Eric Herman
A number of you have asked me, with varying degrees of urgency but no outright threats of bodily harm, to lighten up on what you see as the magazine’s criticism of the mainstream pool and spa industry. “We all know about the ‘poor reputation’ that has dogged ‘pool guys’ for years now,” you say, then urge me to look at the bright side and the progress made in recent years by those who design and build all those beautiful residential pools and spas we publish.
Yes, things have gotten better, and there are indeed more people doing good work on sophisticated projects – and lots more who are paying attention and doing what they can to overcome a regrettably crummy industry reputation. That said, every once in a while I run into something that makes me question just how far away from the pool-guy mentality we’ve managed to get.
Most of the time, I’ll run into small, silly things that stand out and can no longer be excused – white plastic skimmer lids in beautiful stone decks, for example, or pumps so oversized that equipment pads screech as though helicopters were about to land on them. In one recent case, however, I ran into something that is so offensive with respect to basic aesthetics that I simply can’t figure out what the builder could possibly have been thinking.
On my daily walk, I passed by a beautiful spec home perched on a hilltop. I could tell there was a swimming pool up there on the near side of the property. It wasn’t because of the usual tell-tales – no slide, no trough for a vanishing edge, nothing so ordinary. No, I knew there was a pool up there because just above the street, front and center on the main line of sight leading up the hill to the home, sat a very large equipment pad and an array of pumps, filters, pipes, valves and fittings that was absolutely the first thing I (and everyone else) saw in approaching a multi-million-dollar estate.
As luck would have it, there was an open house that day, so I walked up the hill to have a look. The home was delightful – Spanish Colonial architecture, well-considered landscaping, sweeping views and top-drawer materials and products inside and outside the home. The swimming pool was nice, too, at least up on top of the hill: generous faux rockwork, beautiful stone decking, a rich pebble finish and a comely beach entry.
As I looked around, the developer stepped my way. He seemed pleased that I was studying the pool and said, “Really makes a statement, don’t you think?” I politely agreed but couldn’t help mentioning the downslope eyesore. His response, I kid you not, was, “You know, I talked with the pool contractor about that, and he told me it was a great way to let people know there’s a swimming pool up here.”
I’m as impressed by a tight equipment set as any civilian can be, but I must say I was rendered speechless. Placing equipment at the most visible street-level point within the property lines struck me as either an exercise in bad taste or a grievous mistake, but dismissing the developer’s concern in this way (and with apparent success) seemed to epitomize the pool industry’s negative public image. The words “lazy,” “inconsiderate,” “challenged” and “unprofessional” came to mind.
If I’d been the one laying out the long green to build a dream house, especially on spec, I wouldn’t have stood for that pad placement, and perhaps that’s where the problem lies: Are expectations so low that pool contractors can get away with this sort of poor performance?
As one who cares deeply about the reputation and quality of work in the watershaping trades, I left the home in a blue funk. For all the beautiful work published in this and other magazines, are there still those who haven’t opened their eyes and started figuring these things out?
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Eric Herman
Lessons on the Home Front
A number of you have asked me, with varying degrees of urgency but no outright threats of bodily harm, to lighten up on what you see as the magazine’s criticism of the mainstream pool and spa industry. “We all know about the ‘poor reputation’ that has dogged ‘pool guys’ for years now,” you say, then urge me to look at the bright side and the progress made in recent years by those who design and build all those beautiful residential pools and spas we publish.
Yes, things have gotten better, and there are indeed more people doing good work on sophisticated projects – and lots more who are paying attention and doing what they can to overcome a regrettably crummy industry reputation. That said, every once in a while I run into something that makes me question just how far away from the pool-guy mentality we’ve managed to get.
Most of the time, I’ll run into small, silly things that stand out and can no longer be excused – white plastic skimmer lids in beautiful stone decks, for example, or pumps so oversized that equipment pads screech as though helicopters were about to land on them. In one recent case, however, I ran into something that is so offensive with respect to basic aesthetics that I simply can’t figure out what the builder could possibly have been thinking.
On my daily walk, I passed by a beautiful spec home perched on a hilltop. I could tell there was a swimming pool up there on the near side of the property. It wasn’t because of the usual tell-tales – no slide, no trough for a vanishing edge, nothing so ordinary. No, I knew there was a pool up there because just above the street, front and center on the main line of sight leading up the hill to the home, sat a very large equipment pad and an array of pumps, filters, pipes, valves and fittings that was absolutely the first thing I (and everyone else) saw in approaching a multi-million-dollar estate.
As luck would have it, there was an open house that day, so I walked up the hill to have a look. The home was delightful – Spanish Colonial architecture, well-considered landscaping, sweeping views and top-drawer materials and products inside and outside the home. The swimming pool was nice, too, at least up on top of the hill: generous faux rockwork, beautiful stone decking, a rich pebble finish and a comely beach entry.
As I looked around, the developer stepped my way. He seemed pleased that I was studying the pool and said, “Really makes a statement, don’t you think?” I politely agreed but couldn’t help mentioning the downslope eyesore. His response, I kid you not, was, “You know, I talked with the pool contractor about that, and he told me it was a great way to let people know there’s a swimming pool up here.”
I’m as impressed by a tight equipment set as any civilian can be, but I must say I was rendered speechless. Placing equipment at the most visible street-level point within the property lines struck me as either an exercise in bad taste or a grievous mistake, but dismissing the developer’s concern in this way (and with apparent success) seemed to epitomize the pool industry’s negative public image. The words “lazy,” “inconsiderate,” “challenged” and “unprofessional” came to mind.
If I’d been the one laying out the long green to build a dream house, especially on spec, I wouldn’t have stood for that pad placement, and perhaps that’s where the problem lies: Are expectations so low that pool contractors can get away with this sort of poor performance?
As one who cares deeply about the reputation and quality of work in the watershaping trades, I left the home in a blue funk. For all the beautiful work published in this and other magazines, are there still those who haven’t opened their eyes and started figuring these things out?
Eric Herman