The House on Lounsbury

My husband and I spent fourteen months looking at existing homes before we decided to build.

I’ve always been drawn to older homes with angled ceilings, awkward spaces and subtle quirks that make a house feel as though it has a story.

Ten months into our search, I visited a friend who had just finished her new build.

It was a nice house. It was clean and modern.

But I left feeling underwhelmed.

Everything felt aggressively new. The surfaces were flawless. The finishes were pristine. Nothing had the slightest hint of age or imperfection. It felt more like a showroom than a space that had been lived in.

On the drive home, I swore off ever building a new house.

The homes I loved felt inviting. And lived in. At the time, I assumed that the difference was because of age. Most of the homes I loved were older.

A few months later, we stumbled across our property. It was more land than I ever imagined us owning. But it felt like home.

As we walked the existing trails, I remember thinking that this property deserved a home that felt as though it belonged. A home that felt grounded.

I began researching what actually creates a feeling of warmth and character in a home. I quickly realized that age wasn’t necessarily the answer. Not every old house has character, and not every new house lacks it. So age alone couldn’t explain what I was responding to.

The homes I loved shared something else.

They had details that felt connected to the architecture. And architecture that felt connected to the landscape. They used natural materials that had variation and imperfection. The homes seemed willing to absorb life.

That observation changed how I thought about design.

I wanted a house that didn’t fight wear, but accommodated it. A house that would evolve alongside us. So when we built, we made decisions with that in mind.

We opted for wood floors, stained windows, thoughtful millwork, muted colors, and natural materials where it made sense.

I wanted the house to feel inviting from the beginning. And it did.

Seven years later, the house feels different. When I look back at photos from the year we moved in, the walls were a little emptier. The furniture hadn't quite found its place. But all those initial decisions allowed the house to evolve as we did.

And that is what I was searching for all along. A house that was thoughtfully designed enough to welcome life in, yet generous enough to be changed by it.

Some decisions I'd make again exactly the same way. Others, I still second-guess. But each decision was guided by what felt right for this house. And each became part of its story.