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R-E-S-P-E-C-T. Something Don Mills needs a little bit more of, if you ask me.

"I think this is a real treasure — if people don't go about ruining the houses," Jim Peterson, 51, says of the neighbourhood where he and his wife moved last summer.

"I don't understand why you would buy up here and then make [your house] look like it doesn't belong."

Mr. Peterson, Barbara Stuart-Peterson, 42, and French bulldogs Allard and Prevost (named after French chefs) are sitting comfortably in their living room, facing an original 1953 Roman brick fireplace.

Opposite this buff-coloured beauty, the dining area and recently renovated kitchen, nice as they are, can't hold a candle to the lush panorama of the Donalda Golf Club as it pours in through new oversized windows. Next door, out of view, is a monster home, and while it's not the focus of our conversation, in a sneaky kind of way it does inform our words.

But let's be clear: The Petersons don't hate other architectural styles.

In fact, before buying this 1,500-square-foot home from the original owner last April, they lived in an 1889 Cabbagetown semi. But, just as a modernist bungalow would look ridiculous dropped into that Victorian enclave, it's a bit perplexing when others drop faux-historic mansions into a modernist mecca like Don Mills. But we're not talking about that, remember? We're talking, actually, about why they started looking for a new home in the first place — an interesting story the couple hopes might inspire others.

A few years ago, after almost buying a house in Jamaica because of its admired "inside-outside" qualities, the Petersons — who in their 17 years of marriage had never lived north of Bloor — found they were becoming dissatisfied with their Wellesley Avenue home.

"It was gorgeous and it was beautifully decorated, but it was a very narrow house with one opening at the back, and I was constantly having that door open. And this was a big point of difference between us," Ms. Stuart-Peterson says of her attempts to bring the outdoors in while her husband interrupts with the story of the time the raccoons waltzed in like they owned the place.

So, they began searching for a place that recreated that Jamaican feeling, or perhaps that twinge Mr. Peterson felt in Palm Springs when he went gaga for all that mid-century modern desert architecture. To further the "indoor-outdoor" experience, they decided their new home should back on to a ravine.

Fuelled by take-out coffee and clutching a map highlighting appropriate ravine-backed streets, they began their search in earnest on Easter weekend and concluded two weeks later. Taking possession in July, the couple started brainstorming ways to enhance the home's wide, horizontal floor plan. In Cabbagetown, Ms. Stuart-Peterson jokes, it was all "forwards and backwards.

"The dogs, seriously, would just run forwards and backwards. This house has a circular flow that we wanted to emphasize, and hence, [we took] out the [foyer] bathroom and . . . all the kitchen walls and kitchen doors." It was also decided to tack a glassy 250-square-foot master bedroom on the back. When I ask who designed it, Mr. Peterson quips "Philip Johnson," referring to the architect of the iconic Glass House in New Canaan, Conn.

"The two things I 'get' because they're easy for me to understand are [Ludwig Mies van der Rohe's] Farnsworth House and Philip Johnson's Glass House, so I'd say, 'I really like those two, how do we get it to look sort of like that,' " Mr. Peterson says of the $60,000 addition.

"It was really about having a glass box that just floated out into the backyard," adds Ms. Stuart-Peterson. She runs her own catering company, Stuart + Saladino, but dusted off her old architectural technology diploma to create plans that were then given to design/build contractor Yuill McGregor.

Ironically, at 1,750 square feet, the home is now the same size as their three-storey Cabbagetown Victorian, but with the inside-outside feeling achieved via gargantuan windows and stark white walls punctuated by their art collection, it feels much, much bigger.

If more Don Mills renovators followed the example of expanding out instead of up, the character of this historically important neighbourhood would be preserved.

"I don't know that everybody has to live in a giant million-and-a-half dollar house," Mr. Peterson says. "I think some people could live in a house like this and live quite well." Ms. Stuart-Peterson adds: "People don't often equate good living with stylish living. They just think it's giant living."

It's something to think about. With hundreds of architect-designed, mid-century homes only a few extra commuter minutes farther away than desirable yet overpriced Leaside and Riverdale, will the design-savvy Dwell and Wallpaper magazine crowd migrate to Don Mills?

"I believe that people will discover this in the same way that Cabbagetown was discovered 30 years ago," Mr. Peterson says. "Cabbagetown is kind of at its peak now; there aren't that many places left to do, [and] people are starting to talk about mid-century modern housing."

Ms. Stuart-Peterson: "Our lot is 60 feet across and 130 feet deep — you won't get that in Leaside."

So bring on the mid-century modern aficionados and respect will surely follow. But this time, spell it "H-C-D" for heritage conservation district.

Dave LeBlanc hosts The Architourist on CFRB Wednesdays during Toronto at Noon and Sunday mornings. Send inquiries to dave.leblanc@globeandmail.com.