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Matt Betz is feeling humbled. He is standing in a 130-year old structure built of a rough seashell mortar, which, in his experience, has survived despite great odds to the contrary.

“I’m in absolute awe,” said the archaeologist, a Naples resident. “I’m 35 years old, I’ve lived here all my life and I’ve never seen this before.”

It is the former vacation home of John Horr, a Civil War veteran who established a pineapple plantation on his own island, just to the south of Marco. Horr built it around 1877 amid the ancient shell mounds of his little island retreat.

Renamed Key Marco when it came under development in the 1980s, Horr’s Island is a gem of layered and nuanced history.

Four mounds dot the island, two of which appear to have been purposely constructed. The other two are middens, essentially ancient trash heaps. A shell ring sits not far from Horr’s old home.

Archaeologists have dated permanent settlement on the island to as long ago as 500 BC, predating even the Calusa Indians.

Today, multimillion-dollar homes string along just a few slender miles of road on the point jutting into Caxambas Bay. They started going up in the 1980s, following a study of the site’s archaeological history conducted by the Ronto Development Corporation, the company that renamed and developed the island.

Horr’s house, a roofless, hollowed-out shell, is preserved as the link between the island’s prehistoric past and its upscale present. In 1997, the house was added to the U.S. Register of Historic Places.

But the house is crumbling, little by little, as the elements take their toll. Strangler Fig roots snake down the walls, burrowing into crevices and crushing the crude mortar walls.

Enter Betz.

He works for the Archaeological and Historical Conservancy, a nonprofit organization specializing in preserving historically significant sites. He was on the site Monday morning assessing what the structure needs to stay upright.

He eyed cracks running the length of the two-story walls and checked out a tortoise burrow beneath the foundations. He dispensed advice to Eileen Ward, co-owner of Greensward landscaping. Her company does work on Key Marco and she has taken up the charge of helping preserve the structure.

“They’re just trying to clean up Key Marco in general,” Ward said. “The (Marco Island) Historical Society did a tour of Key Marco recently and they came here. We did some clean up before that visit.”

But that little bit of upkeep led Ward to realize how much more assistance the site needs to stay intact.

“This is such a special place. We want to protect it,” she said.

Without much delay, Ward brought in a two-man team to trim back branches of the Strangler Figs embracing the walls. The tree roots are splitting the walls apart, Betz said. But, they are also keeping them intact.

Some roots mimic the very architectural lines of the house, snaking beneath overhead door jams and making the 90-degree turn to run down the wall. Some sections of wall appear as though they would crumble if they were not encased in tree roots.

The walls, each about 12 inches thick, were made of whole mollusk shells mixed with some form of mortar compound, Betz said.

“As far as I know, it looks like they probably used the Indian shell mounds for the construction,” Betz said.

The technique is uncommon, Betz said — he tends to see buildings of slightly different construction, using crushed shells rather than whole ones. Buildings made with the same materials as the Horr house and at the same time period tend not to be as well-preserved, Betz said.

“The ones that I’ve seen are all in Jacksonville, and they’re those little tabby structures,” he said. “The walls are all [waist] high.”

All things considered, Betz said, the structure is in great condition.

“You don’t see many that are two stories that are still standing like that,” he said. “I don’t know of any others on the west coast below Tampa.”

Aside from cutting back the Strangler Figs and treating them with weed killer to stop growth, Betz said his organization can recommend more options for preserving the structure. In the meantime, he has recommended Ward look into getting a permit to relocate the tortoise that has made its home beneath the house. Leaving the burrow alone could allow water to invade the foundation and degrade the structure’s integrity even more.

Betz said the hole could be filled in to prevent the corner of the structure from sagging and collapsing in any further.

Ann Dilbone, Horr’s great-great-granddaughter, who tagged along for the excursion Monday, said the tortoise has been there for some time — probably close to a decade.

Dilbone’s memories of the house are all confined to its ruined state. She did not even know it existed until she moved to Naples in the ’70s.

“When we got ready to move here, my uncle said, ‘We used to own an island there,’ ” she said.

Dilbone was born in Ohio, the same state her great-great-grandfather retired to in 1920, just a few years before his death. He sold the island in 1923.

Hortense Horr, Dilbone’s grandmother, could remember the screened porch on the back of the house from her time there as a young girl, Dilbone said. She also had vague memories of the pineapple fields, which stretched along the island’s coast, supplying Horr’s wholesale grocery in Key West.

Though most express their amazement at how the house has stood the test of time, it is a vulnerable landmark. A single hurricane could bring the remaining solid walls crashing in on themselves, Betz said.

“After Hurricane Wilma, I could just picture that crack,” Dilbone said, pointing to a three-inch gap running the length of one wall above a doorway. “I was worried this wouldn’t be here anymore.”