I still remember the first multi-generational project I tackled—a rambling Tudor revival in Portland where three generations were attempting to coexist in a space that seemed determined to keep them separate. The grandmother couldn’t navigate the split-level entry, the parents couldn’t hear the kids playing in the distant third-floor bedrooms, and everyone felt disconnected despite living under one roof. What struck me most wasn’t just the physical barriers but the emotional toll these separations were taking.
“We bought this house so we could be together,” the mother told me, voice breaking slightly. “But we feel more isolated than when we lived across town from each other.” That project fundamentally changed my approach to design. I realized that bringing nature into homes isn’t just about aesthetics or sustainability—it’s about creating connections between people of different ages and abilities through shared experiences of natural elements.
Multi-generational living is making a massive comeback right now. The pandemic accelerated this trend, but honestly, it’s been building for years—driven by housing costs, aging populations, and cultural shifts recognizing the benefits of extended family support systems. About 20% of Americans now live in multi-generational households, according to Pew Research, and that number continues climbing.
But here’s the challenge: most homes simply weren’t designed for this. They either compartmentalize spaces by function (keeping everyone separate) or create wide-open concepts with no privacy at all. Neither works particularly well when you’ve got three or four generations with different needs, schedules, and mobility requirements.
This is where biophilic design principles can be absolutely transformative. For those unfamiliar, biophilic design incorporates elements of nature into built environments to satisfy our innate need to connect with natural systems. But beyond making spaces more beautiful or sustainable, these principles can actually solve many practical challenges of multi-generational living.
Let me give you an example. In that Portland home, we created a central indoor garden atrium with a small water feature. The sound of water provided gentle orientation cues for the grandmother with early-stage dementia.
The teenagers found it a peaceful homework spot. The parents used the edges for herb gardening. What had been an awkward central hallway became the heart of family life—a space everyone could enjoy on their own terms while still being together.
Water elements are particularly brilliant for multi-generational spaces because they engage multiple senses simultaneously. The toddler might be fascinated by visual ripples, while grandparents with hearing impairments can feel subtle vibrations. For overwhelmed parents, the white noise creates moments of auditory privacy without actual isolation.
I’m not suggesting everyone should punch holes in their ceilings for dramatic atriums (though I’m not exactly discouraging it either). There are countless ways to incorporate adaptable natural elements that serve different needs simultaneously. Consider lighting—one of the most overlooked aspects of biophilic design for multi-generational homes.
Older adults need significantly more light to see clearly (about three times more than a 20-year-old, actually), but they’re also more sensitive to glare. Meanwhile, younger people benefit enormously from exposure to natural light patterns that regulate circadian rhythms. In a recent Seattle project, we installed skylights with adjustable diffusers above main circulation paths.
This provided ample, glare-free illumination for the grandparents while allowing natural light patterns to filter through for the children. We complemented this with programmable LEDs that shift color temperature throughout the day, mimicking natural light cycles. The grandfather reported his sleep improving dramatically within weeks, while the mother noted her young children settled more easily into bedtime routines.
Natural materials offer another brilliant solution for multi-generational needs. In a Philadelphia row house conversion, we used varying textures of wood and stone to create subtle tactile wayfinding cues that helped an older adult with visual impairments navigate independently. These same textural variations delighted the grandchildren, who would run their hands along surfaces as they moved through the house.
The parents appreciated the acoustic benefits—natural materials absorbing sound and preventing the echo-chamber effect common in renovated older homes. When working with limited budgets (which, let’s be honest, is most projects), I focus on transitions between spaces. These are critical in multi-generational homes where different zones need to serve different purposes while still feeling connected.
Something as simple as a small indoor planter wall can create visual privacy while maintaining airflow and connection. Plants with different textures and heights create natural partitions without the finality of a solid wall. I worked with a family in Minneapolis who had converted their garage into an in-law suite, but it felt disconnected from the main house.
We created a connecting “winter garden” hallway with potted trees and climbing vines on tension cables. This transitional space became unexpectedly popular—the teenager would sit there to escape family chaos while still feeling connected, the grandmother used it for morning coffee, and the parents found themselves lingering there during evening conversations. The beauty of these nature-based transitions is their adaptability.
Unlike permanent walls or single-purpose rooms, living dividers can evolve as family needs change. Plants can be rearranged, grow taller or be pruned back, and seasonal varieties can create different experiences throughout the year. This adaptability is crucial because multi-generational families aren’t static entities.
Kids grow up, adults age, and needs shift constantly. Traditional architecture tends to freeze solutions in place, but biophilic elements can evolve alongside the family. One of my favorite examples comes from my own childhood home.
My parents installed a large bay window with a deep seat when I was about eight. Initially, I used it as a reading nook surrounded by my mother’s ferns. As a teenager, it became my homework spot.
When my grandmother moved in after my grandfather passed, she claimed it for her morning coffee ritual. After she died, my father (who had never shown interest in plants before) maintained her little collection of succulents in that same window. One architectural element served four different purposes across twenty years while maintaining a connection to natural light, views, and living things.
Modern implementations can be much more sophisticated, of course. I recently completed a Chicago renovation incorporating a centralized vertical garden with an integrated hydroponics system. The garden wall included sections at different heights—lower portions accessible to children and wheelchair users, middle sections perfect for seated adults, and upper portions manageable by standing adults.
Each family member “owned” their section, creating both individual connection and shared responsibility. What I find most fascinating is how these natural elements often become communication bridges between generations. In homes with significant age gaps, finding common topics of conversation can be challenging.
But I’ve watched countless families bond over simple activities like watering plants, observing birds at feeders visible through strategically placed windows, or discussing changes in tree colors visible from a shared breakfast nook. There are practical considerations too. Many older adults face sensory challenges—diminished eyesight, hearing loss, decreased tactile sensitivity.
Meanwhile, younger children are in critical periods of sensory development. Biophilic elements can address both ends of this spectrum simultaneously. Strongly scented herbs provide orientation cues for visually impaired older adults while offering sensory stimulation for developing children.
Textural variety in natural materials provides both wayfinding for older adults and developmental benefits for kids. This doesn’t mean turning your home into an indoor jungle (though that’s certainly one approach—I have the overgrown apartment to prove it). Biophilic design can be remarkably subtle.
Sometimes it’s about framing existing views of trees or sky. Sometimes it’s about introducing materials like stone or wood that weather and change over time, showing patterns of use that tell family stories. In a recent renovation for a family in Austin, we centered the design around a 100-year-old oak tree visible from multiple rooms.
Rather than adding plants inside, we carefully positioned windows and glass doors to create different perspectives of this single magnificent tree from various rooms. The grandmother’s bedroom captured the morning light through its branches, the kitchen framed its solid trunk, and the children’s playroom looked up into its canopy. One natural element provided completely different experiences based on perspective and time of day.
Budget considerations are always real, especially with multiple generations pooling resources to create shared homes. What I’ve found most effective is prioritizing biophilic elements in shared spaces first—areas where everyone gathers regardless of age. The return on investment is highest when natural elements can be experienced by all family members daily.
I’m not suggesting these approaches solve all challenges of multi-generational living. Cultural differences, personality conflicts, and the fundamental complexity of human relationships still exist. But I’ve witnessed countless families find new connections through thoughtfully integrated natural elements.
When the teenager and grandmother independently seek out the same sunny window seat, something powerful happens in that shared experience of natural comfort. If you’re considering adaptations for multi-generational living, start by observing how different family members already interact with natural elements. Does grandpa gravitate toward the sunniest spot?
Do the kids collect leaves or rocks from the garden? These patterns reveal sensory preferences that can guide your approach. Remember that successful biophilic design for multi-generational homes isn’t about grand gestures—it’s about creating multiple layers of natural connection that can be experienced differently according to ability, interest, and need.
The best implementations almost disappear, feeling less like “design” and more like natural extension of how the family lives together. I’ve seen families transformed by these approaches—not just in their comfort and functionality, but in their relationships with each other. When we create spaces that connect everyone to nature, we often find we’ve also created unexpected connections between people.
