Meet the Visionaries Behind Muddy Brook

Patrick and Kelley didn’t set out to build a destination. They were simply looking for air.

Back when they were living in DUMBO, weekends meant loading the car and driving north, trading Brooklyn pavement for Catskills roads. Pat was deep in a high-pressure tech career; Kelley remembers a version of him that only appeared once the city fell away. She called him “Pat-skills”—the calmer, softer version that emerged somewhere along a familiar stretch of road, just before cell service disappeared and the mountains opened up. You could see it in his shoulders. In his breath. In the way he looked out the window.

Those drives slowly reframed what they wanted. Not just a place to escape to—but a different way of living altogether.

In late 2019, they bought a property in Phoenicia, New York, imagining it as a weekend home. There was a main house (now their full-time residence) and two small cabins they began renovating almost casually, “for funsies,” as Kelley puts it. They were curious about short-term rentals, but without any grand plan.

Then 2020 arrived.

By May, Pat had left his tech job and committed fully to building something new—one property, one experience at a time.

To help get the project off the ground, they brought in Pat’s brother, Kyle, as a partner. A nurse by trade, Kyle brings a deeply creative eye to everything he does and is an amateur film photographer—talented well beyond the label (and yes—if you book, that is his portfolio featured in the guidebook). Together, Kyle and Pat installed the stone path leading from the fire pit, grounding the space with hands-on craftsmanship and intention. Kyle and his wife, Hannah, also helped curate key furniture moments—from the sculptural day lounger to the coffee table and beyond. With plans to move to the Catskills full-time, the project became Kyle and Hannah’s entry point into real estate, blending creative passion with a long-term vision for building a life in the region.

Muddy Brook came next.

Pat found the listing: a parcel of land with a failing 1950s cabin and a year-round stream cutting through a wooded valley. From the road, it looked unremarkable. But once you stepped down into the property, it felt like another world—lush, private, almost mythic.

“We kind of wanted to have that holy shit kind of moment—from an architectural perspective. From the outside it’s understated, but the second you open the door, you’re like, wow—this is a different universe.” — Kelley

Kelley describes it as Tuck Everlasting meets FernGully. They bought it through an estate sale; the previous owner had passed, leaving everything behind.

As Pat sorted through the belongings, a story emerged. The original owner was a Czech immigrant, a former hockey player turned celebrated dress designer. His wife had been one of the original American supermodels in the 1950s and ’60s. Pat uncovered hand-painted dress sketches on parchment, old editorial photos, portfolios showing work carried by Lord & Taylor and Saks Fifth Avenue. Some of the garments matched photographs of his wife wearing them decades earlier.

“The only artwork in the cabin is work we found from him—these hand-painted dresses we have hung up. It’s this crazy little slice of history that the house, this property, was a part of in early fashion history.” — Pat

That history became the heart of Muddy Brook. Almost all the artwork in the home comes from the original owner’s archive—his sketches, his photographs. Kelley calls it the property’s “vintage soul.” Nothing is decorative for decoration’s sake; everything has lineage.

The original cabin, though conceptually ahead of its time with its glass walls and stream-facing deck, couldn’t be saved. Mold and structural issues made rebuilding inevitable. But COVID sent construction costs soaring. What should have been a modest build ballooned far beyond reach. So they waited. For years. Paying taxes. Refining plans. Letting the idea mature until timing, finances, and patience aligned.

Nearly four years later, they finally broke ground.

The new Muddy Brook keeps the spirit of the original but sharpens it. About 1,200 square feet, designed closely with their architect over the course of a year. Every living-space window faces only the stream and forest—never the road. A wall of eight-foot picture windows dissolves the boundary between inside and out. The front façade is deliberately closed off, almost bunker-like, giving the house a quiet, protective quality.

The deck was designed as an extension of the living space and a deliberate way to experience the brook. A two-tier layout preserves sightlines from inside to the stream while giving guests multiple vantage points. The lower tier aligns with the interior living spaces for uninterrupted views of the water, while the upper tier, with slim wire railings, provides a sense of floating over the valley. Every plank, every angle was chosen so the stream feels like it runs through the house itself.
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“It’s basically a cliff house that we call a tree house now. It really hangs off the cliff looking over the stream. Once you’re in there, you’re just immersed immediately—like, where am I? What is this?”
— Pat

Inside, the palette is restrained and earthy—Japandi-leaning, monochrome, heavy on texture and calm. Artwork is minimal because the view is the art. Lighting is soft and intentional; this is not a place you can flood with brightness. It’s designed for mood, not productivity theater.

There are small, telling moments everywhere. Kelley’s nook—a low modular sofa wrapped in glass—started as a makeshift workspace and became a place to linger. Pat’s fire chair swivels between fireplace, stream, and forest in one slow turn. In the bedroom, waking up to the sound and sight of water still feels unreal to them.

“Anytime I need to be creative—anytime I have to do design work—I go to Muddy Brook. It just kind of inspires you.”
— Kelley

Muddy Brook has naturally become a creator’s retreat. Writers, designers, and artists seem to find it without being told. One guest left behind a children’s book they wrote during their stay. A scrapbook-style guestbook fills with sketches, notes, half-formed ideas. Kelley admits that when she needs to do her best creative work, she goes there—the light alone makes everything feel editorial.

They opened Muddy Brook quietly, without a PR push. Still, Condé Nast and Vogue found it. For now, bookings run through Airbnb, while Pat grows Comeback Stays as a more personal ecosystem for future projects and repeat guests. A direct-booking presence is coming, thoughtfully, when it’s right.

What Patrick and Kelley have built isn’t about escape so much as attention—attention to history, to landscape, and to how a space makes you feel when nothing is demanding your time. Muddy Brook isn’t perfect. It’s intentional. And that, as they’ll tell you, is the point.

Experience it for yourself—explore the full listing and book your stay at Muddy Brook Treehouse here: https://disruptor-3fe224.webflow.io/properties/muddy-brook-treehouse

Photography by Chris and Pam Daniele, dirtandglass.net