Walk down NW 46th Street in Ballard, and you’ll see it. It’s weird. A tiny, weathered farmhouse from the early 1900s is literally squeezed between the towering, cold concrete walls of a massive commercial shopping center. It looks exactly like something out of a Pixar storyboard. People call it the Up house in Seattle Washington, and while the resemblance to Carl Fredricksen’s home is uncanny, the real story is arguably more heartbreaking and beautiful than the movie itself.
Edith Macefield didn't set out to be a hero. She just wanted to stay put.
In 2006, developers started eyeing the block. They wanted to build what is now the Ballard Blocks, a sprawling retail complex. They bought up every single house on the street, except for one. Edith’s. She was in her 80s, lived alone with her books and her music, and she simply wasn't interested in moving. Even when the developers reportedly hiked their offer to $1 million—plus promises of a new home and healthcare—she told them to get lost.
The Woman Behind the Up House in Seattle Washington
Edith Macefield was a character. To understand why the house stands today, you have to understand that she wasn't some stubborn activist trying to make a point about gentrification. She just liked her kitchen. She liked her view.
There are plenty of tall tales about Edith—some she might have fueled herself. People claimed she was a spy in WWII or that she ran an orphanage. Whether those stories are 100% verified or just the lore of a neighborhood legend, the fact remains that she had a spine of steel. She survived the noise of pile drivers. She lived through the dust of massive excavation. As the ground was literally carved out around her foundation, she stayed inside and turned up her opera music.
Interestingly, Pixar’s Up went into production around the same time Edith’s story went viral, leading many to believe she was the direct inspiration. While the filmmakers have stated the story was already in development before Edith became a headline, the marketing team definitely leaned into the connection. In 2009, Disney-Pixar even tied colorful balloons to the roof of her house to promote the film. It was a surreal moment for Seattle.
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An Unlikely Friendship with the "Enemy"
Here is the part that usually catches people off guard. You’d think Edith hated the developers, right? Not exactly.
The construction superintendent, Barry Martin, became her closest friend. This is the nuance that AI often misses when summarizing this story. Barry wasn't the villain in Edith's life; he was her lifeline. He started by just checking on her. Then he started driving her to the doctor. He’d bring her groceries. He’d cook her dinner.
When Edith passed away in 2008 from pancreatic cancer, she didn't leave the house to a museum or a preservation society. She left it to Barry.
It was a final "thank you" to the man who looked after her while the rest of the world looked at her house as a curiosity or a payday. Barry eventually had to sell the home because the taxes and upkeep were a nightmare, but he made sure he told her story first. He even wrote a book about it called Under One Roof.
The Fight to Save the Ballard House
Since Edith’s death, the Up house in Seattle Washington has had a rough go of it. It’s been through foreclosures, failed auctions, and multiple "save the house" campaigns. At one point, there was a plan to move the house to Orcas Island via a barge, but the costs were astronomical—somewhere in the neighborhood of $200,000 just for the move—and the house was too fragile to survive the journey.
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The structure is currently owned by a group that intends to keep it as part of the Ballard Blocks, though it’s mostly used for storage or occasional events. It’s trapped in a weird limbo. It isn't a museum you can walk through, yet it remains the most photographed landmark in the neighborhood.
If you visit today, you’ll see the chain-link fence. You’ll see the ribbons and the occasional balloon tied to the wire by tourists. It feels smaller in person than it does in photos. The concrete walls of the LA Fitness and the surrounding retail spaces loom so close you can almost touch both at the same time.
Why the House Still Matters in 2026
Seattle has changed. A lot. The city is unrecognizable from the version Edith lived in during the 50s and 60s. Ballard, once a gritty fishing village defined by its Scandinavian roots, is now a hub of glass-fronted condos and expensive gastropubs.
The house serves as a physical reminder of what "holding your ground" looks like. It’s a glitch in the urban matrix. In a world where everything has a price tag, Edith proved that some things—like the floorboards you've walked on for fifty years—are priceless.
People often ask if the house is a "spite house." Technically, no. A spite house is built specifically to annoy a neighbor or block a view. Edith’s home was a "holdout." She didn't stay to ruin the developer's day; she stayed because she was home.
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Common Misconceptions About the Property
- It’s a Museum: Nope. You can't go inside. It’s a private structure, and honestly, it’s in pretty rough shape inside.
- Pixar Paid Her: There’s no evidence Edith ever took a dime from Disney or Pixar. She was fiercely independent.
- The Balloons Stay There: Occasionally, fans will tie balloons to the fence, but the wind in Seattle is brutal. They usually pop or get tangled within 24 hours.
Practical Steps for Visiting the Up House
If you're planning a trip to see the Up house in Seattle Washington, don't just drive by. Park the car and walk.
Start at the corner of 15th Ave NW and NW 46th St. You’ll find the house tucked into the "U" shape of the Ballard Blocks.
- Respect the Perimeter: Don't try to hop the fence. The area is heavily monitored by security for the shopping complex.
- Check Out the Ballard Locks: Since you're already in the neighborhood, walk ten minutes west to the Hiram M. Chittenden Locks. It gives you a better sense of the maritime history Edith was part of.
- Support Local: Grab a coffee at one of the independent shops nearby. Part of the tragedy of Edith's story is the loss of small-scale neighborhood life; supporting the remaining local businesses keeps that spirit alive.
- Look for the Plaques: There are subtle nods to the history of the area embedded in the surrounding architecture if you look closely enough.
The house might not be there forever. Wood rots, and the pressure of real estate development never truly stops. But for now, that little house remains a stubborn, beautiful "no" in a world of "yes." It reminds us that your space belongs to you, and no amount of money can replace the feeling of being exactly where you're supposed to be.
If you want to dive deeper into the architectural history of Seattle's holdouts, look into the "Little House" in the Queen Anne neighborhood or the history of the "Monorail" holdouts downtown. These tiny pockets of resistance are what give the city its remaining character.