MUCH of the architecture on the property owned by the artist Michael DesRosiers is austere: a half-dozen boxy and dark-shingled New England-style buildings laid out on what looks like a village green, evoking a place where fripperies were frowned upon and people who talked to animals (as Mr. DesRosiers does) were burned at the stake. It is easy enough, pausing in the driveway, to imagine Hester Prynne thinking, “This town is killing me.”

But scattered about the property, there are also playful follies — oversize birdhouses that resemble church spires, planters in the shape of stars, animal statues.

Oh, the marvels yo