When I first started reading about something called biophilic design a few years back, it struck me as one of those fancy terms for what my grandmother’s generation knew instinctively. Of course having plants around makes you feel better. Of course natural light is better than fluorescent bulbs. Of course wooden countertops feel warmer than cold granite. But apparently we’d spent decades building kitchens that ignored these basic principles.
I started thinking about this more seriously when my wife and I were dealing with her recovery from the stroke. The kitchen had always been her domain – she did most of the cooking, kept herbs on the windowsill, managed the household from that central hub. But suddenly our kitchen felt like it was working against us instead of with us. Too dark in the mornings when she needed good light to see what she was doing. No place to sit while prepping food when standing became difficult. The space felt cold and institutional when what we needed was warmth and comfort.
That’s when I started researching how the design of a space actually affects people’s wellbeing, especially as we age. Found a lot of information about therapeutic environments, healing gardens, and this biophilic design concept. Most of it was written for professional designers, but the basic ideas made sense to someone who’d been modifying houses for decades.
I remember reading about one designer who worked with a busy professional whose high-end kitchen had all the latest appliances and finishes but felt completely lifeless. Despite having everything she needed to cook, the woman found the space cold and unwelcoming. The solution wasn’t replacing expensive equipment – it was bringing in natural elements that made the space feel alive and connected to the outdoors.
That resonated with me because I’d noticed the same thing in our house. The kitchen remodel we’d done in 2003 had focused on efficiency and easy maintenance – everything sleek and wipeable and practical. It worked fine when we were rushing around with jobs and kids. But now that we spent more time in the space, I could see how sterile it felt.
I started making changes based on what I was learning about natural materials and biophilic principles. Couldn’t afford to gut the whole kitchen again, but I could modify what we had. Replaced the upper cabinet doors with glass-front ones to make the space feel more open. Built a wooden butcher-block island to add warmth and give my wife a place to work while seated. Used reclaimed wood from an old barn I helped tear down – the aged patina gave the kitchen character it had been missing.
The countertop project taught me something about natural stone versus engineered materials. We’d had solid surface countertops that were practical but cold to the touch. When I replaced a section with natural stone, the difference was immediate. Not just the appearance, but the way it felt under your hands when you were working. There’s something about natural materials that artificial ones just can’t replicate.
One thing I tried that seemed unusual but worked well was incorporating the sound of water. Read about a designer who installed a small waterfall feature near a dining area for clients who found the sound of flowing water calming. That seemed too ambitious for our situation, but I liked the principle. Ended up installing a small self-watering system for the herb garden I built under the kitchen window. The gentle pump sound is barely noticeable, but my wife says it’s soothing.
Natural light turned out to be more important than I’d realized. Our kitchen had decent windows, but we’d had heavy window treatments that blocked a lot of daylight. Replaced those with simple sheer panels that provide privacy but let light through. Also installed mirrors on the backsplash area to reflect more light around the space. My wife had been complaining about not being able to see well enough to chop vegetables safely – the improved lighting solved that problem.
Color choices matter more than I expected. The kitchen had been painted in neutral beiges that were supposed to be timeless but just felt bland. Instead of going with obvious nature colors like forest green, I learned it’s better to layer warmer earth tones that evoke natural settings without being literal about it. Used warm grays with hints of brown, added wooden elements, brought in natural textures through things like woven placemats and wooden bowls.
The plant situation required some trial and error. My wife had always kept a few herbs on the windowsill, but I learned there are more creative ways to incorporate plants that don’t take up precious counter space. Installed wall-mounted planters for herbs where she can reach them easily from her chair. Hung a pothos plant in the corner where it gets indirect light – it’s grown long enough to create a nice green backdrop.
For people worried about keeping plants alive, I discovered there are plenty of low-maintenance options. Succulents work well in bright kitchen windows and barely need watering. Air plants are even easier – just mist them occasionally. The key is choosing plants that match your light conditions and maintenance capabilities.
What surprised me most was how these changes affected our behavior. We started spending more time in the kitchen even when we weren’t cooking. My wife enjoys her morning coffee there now instead of moving to the living room. I find myself lingering over breakfast instead of rushing off to start projects. Friends who visit comment on how welcoming the space feels.
The sensory aspect is something I hadn’t considered before reading about biophilic design. It’s not just visual – it’s the smell of fresh herbs when you brush against them, the texture of wooden surfaces under your hands, the sound of cooking and that gentle water pump. Even the way light changes throughout the day makes the space feel alive and connected to what’s happening outside.
These modifications helped with my wife’s recovery in ways I hadn’t anticipated. Having plants to tend gives her a sense of purpose and accomplishment. The better lighting reduces eyestrain and makes her feel safer moving around the kitchen. The warmer, more natural environment seems to improve her mood, especially during our long Michigan winters.
I’ve shared what I learned with other retirees dealing with similar issues. Many of us have kitchens that were designed for efficiency when we were younger and busier, but our needs change as we age. We spend more time in these spaces and benefit from environments that feel nurturing rather than just functional.
The church building committee asked me to help design their new fellowship kitchen using some of these principles. Church kitchens are notorious for feeling institutional, but we incorporated natural lighting, wooden elements, and plants to create a space that feels more welcoming for community gatherings. Progress is slow with committees and budgets, but even small changes make a difference.
One thing I’ve learned is that you don’t need a complete renovation to apply biophilic principles. Simple changes like maximizing natural light, adding plants, using natural materials where possible, and creating connections to the outdoors can transform how a kitchen feels. These aren’t expensive designer tricks – they’re basic human needs that our built environments should support.
The kitchen has become a bridge between our indoor and outdoor spaces. During good weather, we keep the door to the deck open so cooking smells drift outside and garden sounds come in. The herb garden by the window connects to the larger garden beds beyond. It’s not a dramatic transformation, but it makes the space feel less isolated from the natural world.
Working on these changes has given me a new appreciation for how much our physical environment affects our daily experience, especially as we get older. Small modifications can improve quality of life in ways that go beyond just appearance or convenience. When a space feels more natural and alive, we feel better in it. That’s worth the effort, even if you’re working with an existing kitchen and a retirement budget.
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.
