A Cedar-Shake Retreat From the '70s, Reimagined Among Northern California's Towering Redwoods

PublishedOct 25, 2025 6:02 AM EDT

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Each June, 1,500 runners gather at the starting line in Mill Valley, California, to scramble over roots and boulders, weave between towering redwoods, and descend treacherous staircases before reaching the iconic finish on Stinson Beach. This is the legendary Dipsea Race, a century-old trail run spanning seven grueling, jaw-dropping miles through Marin County. Leah Bershad will tell you it's no stroll in the park.

"One year on my birthday, we tackled what's known as the double Dipsea—from downtown to Stinson and back—and I lost a toenail," recalls the founder of the iconic San Francisco boutique Reliquary.

Fortunately, she was never far from home. At one point along the course, runners pass the roofline of a distinctive 1970s cedar-shake house perched on a ridge above Muir Beach—that's Bershad's place. Ferns, rhododendrons, fig trees, and cypress cascade down the hillside where she lives with her partner, Avery Clough; their chihuahua mixes, Sprout and Nova; and their newborn daughter, Eyla.

Bershad didn't always imagine herself so far from the urban grid. "I grew up in Manhattan, so I need restaurants and culture, but I also need trees—and I never want to share walls again," she says, laughing. "And that's exactly what I had in Oakland."

But during the pandemic, when real estate scrolling became a nightly ritual and Bershad and Clough began talking about merging households, they stumbled upon this character-rich property off Panoramic Highway. Japanese in its architectural sensibility, the split-level had been designed by Bay Area architect Alan Williams, complete with all the hallmarks of the decade: wall-to-wall shag carpeting, textured wallpaper, and a kitchen frozen in the era. It was essentially a time capsule, and Williams's family had decided to part with it.

The location spoke to Clough, a devoted surfer who craves daily time in the water; Bershad was drawn to the trail access and the walkability of the area. Another major draw: two separate rooms that could serve as dedicated offices for each of them. Above all, though, they were captivated by the community—neighbors Bershad describes as "a blend of financial and political realities, and plenty of old California hippies." The couple submitted an offer, albeit one they feared was too low. "That was the day the sun didn't rise in San Francisco," Bershad remembers, recalling the eerie orange glow cast by the wildfires. Eight of the ten competing buyers withdrew on the spot, and against all odds, their offer was accepted.

"We opened a bottle of wine and, at one point, looked at each other and asked, 'Are we celebrating or stress drinking?'" Bershad says. "It was genuinely terrifying. We were absolutely not prepared, but we were beyond excited." They knew a full-scale renovation lay ahead.

The couple chose to work from the top down, starting with a comprehensive overhaul of the compact primary suite on the uppermost floor. Wraparound windows flooded the space with natural light and framed expansive views of Mt. Tam State Park and the East Bay, so keeping it as their bedroom was an obvious choice. They tore up the shag carpet, removed an awkward corner shower-and-tub combination, and expanded the tiny bathroom (the original vanity was "the size of an airplane lavatory sink").

The great room on the main level is a showstopper. You'd never guess it, but the walls were originally cloaked in a textured linen wallcovering that resisted removal with extraordinary tenacity. "That ended up being one of the most miserable projects," Bershad recalls. "You'd try to peel it and the fibers would stretch into these hair-like strands." Out of options, they layered drywall directly over the material, sacrificing a quarter inch on every wall—but once their eclectic mix of vintage furnishings, art, and collected objects filled the space, the lost depth is imperceptible.

Among all their belongings, a handful carry particular emotional weight. "The Vija Celmins piece above the fireplace was a 40th birthday gift from my dad," she says. "He bought it in the '70s for his bachelor apartment, and I've loved it my entire life." A exquisite Tiffany lamp perched on the Aalto dresser belongs to Clough, inherited from his late father.

Descend one flight and you arrive in the intimate eat-in kitchen, which received a complete layout reconfiguration, vertical-grain fir cabinetry, and new appliances. What they sacrificed in a pass-through window and original cold storage, they gained in a central island and open shelving. At the adjacent dining table, the family hosts friends for long, unhurried, often plant-based meals.

In many ways, the house is as much about its relationship to the surrounding landscape as it is about the interiors. But when they moved in, the outdoor spaces felt like an afterthought. After adding a deck off their offices overlooking the gently sloped yard, Bershad and Clough constructed terraces, plank walkways, and timber stairs to connect the different garden zones. A greenhouse and hammock occupy one section, while a barrel sauna, outdoor shower, and cold plunge combine to form a private spa retreat.

"We've been adding to the garden slowly," Bershad says. "Every few weeks, we visit the nursery and bring home another plant." It's a small ritual of stewardship—but nonetheless, they're putting down roots.

Samantha Weiss-Hills is the managing editor for Domino. She edits and writes home tours and features, and she's the friend who everyone texts for glassware, sofa, and sheet recommendations. She lives in Brooklyn with her husband, Alex, and their beagle-corgi, Elsa.

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