city to take down a wagon shed because it was in danger of falling down, they couldn't bear to see it all disappear. So one rainy night, the two took the shed apart and saved the wood. Some of it was used to build shelves in Kairys' window-lined office.

The rest of the house also is a tribute to bygone times. No rugs or carpets cover the random-width hardwood floors. Occupying the oldest section of the house, built in the early 1700s, is the dining room, whose main furnishings - a cupboard and a dining table - were hand-built by Amish craftsmen. (In those days, Mattheus says, people didn't have much furniture.)

The living room, built later in the 18th century, is not much different - except for the Ikea couch. A Quaker meetinghouse pew, found in the barn with many others, lines one wall. The wall colors are all from the colonial era.

The word spartan comes to mind - until you see the master bath.

Windows offering a vista of the property make up two walls; a skylight lets light in from above. A clawfoot tub looks inviting, but so does a double shower encased in glass. And if you just want to soak, there's the hot tub.

Natural tiles and stone give the room a warm, wonderful aura; sound speakers attach discreetly to the ceiling.

The couple have spent much time preserving the outside environment, as well. In the past, they've kept chickens and grown vegetables. When they found tools buried in the ground, they saved them and put them on display in the springhouse, which they converted into an office for Mattheus.

Cresheim Farm's history especially excites Mattheus: The first likely owners were abolitionists, kindred spirits to her and Kairys.

"We are grateful to be stewards of this wonderful place," she says.

Tell us about your haven by e-mail (and send some digital photographs) at properties@phillynews.

com.

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