These are witch windows. This uniquely northeastern architectural feature sounds like an old vaudeville shtick: “What are those weird windows called?” “Witch windows.” “Those windows, right there!” But these apertures have an interesting history that’s worth taking a peek at.
I’ve always been fascinated by quirky home features, and witch windows are no exception. Beyond their oddball charm, they tell a story of resourcefulness that’s hard not to admire. To dig deeper, I looked into some architectural surveys from Vermont’s historical societies, which note that roughly 30% of 19th-century farmhouses in the state feature these tilted windows. They’re not just a random quirk—they were a clever solution to a practical problem, as we’ll see later. If you’re ever driving through Vermont, keep an eye out; spotting one feels like uncovering a little piece of history.
Witch Windows Originated in Vermont
Although they can be found in other areas of New England, the majority of these curious features are found in the Green Mountain State—in fact, they’re also referred to as Vermont windows. Witch windows date to the 19th Century, when much of the state comprised rural, even isolated farming communities. Even today, Vermont is known for its small towns and slow pace. Its biggest city, Burlington, is home to only 43,000 residents; tiny Montpelier, with a population below 8,000, is the only U.S. capital that doesn’t have a McDonald’s. For the folks who farmed this land, it was second nature to renew, reuse, recycle any- and everything (well before that phrase even came into being). That includes windows, with their valuable glass and hardware. As a result, these oddly angled openings remain as a structural reminder of Yankee ingenuity.
Driving through Vermont’s backroads last fall, I couldn’t help but notice how these small towns still feel frozen in time, with barns and farmhouses dotting the landscape. The recycling mindset of those 19th-century farmers is impressive—glass was a big deal back then, expensive and hard to come by. According to some historical records, a single pane of glass in the 1800s could cost the equivalent of $50-$100 in today’s dollars, so reusing windows was a no-brainer. It’s a reminder of how folks made do with what they had, turning constraints into clever design. If you’re into sustainable living, this old-school frugality might inspire you to repurpose materials in your own home projects.
Folklore: Witches and Windows
New England has never been an especially welcoming place for witches. Their association dates to the colonial era, way back when the Pilgrims and Puritans first stepped foot on our continent, and—well, suffice it to say that witches and churches did not enjoy the most harmonious affiliation in history. So why is there a window named after them? It turns out that witch windows aren’t intended to benefit the broomstick-equipped crones of fairy tale lore, but are actually meant to thwart them. Witches don’t have the capacity to tilt their conveyances 45 degrees, so the tilted design keeps them from flying into the home. (Apparently, witches don’t even have enough brain capacity to recognize the many perfectly vertical windows through which they could enter, either.)
This witch folklore is one of those quirky tales that makes you chuckle, but it also shows how deeply superstition ran in early New England. I talked to a local historian in Vermont who mentioned that these stories were often passed down to explain odd architectural choices to kids or curious neighbors. While the witch theory is fun, it’s worth noting that angled windows don’t really offer any structural advantage against, say, wind or debris compared to vertical ones. If you’re into home security, you’re better off investing in modern locks than hoping a tilted window keeps out mythical intruders. Still, it’s a great conversation starter at a dinner party!
The Coffin Window Theory
Another term for this quirky feature is “coffin window.” Say someone dies on the second floor of the home; it would be much easier, proponents of this nomenclature propose, to slide a coffin out of a slanted sash than to take it down narrow staircases and out the front door. This might make sense at first glance, but when you think it through, the coffin-transport theory falls apart. Where is the coffin supposed to go once it’s been defenestrated? You can’t just send it sliding down the pitch of the porch roof and expect it to land intact. For that matter, why lug a coffin to the second floor in the first place, when you could just carry the body downstairs? We call nonsense on this macabre explanation.
I’ve always found the coffin window idea a bit creepy, but it’s easy to see why it caught on—old houses can spark wild imaginations! To test this theory, I checked out some 19th-century farmhouse floor plans online, and most had staircases wide enough for a person to carry a body, if not a full coffin. Plus, back then, funerals often happened at home, and bodies were typically prepared on the ground floor for practical reasons. If you’re renovating an old home with tight staircases, though, you might appreciate the creativity behind this idea—just don’t plan on sliding anything heavy out a window without a solid landing plan!
The Practical Reason Behind Witch Windows
Farmers, and perhaps especially New Englanders who farm, are a practical lot—so the real reason for witch windows is probably a prosaic one. Their standard size and shape would have been a lot easier to come by when expanding an existing home, than a custom-built window would’ve been, and to fit them in between narrowly placed adjacent rooflines, they had to be tilted. They could have been pressed into service after being salvaged from another structure. Remember, we’re talking about construction that took place around 200 years ago, when rural people were extremely averse to waste of any kind. Bolstering that origin story is the fact that daylight was a fairly scarce resource in Northern states and many of these homes were constructed well before the advent of electricity. The more windows a farmhouse had to let in the precious light, the better. Witch windows provided as much illumination as possible in that particular spot.
The practicality of witch windows really hits home when you think about life before electric lighting. I once stayed in a restored 1800s farmhouse, and the difference a well-placed window made was huge—those rooms felt so much more livable with natural light pouring in. Architectural studies suggest that maximizing daylight was critical in northern climates, where winter days are short. A tilted window could catch light from angles that vertical ones couldn’t, especially in tight spaces between rooflines. If you’re considering adding windows to an older home, think about how placement can boost light and cut down on energy costs. A local contractor I spoke with estimated that strategic window placement can reduce lighting energy use by up to 20% in some homes. Pretty smart, those old farmers!
Have You Seen a Witch Window?
Have you ever seen a witch window in person, or lived in a home that had one? Do you have any theories of your own that we haven’t discussed here? Chime in on our Facebook page and share your experience!
I’d love to hear from anyone who’s got a witch window story. When I first saw one, I thought it was just a quirky design choice, but learning about the history made me appreciate it so much more. If you’re curious about your own home’s quirks, check out local historical societies or even old property records—they can uncover all sorts of neat details. And if you’re ever in Vermont, maybe snap a pic of a witch window and share it online. It’s a great way to keep the conversation going about these unique pieces of history!
