I pulled into the gravel driveway I've been driving into every summer of my life and saw a construction zone -- scraps of wood, a range, a trash barrel. I had been warned that the backyard was ruined, that the hollyhocks were gone. They had bloomed under the kitchen window every summer since my grandparents owned the cottage, possibly longer. I braced myself before opening the new door. After all, the cottage had been gutted and even the support beams had been replaced. I hadn't seen the place in more than a year. Since then, the house had been all but rebuilt: a new bathroom, windows, wiring, plumbing, heating, insulation, walls, ceilings and floors. The old smell was replaced by the odor of sawdust and sheetrock. But, much to my surprise, it still seemed mostly like our old "Cape house." The antique sconces were back on the walls.