Having been home over the holidays made me think about how much my parents' tastes have shaped my own. I like to believe that I have made every single decision based only on my own brain power but anyone knows that isn't how it works. The people you grow up around sneak themselves into every nook and cranny of your thoughts no matter how much you fight it in surprising ways.
My dad used to quiz my brother and I on roof styles while running errands around town. Mansard, hip, gambrel, gable- just try to stump me. I'm even better with types of columns. Unsurprisingly, I developed an early interest in architecture. It also helps that I grew up in the coolest house ever. What's that? Your childhood home rocked? Cool. Mine was better.
I grew up in a stone bungalow that was built in 1908 (allegedly by a chain gang!). It had a massive front porch held up by cement casts of tree trunks and when the mailbox needed to be replaced, my dad used an antique fire alarm box. As a kid I thought the place was huge. My parents will be quick to tell you that was not the case. Apparently with two small kids, a dog and at least one cat 1,700 square foot isn't exactly expansive. When you're nine years old though, the crawl-space-turned-closet in your already giant bedroom is the greatest secret hideout in the world (it had carpet and shelves!). The dining room had massive picture windows and a bench under those windows that ran the length of the room. At the center of the living room was an enormous stone fireplace, the backdrop of nearly all my childhood Christmas photos.
Now that I am learning to be a grown-up (so tough!) and have my own place, I find that I fall in love with houses for the same reason my parents fell in love with that bungalow. Hardwood floors are the single most charming thing ever, bonus points if they creak. A front porch of porch-sittin' size is a necessity. If the house has a particularly colorful history I want to hear about it. The little house we're renting now is pretty fantastic. It has the requisite wood floors, beautiful wood trim around all the doors and I got to choose the cozy color for the living room walls. It's called 'Bagel'. Wonderful, yes? The basement is accessed by a door in the floor rigged to a hand-made pulley system. I guess you could say it's part cute cottage, part pirate ship.
While homeownership may still be a speck on the horizon, I know I'll rank quirky charm over granite countertops every time. New, luxury stuff is great, it's just not my style. Give me a weird, hundred-year-old house any day.
My dad used to quiz my brother and I on roof styles while running errands around town. Mansard, hip, gambrel, gable- just try to stump me. I'm even better with types of columns. Unsurprisingly, I developed an early interest in architecture. It also helps that I grew up in the coolest house ever. What's that? Your childhood home rocked? Cool. Mine was better.
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| Yeah, I'm in love with the house from the Wikipedia article on bungalows. |
I grew up in a stone bungalow that was built in 1908 (allegedly by a chain gang!). It had a massive front porch held up by cement casts of tree trunks and when the mailbox needed to be replaced, my dad used an antique fire alarm box. As a kid I thought the place was huge. My parents will be quick to tell you that was not the case. Apparently with two small kids, a dog and at least one cat 1,700 square foot isn't exactly expansive. When you're nine years old though, the crawl-space-turned-closet in your already giant bedroom is the greatest secret hideout in the world (it had carpet and shelves!). The dining room had massive picture windows and a bench under those windows that ran the length of the room. At the center of the living room was an enormous stone fireplace, the backdrop of nearly all my childhood Christmas photos.
Now that I am learning to be a grown-up (so tough!) and have my own place, I find that I fall in love with houses for the same reason my parents fell in love with that bungalow. Hardwood floors are the single most charming thing ever, bonus points if they creak. A front porch of porch-sittin' size is a necessity. If the house has a particularly colorful history I want to hear about it. The little house we're renting now is pretty fantastic. It has the requisite wood floors, beautiful wood trim around all the doors and I got to choose the cozy color for the living room walls. It's called 'Bagel'. Wonderful, yes? The basement is accessed by a door in the floor rigged to a hand-made pulley system. I guess you could say it's part cute cottage, part pirate ship.
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| Behold! A crummy showcase of all the pretty wood! |
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