Floors, Decor, and and 9 Inch Baseboards

We're back to work. Or rather, we've been back to work. More precisely, we arrived home from our extended destination wedding/mini-moon trip at approximately 2:00am on Saturday morning and begin work again the next day. And since that moment? We've completely installed hardwoods, have added numerous "finishing touches" (ie crystal chandelier oohh ahh), and gotten a pretty good jump on installing all the house's endless amounts of trim. Le sigh.

Needless to say we've been busy.

Todd and I spent the first two weeks of this time completely engrossed in laying the hardwoods. Dad got us going the first weekend, showing us how to use the pneumatic floor nailer, lay the boards correctly, and eliminate gaps. Despite the crazy aches and pains (I am way too young to be this creaky!), I have to say we both enjoyed the challenge. There is something undeniably satisfying about the completely wearing yourself out physically, and those 12 hour days of laying hardwoods definitely fit the bill. Carrying tons of wood upstairs? Check. Hours spent in a continuous kneel-squat-stand rotation that would put any BodyPump class to shame? Check. The endless race from upstairs to downstairs and back just to cut a tiny sliver of wood? Check.

During the second week while Mom and Dad were out of town for work as we began to truly feel what I can only describe as "hardwood hell," we taught ourselves the things they didn't show us. That is, we learned how to take a 5 minute nap, where to find the coolest spots to lie on the floor, how to drive home totally and utterly exhausted, and most importantly, exactly what time of day to take a motivational ice cream break (I tell ya, I'm no better than our food-obsessed dog).

But despite of, or maybe because of, the sheer physical exhaustion, those were two of my favorite weeks. Just like when Todd and I built the deck, my favorite times at the house are those many moments when it's just the two of us working together on a big project and despite the constant urges to swat each other with a piece of prefinished hickory (Todd, if you top-nailed one more time...!), we prevail stronger and accomplished. I sound like a cheesy childhood television show here, but working together is fun! (Queue the brightly colored costumed dancers...)

WAIT! Pause. Do you see that?! I mean, do you SEE THAT?! THERE! Above! It's so strange, it almost looks like Mom (the germaphobe!)  is drinking out of dirty sheetrock mudding pan...

Hard work makes us all a little a lot crazy, I suppose.

Below you can see one of the past month's most crucial developments: the refrigerator! I bought the thing last summer at a Fourth of July sale and it's been a lovely cardboard statue/purse holder/free weight/place to hide from Lyle ever since. Until now! Our first floor laying goal was to lay enough boards to finally hook the thing up, and darn it, we made it pretty quickly. Ahhh the difference cold water/ice cream/beer makes during a day's work...

Guest room floor complete!

Our master bedroom floor

After we finished the kitchen and began covering with cardboard

Hallway done. Our first step before we started breaking off into rooms.

Here you can see the old boards getting covered in a layer of waterproof tar paper and new hickory flooring

Another shot of the old vs. new floor. Bittersweet to cover up that old wood.

Ripping up the particle board we used over the unstable master floor during the reno process. Todd patched and added support where necessary before we could cover with hardwoods. It's still not 100% level, but hey, that's character.

You may be looking at these photos and wondering why exactly we're installing brand new prefinished hickory floors into our 100 year house. Well, as the one who fought long and hard (and eventually lost) to keep at least some of the original floors in our house, I must say, this is a very valid question.

First off, the downstairs floors were beyond repair. In their 103 years of life, they had so many holes and had been sanded too many times that they really weren't usable at all. The upstairs were quite a bit thicker, but still half missing. We priced refinishing and patching with a similar heart pine, but it wasn't anywhere close to budget and because large holes and gaps had developed in even the existing floor, we'd have bigger issues not having any subfloor installed. Imagine the stain or finish dripping through to the sheetrock downstairs or anything else we manged to spill upstairs.

Since we couldn't keep the original history of the house in tact, my next idea was to use rustic reclaimed wood flooring. If you know anything about flooring, you know that the word "reclaimed" is often followed by a series of dollar signs. I called and visited (often multiple times) every reclaimed flooring distributor in Nashville and proceeded to call many others in both nearby and faraway states as well.

Unfortunately, everything that had been remilled was just completely over budget (and our budget was extensive for floors). So, I put my thrifty hat on and did some digging. First I started with craigslist in middle Tenneseee and nearby states to wood flooring from other people's old homes. While I did find a couple potential lots, there was always an issue - the lot wasn't large enough, it cost too much to ship, it's bug-less-ness was too questionable. From there, I dug into ebay searching for and wide for any old flooring I could find. I must note, there really isn't a lot in the world of useable old flooring, so the search was constant and daily...for months. I found a number of contending lots - including the floor from a 100 year old department store in Wisconsin and, believe or not, the old factory flooring the Dan River Textile factory that was just a couple blocks from our old place in Danville before it was torn down - but all the lots were maple. While I liked the idea of how hard maple is (read: resistant to dog toenails and husband shoes), I just couldn't get into the color.

At this point, with enough wood samples to floor a small bathroom, I succumbed to my parents insistence to visit a new flooring store for a change.

Maybe it was the utter frustration after months and months of searching or maybe I was just in a particularly amenable mood, but as soon as I saw the sample of prefinished matte hickory, I started to give. I moaned and groaned a little about the color (it's so light in some parts!), and hated a little how perfectly smooth and fake it looked, but in the end I was sold by its durability with the salesman's reassurance that, "It comes in a 100 year warranty." Sure, it's a little fabricated for my taste, but it's a beautiful wood, AND its actually guaranteed to last this house the next 100 years. Sold.

While Todd and I finished setting the floors, Dad started right into painting and setting trim. Despite his prior complaining about how long and difficult trim is, he is moving rather fast and now has Todd helping on that project as well. He began first with the window trim, nailing a small board to the side of the long 1 by 4 board on all sides of the windows and topping with a piece of decorative moulding. Looks pretty good to me!

Thankfully, I've been working a lot the past week and a half so I haven't had to deal too much with the precisely angled cuts and all that jazz. Really, my job with the trim is caulking. Mom will be the first to tell you, there aren't enough papertowels in the world to make caulking cleaner or more fun. The bygone days of laying floors are surely missed. That's all I will say about that.

Meanwhile, mom's been caulking as well and painting like crazy (are you surprised?). Hanging trim makes such a difference, especially after it's totally caulked and painted.

9.25 inch baseboard - yes!

The beginnings of the dining room board and batten

Now, many months ago, when we first began this project, I read all about classic architectural proportions and their importance in both historical design and in making even a modern space inviting. Essentially, I loved the look of large baseboards and properly proportioned moulding. You see, the ideas are based off the proportions of the human body, and really, is there anything more organic and natural than that (with the exception of a few enhanced women, I mean). Old houses just have that feel to them, and a lot of that is due to the classic proportions. So anyway, as this is obviously the premature dream home, I measured diagrams, I ordered books, I sent my parents article after article explaining the need for at least 10 inch baseboards, telling them that surely that is what would have been in the house originally and describing my desire to restore the house's natural warmth. Of course, larger baseboards seemingly means more money. Imagine my surprise then when Dad found them (or close to them, we had settle for 9.25in) for the same price as a 5 inch baseboard from lumber liquidators. Uh huh.

One of the many lessons I've learned about building is that the big boxes don't always mean big price discounts. We've found most of our best deals from local guys.

Below, you'll see two photos from the dining room. Dad did an awesome job constructing the board and batten. After mom caulked and painted, all the little pieces of wood became one, might I say, lovely room of moulding. I did the gold leaf stencil over a matter of weeks. It's surprisingly easy and quick to do, but if you're planning on doing the same, so stock up on paint before starting! I spent 3 times the amount of time than I did painting running all over town for one ounce containers of gold leafing paint.

Do you recognize that lovely mantel? He was such a lucky find and looks just stunning around the restored fireplace. Can we invite anyone over for a fireside dinner when the temperature drops? 

The mantel below is a bit of an antique/creative combo. The top piece of the mantel come from a 150 year old house in Texas. Mom and Dad had originally purchased the piece for Kelsey's house but her abode lacked the space and so they tugged it faithfully along to Tennessee knowing quite well I would welcome it into my old mantel-less home. We first considered hanging the mantel from the exposed brick in our den, but it was ever so slightly too large so Mom suggested using this beauty to construct our own unique piece for our living room. It fits the grandeur of our formal living room quite well, and the dentil details mirror those found along our roofline. You can see the outcome below. Dad designed and constructed the legs and support for the atrociously heavy piece out of bits of wood. Honestly, I'm taken aback with his design skill, and thinking my mother may have had a hand in this...

You can really see the depth of the paint colors too now that the bright white trim in the place. Soooo lovely.

Ta da! I just had to save that chandelier for last.

Until next time, let's chat! Comment, message me, or stop by for a glass of ice water from our new fridge ;)

Stones in the Road

I'm a hopeless romantic. I live for colorful memories and the hopeful "what ifs." My entire life has spent imagining, dreaming. This house was no exception. I've already told you that I had the wall colors picked before we even knocked our the first wall, that the gold in the dining room was dreamed up somewhere between my cheap gold jewelry and the a number of flea market mirrors I've admired. But the kitchen? Those ideas have been flowing long since this project even began. Some girls dream about the man they'll marry or the kids they'll have. Some girls dream for years about their weddings. Me? I've been dreaming about a kitchen.

Last year, I committed to a gray kitchen, and in the process of picking a particular cabinet color (aka 50,000 shades of gray), Todd and I visited a local granite yard to chose our counter tops or at least get some ideas flowing. We thought when we left that day that we had it all figured out. But, my friends, when you live with someone who is as pathetically romantic and indecisive as me, it's never that easy.

Now, I've always loved marble. Who doesn't love marble? It's historic, timeless, beautiful, shimmery, classic. But before I even stepped foot into that stone yard, I gave up marble. You see, I have two geologists in my family. Marble, they will tell me time and time again, is soft, marble is porous. Marble stains, marble scratches, marble etches. Marble is bad for a kitchen counter, they say.

So when we visited that day, I adverted my eyes from the carrara, the calacatta. I tried so, so hard to ignore my desires and looked for all the prettiest quartzite and granite instead, but then, there amongst the granite was the most beautiful gray stone. It was dark grey with craggy circular patches and deep white veins and unlike all the granite we had seen, it was truly beautiful. When the saleswoman told us it was a particularly hard marble/quartzite blend that "acted just like granite," I was sold. So I called my sister. She took one look at the photo I sent her and told me, "it's just marble. It may be dolomitic marble, but it's still marble. It's still going to etch." I returned to the yard disheartened and settled on a particulary lovely slab of Typhoon White Granite. It was...well, fine.

Typhoon White Granite

I returned to the yard nearly a year later with a painted cabinet door sample in hand to settle on a slab with my mom, this time for real. When we stumbled across the same dolomitic marble, the sales lady gave us her pitch again to which my mom replied, "So it might etch. Just be careful." And then she uttered my favorite phrase, "Just ignore your sister." It was done. The marble of my dreams would be mine! I spent the remainder of the day randomly breaking out into happy dances.

Vermont White Marble - The winner for a day

Arabascato Vagli marble (GORGEOUS, but a little pricey for my budget)

But like I said, it's never that easy. Mom called the next day at while I was at work. Dad said the marble would etch. She'd done research, talked with Kelsey (ie Kelsey sent at least 43 pages of information on how bad marble is for counter), and that counter just was not happening. I considering for a brief moment crying into the vial drawer, but kept it together and decided to vent to my co-worker instead.

So we visited more yards, we looked online, we compared and contrasted and did the research (testing samples of materials with acids at home). Everything in my practical self said to go for granite. It's pretty, durable, and will last in a home where your husband assumes that Lyle will also lick messes off the counter.

I tried to be practical, people, I really did.

I spent all week debating, but in the end my heart won out. After reading this particular article and then the follow up, I realized that it's not just the marble now that I want to love, but the marble of my future. Those etches, those stains, those scratches - will I even care? Honed marble is just gorgeous. Does anyone look at the statue of David and think, "Wow, he's really scratched up over there...." - really? Do you ever go into a historic house and think about how the marble floors need a "touch up?" Worn marble is just as stunning (albeit in its own way) as brand new marble.

So that's that. Marble it is. And now that I've settled into the idea that my countertops will not be perfectly smooth and unused, I can move away from the more dense White Vermont into the whole range of glittery white stones. Carrara, Calacutta, who knows!

So yeah, granite is practical, sure, but marble is romantic. 

Married?!

WE'RE MARRIED.

I could sit here and relive every precious moment for you. I could tell you about the chilly morning coffee around a campfire, describe Uncle Howard's sent-from-heaven breakfast tacos with dear family and friends, or share the warmth from the endless supply of the hugs and laughs and support. I want to tell you about the colors of the mountains, their jagged edges, their impossible grace and simultaneous grandeur, or the how amazing it feels to have nearly ninety of your biggest supporters watching you make the biggest commitment you will ever make, to feel their hopes and praise and love while never taking your eyes off the man you love. And the company. The family and friends that traveled hundreds and thousands of miles to share these moments with us, that canceled work and rescheduled plans, that put their own life on hold to watch us read our teary vows, to share a dance or a drink or a laugh - those folks made everything magical.

I want to tell you everything. I want to tell you about the endless hugs from my many cousins' amazing kids (we'll be calling you all for parenting lessons in a few years!), the rush of the whitewater, or a thrill just from sharing an evening with family at the top of the gondola. I wish I could describe the closeness you feel with a horse when you've traveled to the peak of a mountain on its back, or the overwhelming feeling of seeing a moose in the wild. I want to tell you about our family and our friends and how kind and generous and supportive they were not only to us but to each other. I want to tell you everything, but I will spare you (many more house details to share!). This is what all you need to know:

I've always been a big believer in imperfection. I been a supporter of the underdog, the curator of oddities, praiser of the things which make us both unique and undeniably human.

But our wedding? It was PERFECT.

And now, I extend the most enormous THANK YOU to everyone that celebrated with us either in person or in spirit. Love is an amazing thing. We're lucky we have each other, but we're only who we are because of the places we've come from. To the amazing family and friends that show us what love means every day. Cheers!