“These wood floors are so old,” Ivan said with palpable disgust, poking a work boot at a crumb-filled gap. “I’d just cover them with linoleum.”
We never spoke to him again. It’s like that with old houses, trying to find the handful of contractors who can comprehend why you might want to restore the thing that’s lasted for over a century instead of taking a hammer to it.
We purchased our 1903 Folk Victorian in March of 2020.
It needed everything. Updated plumbing and electrical, floor patching and refinishing, a new kitchen and bathroom.
But the place had good bones: all the original light fixtures and tiled fireplaces; the woodwork, dehydrated and dirty, but miraculously never painted. I climbed the grand staircase after closing, wondering what in the hell we were thinking.
The good news? The pandemic meant we literally weren’t doing anything else. No extra-curriculars, no happy hours, just Tiger King and a never-ending punch list. The bad news? When everything needs help, you don’t know where to start.
Overwhelmed, I called my friend Carter Averbeck of Omforme Design (613 W. 24th Street). His ethos matched our vision — making this house work for a modern family while honoring its history.
During our initial walk-through, I showed him a selection of safe, neutral paint samples I felt I was supposed to pick. He rolled his eyes. “Victorian homes love color.”
In that moment, I snapped out of my social media-influenced, Millennial greige stupor. Yes, Carter, color! I love color, too!
Today, that room boasts wallpaper with blue and orange chimney swallows. It’s where I drink my morning coffee on a surprisingly comfortable 19th-century settee Averbeck reupholstered in deep green and chartreuse velvet.
Averbeck offers full-service interior design, but as people who enjoy the hunt, we hired him to help with general design support. An old house doula, if you will.
He created an approximate kitchen layout, suggested what to consider when selecting a countertop and backsplash, and provided dimensions for furniture and light fixtures.
I’m not sure if he found my screenshots of furniture from Facebook Marketplace annoying or endearing (both?), but knowing those three blue typing… dots would soon offer brutally honest feedback gave me needed scaffolding.
Five years into our renovation, our list of like-minded preservationists continues to grow.
We finished our attic with 90-year-old white oak flooring procured by Lumberstash, a small salvage operation out of South Minneapolis (follow them on Instagram at @lumberstash to call dibs on their latest finds).
We’ve purchased period-appropriate lighting from Architectural Antiques in Northeast, where pricing includes rewiring. Although we didn’t end up using Hayes window restoration, if you’re looking to preserve that wavy glass goodness, they’re your people.
Put a pilgrimage to Bauer Brothers on North on your historic renovation bingo card. Imagine multiple football fields packed with cast iron bathtubs, stained glass, urinals, anything yanked from old buildings and ready for new homes … if you can find an employee to sell it to you.
For a more curated experience, I’ll pop into H&B Gallery during my neighborhood walks, just to see if they’ve pulled a buffet that fits my dimensions from a weekend estate sale.
Looking for a screaming deal?
I nabbed two gorgeous light fixtures for under $30 a piece from the Habitat for Humanity ReStore. Our cobweb-filled basement often gifts us with the best finds. We stripped and painted a forgotten medicine cabinet and reused many doors from our “old door graveyard” (doesn’t every historic home have one?).
With old houses, it’s always something. Needy, whiny, expensive, and yet deeply rewarding — not unlike children. Some days I daydream of level floors and square corners.
And then I hear my kids running down the squeaky stairs (or, more often, sliding down our sturdy oak banister) and am reminded why we live here. Old houses are built to last, so long as a willing steward steps up every few decades.
