I never thought I’d become the kind of person who gets excited about stripping wallpaper, but here we are. Last month I was helping our neighbors with their 1920s bungalow – the wallpaper was hanging in sheets, the hardwood was scratched to pieces, and someone had painted over all the original woodwork with this awful beige that reminded me of a hospital corridor. But even under all that damage, you could see the craftsmanship that went into building that place originally.
This whole restoration thing started for me about five years ago when my wife and I were dealing with making our own house work better for her mobility issues. Our place is from the 1950s, nothing fancy, but we needed to modify things without destroying what made it feel like home. That got me reading about restoration work and how to balance preserving character with modern needs.
The more I learned, the more I realized restoration isn’t just about making old things look new again. It’s about understanding why spaces were built the way they were and figuring out how to honor that while meeting today’s requirements. Our house, for instance, had these big picture windows facing south that the original owners clearly positioned to get maximum natural light in the living areas. When we were modifying things for my wife’s wheelchair access, we made sure to preserve those sight lines and that connection to the outdoors.
I’ve gotten involved with a few restoration projects through our church and some volunteer work with the historical society. What strikes me is how much better materials were in older buildings. We helped restore the fellowship hall at church last year – built in 1938 – and when we pulled up some damaged flooring, we found heart pine underneath that was in better shape than anything you can buy at the home improvement store today. That old wood had character too – nail holes from previous installations, subtle color changes from decades of sunlight, a richness you just can’t get with new lumber.
There’s a practical side to restoration work that appeals to my engineering background. Instead of tearing everything down and starting over, you’re salvaging materials, preserving what’s already there, reducing waste. Makes sense both financially and environmentally. I’ve seen too many perfectly good older homes get gutted when what they really needed was thoughtful updating.
The sustainability aspect is huge, especially when you consider that older buildings were often designed to work with natural systems rather than against them. Houses used to have cross-ventilation, deep overhangs for shade, windows positioned to maximize winter sun and minimize summer heat gain. Then we invented central air conditioning and started sealing everything up tight. Now we’re trying to bring those natural strategies back, but it’s easier to restore them in buildings that had them originally.
I’ve learned there are different approaches to restoration work, and not all of them make sense. Some people get so focused on historical accuracy that they forget anyone actually has to live in the space. Others go too far the other direction and gut everything original while calling it restoration. The best approach I’ve seen finds a middle ground – preserving what makes the building special while making it functional for how people actually live today.
We worked on a farmhouse a few towns over that had been chopped up into apartments back in the 1970s. The family wanted to return it to single-family use but also needed modern conveniences. Instead of trying to recreate exactly what had been there originally, we studied other houses from the same period to understand how rooms typically flowed and related to each other. Used partial walls and ceiling changes to suggest the original layout without fully recreating it. The result felt authentic to the period but worked much better for contemporary family life.
The material sourcing part of restoration is fascinating. Good restoration work requires finding materials that match what was originally used, but you can’t always get exact replacements. I’ve learned to work with salvage yards and specialty suppliers, but also to be creative about substitutes. When we needed to replace some rotted window trim on that farmhouse, we couldn’t get the original wood species, but we found a supplier who could mill new trim from reclaimed beams. The grain and color matched perfectly, and the old wood was actually more stable than new lumber would have been.
What really draws me to this work is the human element. These aren’t just buildings – they’re places where families lived, where people worked and gathered and made memories. When you’re carefully removing layers of paint from original woodwork or uncovering architectural details that have been hidden for decades, you’re literally uncovering layers of human history.
I’ve found old newspapers used as insulation, children’s drawings on walls, little time capsules that previous owners left behind. Each discovery tells you something about the people who lived there and influences decisions about what to preserve and what to change. Should we keep that hand-painted border in the pantry even though it’s not “period correct”? How do we add necessary modern systems while respecting the craftsmanship that went into the original construction?
The best restoration work I’ve seen understands that you’re fundamentally connecting past and future – honoring what came before while ensuring these spaces can serve new generations. It’s satisfying work, though it definitely requires patience and problem-solving skills. Things never go exactly as planned when you’re working with old buildings.
If you’re thinking about restoration work on your own place, my advice is to be clear about how you actually need the space to function. The most successful projects balance the historical character of the building with the practical needs of the people living there. Don’t let anyone tell you that restoration means you can’t have modern conveniences – it just means being thoughtful about how you integrate them.
These old buildings have a lot to teach us about craftsmanship, materials, and design that prioritizes durability over whatever’s trendy at the moment. Every restoration project I’ve been involved with has taught me something new about building techniques, problem-solving, and the importance of preserving what’s worth keeping while adapting what needs to change.
There’s something deeply satisfying about participating in the continuation of a story that began long before you were born and will continue long after you’re gone. These buildings connect us to previous generations and, when restored thoughtfully, they’ll serve future ones too.
Robert is a retired engineer in Michigan who’s spent the past few years adapting his longtime home for accessibility and wellbeing. He writes about practical, DIY ways to make homes more comfortable and life-affirming as we age — from raised-bed gardens to better natural light.
