Just over a year ago, we purchased a 1960s cottage. And our new home was, well, special, right off the bat.
Special, like we had a flood and a broken fridge in the first week living here. Special, like one entire corner of the kitchen cabinetry didn't open because it wasn't designed to open. Ever.
But I was at a point in my life where I wanted disruption. I wanted a project, something to create. And, however delusional I was, this house was the canvas I'd chosen and I was going to figure. this. house. out.
We started with the living room, which involved steaming off two layers of wallpaper. It was a lot of work and a lot of paint, but it was a good warm up to get the renovation rolling. We moved in, sort of, and began the process of thinking the rest of the house through. I tend to get a little weird and artsy and precious about houses. I like to take my time, listen to the house and observe the rhythms of our family before I start making big-picture decisions about layout and function.
It took me a year of internal debate, design paralysis, and recurring cycles of depression and buyer's remorse before I came up with the design plan and now I know, without a doubt, that Greg is the kindest and most patient man on the planet.
The kitchen/dining room had a strange layout, kind of like a zigzag with a useless corner. There was the florescent light, original cabinets, Petunia the Ancient Stove, and one small window for the entire space.
Here's the skinny on Petunia: she had four burners, but only one of them worked. And see the oven door on the right hand side? That wasn't an oven, but a huge slide-out drawer, rendering the functional side of the oven nearly useless because of its small size. Her true color is a rusty red, but she had been painted a faux stainless steel color. Petunia didn't last long, but I commend her: she fought to survive like a valiant she-warrior. We ordered a replacement stove, and with Covid delays, it took a couple of months to arrive. This stove came on the boat from Italy and we collectively dubbed him Giuseppe. Unfortunately, when he arrived, all the parts to hook him up didn't come on the boat with him, which meant poor Petunia was pushed back into place and we asked her to just hang on for another couple of weeks.
The design plan for the kitchen was to knock out the hallway closet to square off the zigzag shape of the kitchen, which also meant we'd have room for an island (my first island!) We planned to do new cabinets, countertops and appliances; ditch the fluorescent light; reuse the original oak floors and donate/sell as much as we could on Marketplace. (No one wanted Petunia, in case you were wondering.) The exterior of our home is brick on the first floor, so we decided not to add additional windows to save on costs, which meant I had to come up with a smart plan to make the existing window opening really count.
From the beginning, this house whispered "English cottage" to me, and because I am overly precious about the souls of houses, I believed it. I did a deep dive into English kitchen design for their quirk, their simplicity, and other unfussy elements that would make this kitchen special, in a good way.
@Alison_Giese_Interiors 
@WillowCrossleyCreates 
@KateMarkerInteriors
@WhitneyAndCoDesign 
@AthenaCalderone 
@WilliamHefner
Boom. Simple lines, wood, muted colors, a bit of brass, smart storage and loads of character.
Let's see if I can pull this off and achieve an unfussy, smart, character-filled kitchen that holds all my hopes and dreams in its perfect English palms, shall we?
Stay tuned for either the victory dance or for the slow, defeated retreat into a shell of my former self.
