Floor-to-ceiling glass now replaces barn board and galvanized steel, and the shift is immediate—stepping from that utilitarian corridor into a living space where every wall dissolves into the Ohio River Valley below, the eye traveling from paddock fence line to distant water without a single visual interruption. The glazing runs unbroken across the full elevation, pulling the landscape inside so completely that the room itself feels cantilevered over the ridgeline, and on mornings when river fog burns off the valley floor, the effect is less architecture than atmosphere. This is where the equestrian day ends and the executive evening begins, where riding boots give way to something quieter, and the panorama that framed the horses from the arena now frames a different kind of stillness from deep within the residence. The glass holds that view like a commission, and what waits beyond it speaks to a restoration the body has already begun to