What was and what will be
I love old houses. They are the places where the past and the present converge, where strangers somehow become linked through time with an invisible connection. I am into historic restoration and preservation. With each project, one uncovers a mystery, a story, a curiosity from the past. The renovation of a home turns into an unplanned archeological dig.
Today, while I was doing some work in a backyard, I saw the remnants of what used to be a fountain or a very elaborate bird bath. There were bits of carved concrete buried under thick, unruly, thorny blackberry and the protrusion of a decrepit base, tubing from a water pump.
I found a windchime caught up in overgrown bushes, the beautiful 100-year-old iron horse weathervane under some ivy. The basement has proven to be a wonderland of finds. I found a stash of metal flower buckets, loads of old tools and nails, a jaunty old hat from the 1930s in the basement workshop, and an old radio. I found a handmade tile in a cabinet; it now hangs in the kitchen as it probably did a long time ago when this was someone else’s home. There was a heart-shaped raw amethyst stone buried an inch deep under dirt in a flower bed. How did this get there, I wonder? While moving a box, I found a hidden compartment, and in it was a stash of ancient laundry tools: a rug beater, a washboard, and some very interesting wooden paddles used for hand-agitating the fabric in water. I cleaned and now hang these items proudly in my laundry room. We have not even ventured into the attic yet. Electrical work will eventually get us up there, but we will leave it our anticipated gift for now.
Most of these finds delight me, but some have made me sad—the old stone statue of a sleeping cat with an illegible name carved on it. I think about my beloved little pet, and my heart aches that someday she will no longer run around this yard. She will die, and so will I, like this beloved pet buried almost a century ago by someone who is now also sleeping forever somewhere.
Each time I find something, I wonder, who lived here? What did they do? In my mind’s eye, I can almost see the man in his basement workshop, listening to that old radio. What did he do there? How long did he live here?
I think about the person struggling with those cumbersome laundry tools, pulling up her long skirts. What did the yard look like then? Did she pause to listen to the church bells when they ring every hour as I do now? Did she smell the pines, hear the creek and feel the wind and love this place as much as I am starting to?
I obsess about each restoration detail. I want to match the door stopper on the back door hardware with a replica of the original ones on the front door. I spend hours on the weekend pursuing exterior lighting and then changing my mind. I advocate saving old windows instead of ordering new ones. I order screen doors and then wonder if they are period-appropriate. I daydream about replacing the 1980s-era linoleum and installing beehive tile.
The most significant point of contention is what color to paint the exterior. Painting the exterior of a historic home is a tremendous job and expense. The paint color is not something I am willing to make a mistake. So I stare at paint chips, research colors, and survey the town to see other colors people have in their homes. Today, I banged a rake into the side of the house. Some paint flaked off, and the most lovely celadon green was under it. Choosing the color to paint the house is now so simple. It will be what it was.
Restoration is not about the latest trends, our personal preferences, or what everyone else is doing. Restoring is about celebrating the home and getting it close to its original state—where the past harmoniously communes with the present and is preserved for the future. We don’t need to tear down walls or add additional floors to leave our mark on this space. We do it with each seed we plant, each layer of paint we go, each nail we hammer, each tiny bit of glitter that absently falls from a birthday card. We do it with the love and care we take with being stewards and respecting history. Preserving beauty and history is a gift to the future. We were here, just as the others who painted this house were, and the next person who finds this home’s treasures will be.
