Some people are too modest. Take the owners of this new house. Despite their intimate involvement in every aspect of its location, design, and construction, they steadfastly refuse to accept any credit for it. “We were just lucky,” says Wayne (who, with his wife, Elaine, requested that we not use their last name). The site, which lies at the edge of a 160-acre bird sanctuary; the feeling of being out in the country while only minutes from town; the house itself, which is quietly elegant, admirably sustainable, and enviably low maintenance: “It was all luck,” says Wayne. Well, we're not buying it. An outcome this good requires too many smart choices and the avoidance of too many pitfalls to happen by chance. Luck may have been involved, but when we look at this house we see the product of experience, good judgment, and teamwork on the part of the architect, the builder, and, not least, the owners.

Wayne and Elaine's first smart move was in spotting an opportunity. Their 1-acre lot was part of a large holding that has been in the same family since the 19th century. “It was originally farmland, with flood irrigation,” says Wayne. When the family put several building lots on the market, Wayne and Elaine moved quickly, and they got the best one. Shaded by century-old cottonwood trees, their site faces south across ponds and fields that are a magnet for migratory birds. To the west lies the Rio Grande River; to the east, the jagged profile of the Sandia Mountains. Less then 2 miles from Albuquerque city limits, “it has the feel of being very much in the middle of the country,” says Wayne.

The owners were equally shrewd in assembling a team to design and build their new house. Because the building they envisioned would have little in common with the typical run of stucco-on-stick-frame Southwest-style houses in Albuquerque, he says, “we wanted an architect who had experience not only with contemporary, but also with commercial [construction].” The couple chose Jon Anderson, who had designed a long string of distinctive Southwest-Modern houses, some very sleek commercial buildings, and the University of New Mexico's new School of Architecture and Planning building.

For a builder, they turned to John Blueher, who had earned their loyalty during two remodels of their traditional 1930s house in town. While Blueher's portfolio was heavier on stick-built houses—and even adobe buildings—than on concrete and steel structures, the owners trusted his management ability, his roster of top-shelf trade contractors, and his integrity. “He'll stand by his work no matter how long—5 years, 10 years—he's that kind of guy,” says Wayne, who felt that Anderson's input would make up for any gaps in Blueher's experience.

Anderson's plans were indeed exhaustively detailed—“His drawings probably demand a skill level that a lot of builders don't have,” Wayne says—but the house that resulted is the model of sophisticated simplicity. The main building consists of a single shed-roofed form with a high, south-facing wall of aluminum storefront glazing. Windows are deployed sparingly on the remaining three walls. A second shed-roofed volume to the north encloses a two-car garage, storage space, and mechanical equipment. A third grows out of the main building's west-facing end wall, forming an L shape that wraps around a simple rectangular pool deck. A glass-walled corridor connects the garage to the main building, while guests enter via a glass vestibule recessed into the living room volume.

Inside, the house lines up its private spaces—office, guest bedroom, laundry, baths, and the master dressing room—to the north. Prime south-facing territory goes to the living room, a kitchen and dining area, and the master bedroom, all of which enjoy views of land and sky that seem almost too large to fit through a window. The expanse of black-framed glass responsible for this show is broken by a pair of 3-foot-thick concrete block walls, one of which penetrates the building, separating the living and dining areas with a see-through fireplace. From a distance the blocks read as standard CMUs, but closer inspection reveals a smooth surface that looks more like terrazzo. “It's called burnished block,” Anderson says. “They grind down to the face of the aggregate, so it's exposed.” In addition to the elegant surface, “We like the block because of its sustainable nature; it's locally made, and it will last forever.”