I’m not a professional designer. I’m not trained in space planning, color theory, or choosing period accurate details.
Nor is my dear hubby an experienced general contractor, a finish carpenter, or an Amish man.
We’re just a couple of city-kids loving this old house and working to build a small farm from a few acres of a grass hay and overgrown woods using re-claimed materials, duct tape and a can-do attitude.
I’m a girl that needs to be hip-deep in a project, loves old things, and knows what she likes, most of the time. Sometimes I have a hard time making up my mind and feel paralyzed by all the choices. Sometimes I’m so sure of what I want and determined to get my own way. I claim “not everyone can have good taste“. I think that wins the argument every time.
It’s one thing to build a house with a builder and stand in the show room and make selections. I’ve done that. It’s overwhelming, for sure. But it’s quite another to take a room down to the studs and stare at all those bare bones. To know I can do whatever I want, within the space and budget limitations, of course. I can’t hire a designer. We can’t afford a contractor. It’s just me and my Old Man, some youtube videos, a few tools, a stack of books from the local library, a pinterest board, and a very old farm house needing some love.
I want to be true to our 1850s house. I want to make choices that honor its origin while making it livable and attractive to our 21st century household. I want it to be a meaningful place for our family–maintained, built and updated with thought and care and love. A home that honors God as a refuge to the wear-worn, a comfort to the broken-hearted, a welcome to the wandering.