107 S Cedar St, Abilene, KS, 67410 $45,000 ~ Pending ~ Sold OHU50K NOTES It's move-in ready, and it's adorable! This c.1920 bungalow in Abilen

There's a great temptation to wallow in superlatives when describing Westbury House, the perfectly exquisite (there I go) Long Island country place completed in 1906 for John ('Jay') Shaffer Phipps (1874-1958) and his wife, the former Margarita ('Dita') Grace (1876-1957). The mists and melting snow on the day of my visit lent an appealing air of otherworldliness to a scholarly mansion and elaborate gardens usually photographed in the blazing sun. The main gate to Old Westbury Gardens, as the place is called today, originally graced some swell 18th century estate in the English countryside. It is now the ceremonial entrance to the bit-under-200 remaining acres (about 400 in the mid-1930s) of an estate famous for extravagant gardens, temples and pergolas, small romantic lakes and a half-mile long Grand Allee on axis with the mansion itself. These gardens - Walled, Pinetum, Rose, Ghost, Lilac, Primrose, Cottage, Answer, not forgetting the Bluebell Walk - are not just heart-stoppingly beautiful in the soft heat of a Long Island June, but captivating in quite a different way, cloaked in end of winter mists. The gate in the image below bisects the aforementioned allee. The house lies directly north, hidden in the mist. In 1911, society architect Horace Trumbauer (1868-1938) added a large service wing, seen below, extending east from the original house. Westbury House, including its superb gardens, was designed by a socially well connected British aesthete, artist and tastemaker named George Crawley (1864-1926). In 1903, young Jay Phipps, recently married to British shipping heiress Dita Grace, visited his father, Carnegie partner Henry Phipps, at a rented Scottish castle. One assumes they were shooting. Among the party was Mr. Crawley, whom Phipps the elder had recently hired to tweak designs for his new Fifth Avenue house. Crawley and Jay apparently got on like the proverbial house afire, and before you could say "Homestead strike," Crawley agreed to design Jay & Dita's new country place on Long Island. Westbury House is described as being "in the manner" of Charles II, that high living British monarch who, upon the death of sober-sided Oliver Cromwell, gave 17th century England a needed dose of Restoration glamour. You wanna talk glamour? Here's Jay Phipps astride one of his polo ponies, probably at Westbury, looking every inch the Long Island gentleman. When not playing polo, racing horses or shooting at his Plains, Virginia plantation, Phipps was a lawyer, businessman and director of U.S. Steel, Hanover Bank and W.R. Grace & Co. Dita Phipps was the daughter of Michael Grace, co-founder with brothers Russel and William, of W.R. Grace & Co., arguably the world's foremost oceangoing passenger and freight line. In 1854 the Grace boys, then still in their twenties, made a killing shipping guano from Peru to North America. By the time Dita married Jay Phipps in 1903, the Graces had become one of the richest families in the world. Uncle William was a two-time mayor of New York, the first Roman Catholic to win that post, and the man who accepted the Statue of Liberty from France. His niece Dita is seen below outside the ballroom at Westbury House, and further below with her son Michael, first as a boy, later as a grown man who followed his father onto the polo fields of Long Island. The aerial view below was taken in the 1920s, after the Quaker farms of Old Westbury had been transformed into grand estates, but before those estates had been invaded by the aesthetically challenged architecture of Long Island today. Happily, none of the latter is visible from the grounds of the Phipps estate. During its salad days, Old Westbury and towns adjacent contained half a dozen estates belonging to assorted Phippses, Graces and Guests, elegant families interrelated by blood and marriage. Preservation Director Lorraine Gilligan is at the front door, waiting to take me around. Interestingly, George Crawley was not a professional architect. In lieu of plans, he produced a set of beautiful pictures which then had to be converted into something a builder could follow. Enter Grosvenor Atterbury (1869-1956), an architect of choice for early 20th century country house customers - and, incidentally, the designer of Forest Hills Gardens. Crawley didn't get along too well with Trowbridge and Livingston, the outfit that designed Phipps' father's house in Manhattan. Similar conflicts characterized the job at Westbury House, but you wouldn't guess it from the finished product. The floor plan below, while helpful, is proportionately inaccurate, especially in Trumbauer's 1911 dining room and service suite addition. The prep pantry, for example, is four times the size of the silver room, the corridor to the servants' quarters is a third as wide as it looks, etc., etc. Crawley had a stable of first class painters and artisans whose work can be seen all over the house. The high style Georgian entrance hall, seen below, is full of beautiful carving by sculptor Derwent Wood and a perspective ceiling (complete with Curious George) by painter A. Duncan Carse. A short corridor at the western end of the entrance hall, after passing the gents' en route, leads to a library with fine painted paneling. Westbury House was decorated by Sir Charles Carrick Allom (1865-1947), proprietor of the famous firm of White Allom & Company. Clients included Henry Clay Frick, W.R. Hearst, the owners of the new (1931) Waldorf Astoria and the King of England. Ardrossan, the subject of last week's column, was a White Allom job. The portrait above the fireplace is Mrs. Phipps, painted in 1942. A door on the south wall of the library leads to the drawing room, full of good art, good curtains, a good rug, good sconces, comfortable furniture, a scattering of antiques, a noble fireplace and a pair of very fine Waterford chandeliers - very Charles Allom, all in all. One of the chandeliers is real, the other a reproduction and, short of lowering both and examining them with a spectrograph, I doubt anyone (certainly not me) could tell the difference. The drawing room and library are connected to a large west facing porch. It must be heaven out here in the summer, when the retractable glass walls have disappeared into the floor and the room is filled with potted palms, floral covered wicker and summer breezes. People with ballrooms didn't usually leave them empty in between dances. The Red Ballroom at Westbury would have been furnished much like the drawing room next door. Adjoining the ballroom on the east is Mr. Phipps' study. Before the Trumbauer enlargement this was the dining room. No sooner was it finished than Mr. & Mrs. Phipps began tinkering with their country house, and didn't stop for a quarter of a century. The porch on the west was pushed out and enclosed; the south wall of the enlarged ballroom was crowded onto a former porch. The earliest and biggest change, however, was Trumbauer's dining room and service wing on the east. The dining room we see today is not what Trumbauer, or probably Allom, designed in 1911. To the contrary, it is a reconfigured version of Jay Phipps' father's dining room in New York, designed by George Crawley in 1901 and salvaged prior to the 1927 demolition of Henry Phipps' townhouse at 1063 Fifth Avenue. Jay Phipps' sister Amy Guest saved Crawley's marble staircase from the same house, inserting it, to the dismay of architect Thomas Hastings, into Templeton, her Carrere & Hastings designed house four miles north of her brother's. If you're a regular reader of my column, you've seen that staircase already. Lorraine is explaining to me how what they call the light court, behind her in the image below, was originally an open porch. The door on the left leads to the new dining room; the one on the right goes to the old dining room, now the study. I'll bet George Crawley intended this vanished porch to balance, at least when seen from certain angles, the one at the other end of the house. Speaking of intentions, I'll also bet Crawley's original plan had the reception room (there is none at present) where the library is, the library in today's drawing room and a drawing room on a reduced footprint on the site of today's ballroom. Admittedly I'm just guessing, but this would be a much more usual arrangement. What's labeled "children's dining room" on the plan does not speak to the strengths of rejiggered floor plans. The name memorializes the thirty English children who refugeed to Westbury during the blitz. Before Trumbauer built the big addition, a part of this room was undoubtedly a serving pantry. Afterwards, it became part of an oddly inelegant approach route to the dining room. The door to the right of the fireplace leads to offices, pantries, servants' rooms (on this floor and the one above) and a fabulously preserved kitchen in the basement. The corridor in the image below leads to servants' bedrooms on this floor, and a back stair that connects more servants' rooms on the floor above to a servant hall in the basement below. Let's head down to the basement kitchen, connected by twin glass doored dumbwaiters to a prep pantry on the main floor. That in turn is connected to a very small serving pantry at the eastern end of the dining room. The basement level is largely below grade. The kitchen and the servant hall, however, have full size windows overlooking a service courtyard. The former servant hall is now offices; the two-story brick building on the other side of the kitchen court was a laundry house, probably with additional quarters for help. Time to go upstairs, admire the exceptional wood carving, and consider the second floor plan. I am told that Mr. P's dressing room and the guestroom to the east of it were originally nurseries. This seems highly unlikely to me. Squalling babies right next door? Nannies on another floor? Guests asked to tiptoe after 8:00? Well, what do I know; I wasn't there. The floor as presently arranged makes more sense. Mrs. P's delicious little boudoir shares a bath with a corner guestroom called, for obvious reasons, the Adam Room. The "owners' bedroom" was presumably Mrs. Phipps', whose wonderful en suite bathroom sports silver plated fixtures. I assume her husband slept in "Mr. P's dressing room," the normal arrangement of things in a house like this. The remaining guestrooms are predictably grand, and the one bath I managed to see was gratifyingly antique. Here's another reason I love writing this column: "You want to see the roof, John?" That would be a yes. The first view below shows the Trumbauer wing looking east. That little penthouse in the distance contains third floor servants' rooms accessed by the back stair. The laundry house is visible on the other side of the kitchen courtyard. Now we're looking west towards the balustraded dining room. The little brick dogleg in the center of the frame is the serving pantry, connecting the prep pantry beneath my feet to the dining room. The third floor appears to be little changed, but was so crammed with storage and afflicted with inevitable leaks that I bowed to my hostess' request and kept photos to a minimum. And with that, I have finished yet another house. We're back almost to where we started, at the Grand Allee, but this time looking away from the house. You wouldn't know it, although unfortunately you can hear it, but at the end of this mysterious line of ancient trees are six lanes of roaring traffic on the Jericho Turnpike. Fifteen hundred feet beyond them, past a dozen suburban houses on a subdivision street called Evergreen Drive, are six more lanes on the Northern State Parkway. How close is the nearest subdivision to the left side of the allee? Don't ask. That something this wonderful could have evaded Long Island's cruel history of postwar suburbanization is a miracle wrought by Mr. & Mrs. Phipps' children. Instead of cashing in, they chose to protect, endow and establish Old Westbury Gardens to maintain their parents' house and grounds for future generations. This extraordinary place is also a venue for paid college internships. Students from around the world study things like plant propagation practices, herbaceous border management, woody plant management and historic landscape preservation for credit towards bachelor's degrees. Old Westbury Gardens is open every weekend from early April until the end of October; the link is www.oldwestburygardens.org.

Our small 1930's cottage old original wood siding was surprisingly discovered while we were renovating this fixer upper.

This DIY small kitchen makeover has kept me busy the last five months as I transformed the layout and aesthetic of this outdated kitchen!

An old cottage /house in the woods

Here is a Minnesota fixer upper for sale with several elements to recommend it. The three bedroom, two bath home features an attached two-car garage, eat-in

With a wraparound porch and oversize windows that frame the views, an updated rear addition embraces its pastoral setting—and readies a well-loved, almost 220-year-old farmhouse for another century of family life

Dedicated to my Granny, this post in the Old House Love Letters series is the first of many honoring "The Old House" and our family's story.

This impeccably kept, move-in ready A-frame situated on a 1-acre well-landscaped partially wooded lot makes this property a haven of tranquility, surrounded with natural beauty. The charm of this quiet and serene home offers a spacious living room with wood-burning fireplace, beamed ceilings throughout, and an eat-in kitchen.

Here is a cheap old house in Kentucky with one bedroom, one bath, tin roof, imbricated shingles and fireplace.

We are Deb and Danelle. Our blog is where we share our everyday lives with our readers. Thanks for following along as we turn our custom-build house into a home.

You may wonder, why do old houses have so many doors? We give you the reasons why and everything to know in our guide.

The TOH TV team is ginning up clever ways to reuse centuries-old house parts to give brand-new spaces an aged patina

This home was moved to this location in 1996. The home was built in 1783. It is located on 2.5 acres in Troutville, Virginia. The home features log walls, exposed beams, hardwood floors and four fireplaces. There is a full basement. This home has been a successful Airbnb. The home is being sold partially furnished. There is a large garage/workshop with a loft area for storage. Two bedrooms, two bathrooms and 3,200 square feet. $450,000 Contact the property owner: 540-992-1163 From the Zillow listing: Historic 1783 log house set on 2.5 acres. House was moved to current location and rebuilt in 1996 with modern amenities without modifying the original structure. Propane furnace with central air. Washer Dryer hookup in basement storage room. Beautiful pine floors on first floor, and poplar upstairs. Large 36 x 40′ workshop/garage with storage loft, 2 heated offices and half bath. This has been a successful airbnb rental and along with renting the workshop/garage, would make an excellent investment property. Home comes partially furnished. Will be available for purchase after Jan. 1. Please do not drive up or knock on the door as it is currently being used for rentals. CALL FOR AN APPOINTMENT – […]

Dedicated to my Granny, this post in the Old House Love Letters series is the first of many honoring "The Old House" and our family's story.

508 Birch St, Atlantic, IA 50022. $46,000 c.1920 Fixer Upper in Atlantic, IA $46K - Beautiful Built-Ins OHU50K NOTES This fixer upper ne

Egyszerű vagy faragott, új vagy régi, modern vagy archaikus, deszka vagy rönk: mindegy, önmagában már mindegyik szép.

An overview of the home improvement and decor projects we completed this winter. Includes furniture restoration, decking, and small furniture builds.

When she found an abandoned cabin in the San Diego mountains, a true-crime writer hit pay dirt

Twenty-or-so years ago, during a fluid period in my career, a girl I knew suggested we rent a mansion together in Stockbridge, Mass. Had we done so, either a single or a double homicide - depending on whether, or which, of us escaped - would surely have ensued, so it was a lucky thing we dropped the plan. One of the places we looked at was a fantastically decrepit pile in nearby Lenox called Ventfort Hall. When I moved in to where I live now, it didn't look a lot different than Ventfort did then. However, Ventfort is about 14,000 square feet bigger. Ventfort Hall was constructed between 1891 and 1893 for a man named George Hale Morgan and his wife, Sarah Spencer Morgan. Like FDR and Eleanor, the Morgans were distant cousins with the same last name. Nowadays we rarely think of carriage accidents as potentially fatal - I mean, how fast could they be going? However, they killed our forebears with depressing regularity. Morgan's prosperous father-in-law, Junius Spencer Morgan, died in a crash outside Monte Carlo in 1890. The accident provided his daughter Sarah with a big inheritance, and her husband with sufficient cash to build Ventfort Hall. Sarah's brother also prospered in the world; his name was J. Pierpont Morgan. Rotch & Tilden, a Boston firm responsible for five of what we like to call "important" Lenox houses, designed Mr. & Mrs. Morgan's summer place in a style that might be called Edith Wharton Elizabethan. This was a "look" in Lenox, a resort once known, notwithstanding the wreckage in the image below, as the Newport of the Hills. You think it looked bad outside? You should have seen it inside, for example the dining room. Why are we looking up in the image below? Because the entire floor has collapsed. The whole house wasn't as wrecked as this, although at the time of Carole's and my visit the more intact areas were in the process of being diligently scavenged for woodwork and fireplaces. Here's that same room today, restored to what is very nearly its original condition. Credit for the rescue of Ventfort Hall belongs to a group of local residents called the Ventfort Hall Association. In 1994, with the backing of a few deep pocket individuals, the Association offered to buy Ventfort for $650,000. The owner was a nursing home operator whose demolition plans had been stymied by adjacent property owners. The offer was rejected. The next year, the Association offered $500,000. Still no deal. In 1996, they offered $350,000 (Hello? Donald Trump?), after which a deal at last took shape. If the operator would agree to suspend further interior demolition, the Association would raise the price to $400,000. The property closed in 1997, with a $250,000 loan from the National Trust for Historic Preservation and $150,000 cash from friends. Here's Ventfort in 1998, minus the Vietnamese jungle that had formerly engulfed it. What's wrong with this picture, aside from a monstrous house in severe distress? If you compare the gable in the foreground with the one on the left, you'll see that its original Flemish silhouette has been ham-handedly altered. Probably the bricks were falling off, prompting the kind of cheapjack repair that afflicts many an aristocratic old house. Here's Jeffrey Gulick, the man in charge of stone carving and decorative plaster repair at Ventfort (now you'll recognize him on the street), completing the brownstone finial destined for the uppermost part of the restored gable. The stone itself, supplied by Portland Brownstone Quarries of Portand, CT, came from a demolished Connecticut prison. Jeff's work is done and ready for mounting. Champlain Masonry of Pittsfield, Mass. did the installation. Here's the finished product, good as new. While you contemplate the vintage view below of the salon at Ventfort, let me give you a precis of how the place got so run down. Morgan's wife died three years after Ventfort was finished, but he and a second wife continued to use it for the Lenox season until he died in 1911. During the First World War, Morgan heirs rented Ventfort to Margaret Vanderbilt, wife of Lusitania victim Alfred Vanderbilt, and later to Roscoe Bonsal. The Bonsals eventually bought the house in 1925 for $103,000, and twenty years later, in 1945, the heirs sold it for $22,500 to Arthur Martin. The new owner converted the mansion into a dormitory for Tanglewood students and subdivided the perimeter of the property into small building lots. (Ouch). In 1950, Bruno Aron turned Ventfort into a hotel called Festival House. The Fokine Ballet Camp came along next and continued to kick the old house around, in the manner of dormitories everywhere, until 1976. Then an outfit called The Bible Speaks inflicted yet more dormitory abuse until a spectacular bankruptcy at the end of the 1980s. Enter nursing home operator, intentional neglect, and threatened demolition. This was the salon in 1997. Ventfort's elaborate ceilings were falling down all over the place. The one in the image below is located in the corridor to the billiard room. The darker colored original section was used as a model for reproducing missing areas. The light colored work is all new. Jeff Gulick, the man who did the exterior carving, was also in charge of interior plaster restoration. Pretty amazing. The glory of Ventfort Hall is its paneled double height stair hall. Before the Ventfort Hall Association was able to stop it, someone with a crowbar did extensive shopping for rails, paneling, moldings and the like. Fine carpenter Michael Costerisan of neighboring West Stockbridge painstakingly replicated missing pieces which, when stained (if that ever happens; more later) will become indistinguishable from the original work. Things were awful upstairs too. Here's the Blue Room, before and after restoration. Ventfort Hall opened to the public in 2000, but not many of its rooms were finished, leave alone furnished. This master bedroom was an exception. Tjasa Sprague and Steve Baum took me around a few years back, when Ventfort looked like it did in the images so far. Tjasa was Association treasurer and prime mover behind the whole undertaking. She decided on projects; Steve managed them. The closed door behind her goes to one of two master bathrooms. That gizmo on the wall above the tub in the vintage view was part of a burglar alarm system. (Why in the bathroom? I have no idea). Here's the same view today. The new marble replicates vanished original slabs. Heaven only knows who made off with the tub. A bit of original wall covering hidden behind the alarm box provided a template for the restored walls. The Morgans supposedly slept in the same room, even though their house had the traditional his and her owners' bedrooms. Here's the other one, still unfurnished in this view. Only the top half of the fireplace mantle was here in 1997; the bottom half represents an educated guess of what the missing section looked like. This is Tjasa and yours truly in the billiard room. Why am I wearing a hat and a down-filled bomber jacket? Because it was February and we were in a 28,000 square foot house. Whatever else befell Ventfort Hall, the stained glass remained intact. There have been no end of projects, inside and out. One of the most ambitious was rebuilding the grand porch that overlooked a sweeping lawn above Kemble Street. Here's what the porch looked like during the Gilded Age, and how it looked after restoration. Since buying Ventfort in 1997, the Association has spent over $4,500,000 on restoration projects. Last week, after a 3-year hiatus, I drove to Lenox for what my late father would have called a "look-see," to check on how - or what - had changed. I discovered that Ventfort Hall has a new partner, to wit: the Town of Lenox. Wonder why that replicated paneling is still unstained? Because the entire basement, according to Town orders, had to be clad in fireproof wall board if Ventfort Hall wanted to stay open. OK, you can't really argue with fire code (much as you'd like). What about the plans to restore the elevator and make the second floor more accessible? Not happening, at least not until the shaft is made twelve inches wider (for ADA compatibility). This would mean disassembling an entire exterior wall, which again ain't happening. The list goes on, the gist of which is entangling regulations, while not stopping improvements, have channeled them into invisible locations. Walking through the place remains enormous fun, however, rather like catching up with a favorite aunt. She is a big aunt, as you can see. The vintage view below was taken in front of the porte cochere on the day of the annual Tub Parade. This was an end-of-season ritual wherein society battered-fried its equipages with, apparently, everything that was still left in the greenhouse, then tooled around Lenox basking in the "oohs" and "ahhs" of dazzled townsfolk, visitors and servants. Today's porte cochere is clotted with a tangled switchback of overlapping ramps - a nightmare from M.C. Escher - which does, however, allow a person in a wheelchair to get to the front door. Ventfort was finished in 1893, a time of growing interest in the Colonial Revival. It was out of step with fashion from the start - from the Flemish/Elizabethan/Richardsonian-ism of its ponderous brick exterior, to the (at times) fussy Victorianism of its interiors. That said, it does pack a visual punch. Not much has changed in the white and gold reception room, which they call the salon, or in the rest of the main hall. The library and dining room are looking good. That silver dining room sconce, by the way, belongs to a set that was in the house when it was built, disappeared during the bad years, was found again and purchased back by the Association. The silver safe in the hall outside is in typical rescued-big-old-house condition. The double interior doors survive; the single exterior door is gone. The billiard room is unchanged. The fireplace is a reconstituted pastiche of rescued architectural fabric which, while totally inauthentic, manages to look pretty good. The sconces (surprisingly) are original. Let's have a look at the main family and guest rooms on the second floor. The mezzanine level musicians' gallery is a showy architectural touch, but an acoustically lousy place for projecting music. Neither the hall to the owners' bedrooms, nor the bedrooms themselves, have changed much since my last visit. Well, the second of the bedrooms is currently interpreted as a dining room, which provides a stage for gorgeous dishes and silver from Bellefontaine (now Canyon Ranch). This is good, even though furnishing a bedroom as a dining room doesn't completely work for me. The other bedroom, big as it is, has an appealing coziness. In fact, odd as it sounds, coziness is a leitmotif of Ventfort Hall, at least on the second floor. The asymmetrical bedrooms with their homey fireplaces and inglenooks were doubtless originally awash in bric-a-brac. Ventfort's interiors are an unexpectedly romantic period piece from the 1880s, lurking behind the social armor of its exterior walls. The high tide of restoration laps against a temporary wall a the eastern end of the second floor hall, and there it stops. Beyond that point, and indeed throughout the entire third floor, Ventfort appears frozen at the period of its rescue from the nursing home developer. Large, pleasant guest and family bedrooms occupy the western end of 3 accessed by the main stair. The eastern end of the third floor was your typical warren of servants' cubicles. There's been a good deal of stabilization work up here, but not much else. Could I leave Ventfort without bushwhacking through the jungle for a look at the FABULOUS former stable? That would be a no. Ventfort Hall is short on furniture, only partially open, has scuffed floors, and a lot of missing pieces. For all of that - and quite aside from its value as a cultural artifact - it is a spectacular object. You just want to climb all around the place and marvel at the fact that it still exists. This was Ventfort Hall then... This is Ventfort now. It's open all year long and supported entirely by donations, plus any and everything they can think of to raise money - dances, tours, concerts, lectures, dinners, mystery nights, exhibitions, theatrical presentations,etc., etc. Here's the link: www.gildedage.org

Have you ever dreamed about moving to the country and building the house of your dreams? It sounds lovely, doesn't it?

Save this old house. This stately home offers great living space with four bedrooms, and one bathroom! As soon as you enter this home you greeted with a master staircase that spirals up to the second floor. On your left you enter through double doors, into a large living area. Original hardwood floors throughout the main living spaces.

Fixing up an abandoned house became a healing act for this owner, at a time of personal change. Delightful surprises were to be found along the way.

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This home was moved to this location in 1996. The home was built in 1783. It is located on 2.5 acres in Troutville, Virginia. The home features log walls, exposed beams, hardwood floors and four fireplaces. There is a full basement. This home has been a successful Airbnb. The home is being sold partially furnished. There is a large garage/workshop with a loft area for storage. Two bedrooms, two bathrooms and 3,200 square feet. $450,000 Contact the property owner: 540-992-1163 From the Zillow listing: Historic 1783 log house set on 2.5 acres. House was moved to current location and rebuilt in 1996 with modern amenities without modifying the original structure. Propane furnace with central air. Washer Dryer hookup in basement storage room. Beautiful pine floors on first floor, and poplar upstairs. Large 36 x 40′ workshop/garage with storage loft, 2 heated offices and half bath. This has been a successful airbnb rental and along with renting the workshop/garage, would make an excellent investment property. Home comes partially furnished. Will be available for purchase after Jan. 1. Please do not drive up or knock on the door as it is currently being used for rentals. CALL FOR AN APPOINTMENT – […]

The New beautiful Payette by Blackstead Building Co. Music: "I want a House"

I love adding unique vintage furniture to our home. Each piece was carefully sought and there is always a story that comes with it. Today I am sharing my favorite unique vintage pieces in our Waco home.