Designing a home in harmony with its surroundings gives architects a rare opportunity to translate the intangible sensory qualities of a site into something tangible and lasting.

Consider a new residence called Tranquil Abiding in Upstate New York, designed for a couple who plan to one day bequeath it to a nearby temple. With a footprint that unfolds into four pavilions, the home channels the site’s tranquility through windows positioned to frame views of the temple, a creek, and the sun—all elements with spiritual meaning for its owners.

“Their goal was literally to be a part of the woods and the land, so we knew we were going to have lots of windows,” says architect Marica McKeel, founder and principal of Olivebridge, N.Y.-based Studio MM Architect. “But at the same time, they also wanted it to be cozy, especially in the meditation pavilion.”

Clad in natural stone, most of which was unearthed directly from the property and chiseled on site, the house captures views of its 115-acre wooded surroundings and south and southeastern sunlight, with windows that rise from the floor to the floating roof that extends above the pavilions’ ceilings. In the meditation room, however, windows were scaled back to put the focus on the altar wall, flanked by narrow ribbons of glass that filter light and frame glimpses of nature without becoming distracting. The room is oriented on a direct axis toward the temple.

“The focus of the room is still absolutely where it should be, but the way the light flutters in through the trees is one of their favorite things,” McKeel says. “The way we use windows to wrap around walls and a corner, it really gives you that tranquility and feeling of being outdoors that’s continuous. We use so many windows in our designs, it’s almost like it’s not just a window; it’s more of a wall.”

Designing Deeper Connections

Today, architects are increasingly challenged to design homes that respond to their setting while addressing both client needs and climate demands. Sometimes, it’s that very conundrum that fuels their creativity.

“I like unpredictability,” says Rene Gonzalez, principal of his namesake Miami firm, Rene Gonzalez Architects. “I find that challenges always allow us to create fresh and new ways of addressing things. I see them as opportunities that allow us to push boundaries and do things that are more innovative.”

In designing an “elevated house” in the South Beach neighborhood of Miami Beach, Gonzalez was sometimes at odds with historic preservationists who were initially skeptical a modern structure that appears so light on its feet could endure storms and coexist with its coastal neighbors. In the end, Gonzalez’s design—a series of separate pavilions made of floating planes of concrete, glass, and open-air catwalks that reach up toward the sky—has proven over and over again to be a safe haven for its inhabitants (and even for its neighbors) during storms and hurricanes.

“The nature of sea-level rise and environmental issues are such a reality that we, as architects, need to take responsibility for,” he says. “So, beyond my interest in connecting with place, I think we have to build in a sustainable way that we address the sort of changes we’re seeing globally.”

Floating on Air

Built on stilts with a retractable staircase that lifts into the house when not in use, the house can withstand 10 feet of storm surge beneath it. Glass walls that slide wide open and other open-air strategies help keep the owners connected with nature, with tropical trees and trailing plants infusing rooms indoors and out. “You feel like you’re in an oasis, like you’re floating,” Gonzalez says.

The architect notes that the landscaping, open-air corridors, and carefully placed openings allow for cross ventilation and passive systems to mitigate Florida’s intense sun. “Of course, we have the values of the doors and windows that are certain R-values to keep heat from coming into the building, but we also have to find ways to augment that with strategies to help science,” he says.

McKeel agrees. “We’re building really tight homes, so we also need to let them breathe,” she says. “Airflow is a major part of our designs. If we didn’t have to use air conditioning for most of the year in our houses, I’d be thrilled.”

Architecture that Disappears

Like Gonzalez and McKeel, architect Michael Upwall, founder of Upwall Design Architects in Salt Lake City, eagerly takes on projects that inspire new ways to thoughtfully integrate homes into what’s often a natural setting. “Creativity loves constraints and challenges,” he says. “So, a flat lot with no budget where I can do whatever I want? There’s nothing for me to really respond to. But if it’s a steep topography, if there are trees, and also a waterfall? My gosh, it’s calling out for me to try to respond to that architecturally.”

Make those three waterfalls—as seen in a home called White Pine that he designed at the base of a ski mountain in Park City, Utah. Here, sensory-invoking experiences reveal themselves throughout: Walkways straddle waterfalls and creek beds, decks lift occupants into the trees with views aimed skyward, and an outdoor fireplace offers a warm welcome at the entry. “Using natural elements, such as fire and water, threads your experience to the natural environment,” he says. “That fire calls you toward the sense of shelter and invites you to the front door.”

Textures weave through the structure, with windows that let a wall of local stone flow seamlessly from the exterior into the living room, and glass hallways that frame uninterrupted views of waterfalls, forest, and mountain range beyond. Unlike more traditional luxury mountain lodges, Upwall avoids heavy timbers, trusses, and “jewelry that gets in the way,” he says. “I don’t want anything in between my eye and that mountain, because now I’m connected.”

Homes that respond to the setting call on architects to work with the natural constraints, Upwall says. “It’s part of the modern philosophy of getting out of the way of nature,” he says.

Historical References

That idea reflects the irony of the preservationist pushback Gonzalez received in South Beach, given that his elevated house concept is deeply rooted in local history. His design draws inspiration from Chickee huts built by the Florida Seminole in the early 1800s—structures raised on stilts to stay above the wet ground. Mangrove forests also influenced the project, offering a natural model of resilience: They buffer storm surges and combat erosion through their dense, adaptive root systems.

Gonzalez collaborated closely with landscape designer Mauricio Del Valle, who introduced a series of tidal pools integrated into the site’s rolling mounds. These forms allow water to drain into the garden’s lowest points, creating a dynamic interplay between architecture and nature. “He essentially took a problem and used it as an opportunity to create something quite magical,” Gonzalez says.

Metal catwalks and a long lap pool that runs like a central spine between the floating pavilions further emphasize the connection to water, which moves in and out of the space throughout the day. “There’s a psychological experience one can have that requires architectural hosts that are more poetic in nature,” Gonzalez says.

New Views

As the seasons and weather change, framed views of nature offer a grounding connection between a home and its surroundings. “Something is always changing on your property—it’s something to look forward to,” McKeel says. “You can create a view on every site, and it’s the challenges of the site that make it so unique.”

That’s when tuning into a client’s specific, often intangible connections to the site becomes essential. “You have to be very particular—it’s not just the view toward the mountain, but it’s that exact peak or that group of trees on the hill; that’s why you chose this location,” Upwall says. “If you can center that in the window, the sense of place has expanded out to the whole environment, and that gives the location more meaning.”