June 2022 - Growing up, dad always said our house's decorating style was "walk in-back out." This, referring to the amount of antiques they had collected over the years, and each time a new haul was brought home, there was just a bit less space than before. Dad always obliged to mom's musical furniture game, and hardly ever questioned her on the dwindling use of space. Now, in my own home, I am certainly feeling dad's walk in - back out lifestyle. The walls are closing in! While waiting for our house addition loan to be finalized, I've been trying my hardest to make use of our current space and playing musical furniture as well. However, when I find something on Marketplace I can't pass up, I just can't help myself. Well....here she is: Recently listed was this old built-in cupboard located about 45 minutes from me, with a "make offer" as the price. "Tyler, check this out!" "That's cool. You don't have a place for it." "It could go in our future butler's pantry." "You have no place to store it right now. How much?" Tyler's always reminding me just how small our house is, and how HIS garage is already full and busting at the seams. He also reminds me of how I have things stored at my mom and dad's...and at my brother's house. He can be such a fun hater sometimes. Ha. I replied to the listing on Messenger asking if it was still available. It was! I told the man I was unsure of what to offer, because this piece looked like it needed a TON of work, and with Tyler not totally on board, and being 45 minutes away.... To my surprise, he replied back that I could have the piece for free if we came and got it soon. They were cleaning out a house that was to be listed on the market and it needed to be gone. Deal! I told Tyler to get a trailer lined up to borrow, and we would pick it up tomorrow. "Where are you going to put this?" I casually chose to ignore that question until I at least was able to see what I was dealing with. Once the cupboard was home, my first step was to remove all hardware and get it down to bare bones. I was SO thankful that this piece didn't have much paint, as stripping down to bare wood is such meticulous work. I removed the 60's kitschy adhesive contact paper, swept out the mouse nests, and began scrubbing the inside with denatured alcohol and fine steel wool. I was amazed at how quickly the inside cleaned up, although the cupboard, now a garage cabinet, had a distinct oil smell and stain on the bottom where a can once leaked. I continued to use a razor blade scraper, steel wool, and denatured alcohol to clean up the piece and prepare for staining. Two of the drawers had painted insides, so I was lucky enough to get to strip the paint from those and sand. Fortunately the paint was fairly easy and receptive to the chemical paint stripper. For the stain, I went with the same color I used for the trim of the house. A blended concoction of 3 different Minwax stains. The bare, thirsty pine wood drank up the stain and gave the piece such a rich coloring. Three coats of amber shellac, and the outside was ready to go. One of the most challenging aspects of this piece was the doors, specifically the larger bottom right door. All of the doors were loose and needed to be taken apart and glued back into place. That was a time consuming process in itself. However, the larger door had a broken frame, and needed to be rebuilt. With VERY limited woodworking skills, I reached out to a couple experts to find my best solution. A guy Tyler works with ended up using a router to recreate a piece of the frame that connected to the rest of the frame. With some wood glue, the end result was flawless! With the bottom done, it was time to tackle the top portion. The inside of the top was painted a cream color, and was originally painted. Rather than go to all the work of removing paint for something that was originally painted, I opted to repaint. When I went to the store, I was looking for a "cheery yellow." The very first color I grabbed was called "Sweet Corn," and I instantly knew I had found my color. July Fitting the cabinet doors and drawers turned out to be quite the puzzle. Only certain doors and drawers would fit in certain places, and I'd be left with one door/drawer that wouldn't fit the last remaining spot. I ended up going back to the very initial listing photo - the only photo I had when it was assembled, and zoomed in close to look at the unique grains of the wood to figure out which should go where. I finally sanded down the shelves and stained them to match the outside, and she was complete. There she sat for a year. A long year, eagerly awaiting to be installed in her future butler's pantry. Throughout that time, we moved the piece twice in order to accommodate our small space. (It was SO great for storage during that time, even though it was a behemoth taking over our small living area. Fast forward to now, July 2023. (I had originally began writing this a year ago when the project was fresh in my mind and just finished.). I am so thankful I waited and lost track of time, as I can show you the full effect of this piece - in all her glory. She took approx. 50 hours of work total; cleaning, scrubbing, sanding, staining, painting, assembling. So. Much. Work....but SO worth it. We ended up having to slightly alter the piece, as it was too tall for our 8ft ceilings. We cut out the center portion, and hung the top from the ceiling. We added a matching dark quartz slab that we also used in our kitchen. The penny tile floor is probably another blog post in itself - anywhere you see a black tile? We cut out a white tile and hand-set the black tiles. Definitely a labor of love. The floral vintage-inspired wallpaper I found online, and pulled the yellow of the interior of the cabinet (and other cabinet you can see just a little bit of) to tie it all together.
Nearing the end of our addition, we are finally done living our walk-in, back out lifestyle. Wow. So much hard work and such a long process, but being on the other side, it is sure sweet to have now. By the way - this butler's pantry? It used to be our ENTIRE kitchen.
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Whoa. Life gets busy. I'm thankful for my long weekend from school that has allowed me to come up with some creative organizational solutions for our Little White House. My side hustle business has overtaken the main floor of our house, and I can't remember the last time we ate at the dinner table because it's overtaken with my light box for photographing listings and packaging materials. This weekend I was able to rearrange the furniture Tetris-style and squeezed a card table near our fireplace. I've got my light box set up with my computer and unlisted jewelry drawer close by. It's so nice having a designated spot; something I'm so desperately looking forward to when we (hopefully) begin adding on this spring. We visited the bank a month ago and got pre-approved for our construction loan. During that time, the banker said she'll send an appraiser to our house once we have our final estimate number in. Apparently those words sent a tizzy into my husband's head, because once we got home, he started talking about fixing up the entryway. Oh the entryway...the fairly large 8x10 room that's home to all of my inventory storage. The room that's changed more times since we've moved in than I can count. When we first moved in, it was home to a large 4x10 walk-in sliding door closet/cabinet that was covered in 70s wood paneling. Tyler fondly recalls the three behemoth window air conditioners that took up residence in that closet before we took the closet out. (And got central air conditioning.) Back in 2012 when we removed the plaster & lath from the dining room/living room, we took out the large closet and 4' wall partition. My, that had opened things up! We had gone from a clustered awkward storage area to a beautiful, open space. We vaulted the ceiling up to the 2nd floor and added a grand mission-style chandelier. Unfortunately, after redoing this room, the laminate plank flooring we had put down didn't last more than 4 years, and our aging cat had taken its toll on the poor room. Our Simon cat had been with us and our house since we moved in back in 2012, but by 2019 when he was quite elderly, he had chosen to take it out on our poor entryway. After Simon passed, we tore up the laminate, and had to remove the bottom 12" of sheetrock where he had sprayed. It. Was. A. Mess. The entryway was simply just now a storage area where we hoped no guests would enter or judge. The original concrete floor was covered with an old linoleum that was in horrid condition, and I had just learned to live with no trim and sheetrock missing from the base of the room. ....But the chandelier looks nice, doesn't it? Ha... With Tyler's enthusiasm to fix up the entryway, we went to Menards to price tile. With our addition, we plan to take our house back to it's 1920s charm when it was built. I desperately wanted white 1" penny tile, but figured it was out of budget. To my surprise, we were able to make it work! I chose my white 1" penny tile with charcoal colored grout. However, before laying the tile, we needed to finish pulling up the linoleum and fixing the drywall. Tyler pulled up the linoleum while I was at school one day, and I began patching the drywall as soon as I got home from school. We spent the next week finishing drywall and painting. I found a beautiful dusty blue Valspar paint at Builders. Laying and installing the tile was a breeze. Tyler asked his brother, Trent, to come in and lay it down as we weren't sure how it'd go. After the mortar had cured, it was time for grout. Tyler and I weren't too sure about grouting it ourselves, but after some over-the-phone encouragement from Trent, we decided to give it a go. We were surprised at how easy it was! Once we had the nice floor installed, something just didn't look right. The door. When we moved in back in 2012, I just loved the green and white color scheme of the house. However...this green door just wasn't looking right anymore and didn't match the design I had laid out in my head. Of course this green door wasn't original - and it probably wasn't the 2nd door of the house either. Through one of my jewelry buying adventures, I got to talking to a lady at an estate sale, and realized that we live in her uncle's old house. Through our conversation I learned that our original door to the house met its fate several years ago in a shotgun accident. The men had just gotten home from bird hunting, and the shotgun was still loaded in the house. The glass panels of the original door met the buckshot, and the rest is history. I had always wondered what that original door had looked like. With craftsman - mission style as my inspiration, I set out to find a door that would do justice to the house. I located my dream door on the Menards website, and had it custom designed. The original side lites had been knocked out in the past and didn't match, and trimming them would be such a pain. I decided to go with a beautiful stained glass door with matching side lites in a dark oak color. I custom ordered our door on a Saturday evening, and by Thursday of that next week we went to pick it up. When I ordered the door we were in the midst of a below-zero cold snap! I was trying to conjure up a creative solution to installing a new door in freezing conditions. Deer stand heater and thick poly tarps, anyone?? Fortunately for me, the forecast for that upcoming weekend promised t-shirt weather. Tyler called his dad, our go-to expert handyman, and he was free. My plan was falling into place! That Saturday, we installed the door. With the door installed, it was time to trim and finish up. It was then that I had noticed my second gallon of paint was just the tiniest fraction of a shade darker, and I ended up having to repaint everything all over again so it would match. Fun. With the painting mishap fixed, we took to the garage to sort through our assortment of salvaged yellow pine trim. This trim matches the original trim we have upstairs, and I couldn't wait to get it all put together. I just absolutely love putting charm back into our little house. Tyler and I measured the boards together, he cut, and then it was my job to give each piece of trim a "touch - up" treatment. 100 years ago, polyurethane wasn't a thing. Wood was finished with shellac, a type of resin created from a beetle. Yes, an insect. Amber shellac gives wood that beautiful, rich finish that you can't replicate today. The neat thing about shellac (besides the fact that you can still purchase it at your local hardware store) is that the finish is fully repairable. With a bit of denatured alcohol and steel wool, you can dissolve the shellac enough to make it pliable and remove an alligatored cracked finish. Then, adding on a couple new coats of shellac makes it blend in perfectly and nobody will ever know. Neat, right? After pictures.This year marks 10 years that we've lived in the Little White House. Here's to you, old girl. We're getting you all fixed up, one room at a time.
***Edit: This was originally posted on my classroom website in Bertrand. After leaving Bertrand to teach at Elm Creek, I feared this bit of writing was lost forever. Thank goodness I was able to come across it and access the website once again. Posting here so it will never be lost again. And hey…deer season is right around the corner!
Rifle season 2019 hit different than years in the past, literally. Rifle season started out just like every other season, but ended in a very different way. You never know when a life lesson is going to be thrown your way, but the best bit of advice I have is to own up to it, and learn from it. It’d been what seemed like millions of years since I’d shot a buck deer. We had shot two large Muley bucks that had tree shrubs for antlers a few years prior. It was time! Mule deer are my absolute favorite species of deer; their darker fur, larger bodies, big ol’ ears, and their cute hippity-hop make me smile each time I encounter them. I also love their nonchalant attitude. You can have an endless staring contest with a herd of Muleys until the cows come home. On opening weekend, Tyler, Trenton, and I were scouring the pastures for a deer that would knock the socks off the two deer in our living room. We always start off our hunting in the largest pasture, but unfortunately, so many people trespass that it can be as busy as Grand Central Station. Since that pasture had no deer and was emptier than an abandoned hotel, we decided to take the road less traveled and head to a pasture that we don’t have as good of luck in. When we arrived, I felt a surge of excitement rush through my body. Mule deer aren’t as common as they once were where I go hunting. The herds of a dozen or more deer have since been eradicated because of disease and over hunting in the area. However, this was one of the pastures where those coveted Muleys call home. Trenton had just bought a used side-by-side to go hunting this year. Where we go hunting there’s lots of rough terrain and steep draws. Walking to all of the draws is unimaginable, so the “go-getter” really helped us out. Tyler, Trenton and I all piled in. When we got to the very first draw, my heart was pounding out of my chest! THIS is where they have to be. I analyzed every branch and leaf of that draw until the herd of four-legged critters stood out. There they are! A large mule deer buck and two does were hiding at the top of the draw right above the tree line. We clamored out of the go-getter and prepared ourselves for the shot. Trenton being the gentleman that he is, waited until I took the first shot at the buck. BANG!...Miss. BANG!...Miss. Trenton and I both missed?! Oh man…buck fever. The Muleys stood still for the first shot, but with the second shot they turned up their tails and started hopping like pogo sticks across the hill. Trenton and I got in the go-getter to meet them in another draw, since Muleys usually circle around. In the go-getter, Trenton was in a hurry. It was the Indianapolis 500 with venison as the prize. He had the pedal to the metal and we were traveling as fast as lightning! Adrenaline took over our bodies; we were going to win the race! &*%$*&%@&$&%*#!!!!!!!!!! “You ok?” Trenton said. “Yep. Yep….Yep. I’m fine. You?” “Yep. Are you sure you’re ok?” Trenton replied as I slowly crawl out of the crashed go-getter and go to sit down next to it on the deep cow path. I was in shock. Yes, I was hurt, but I knew it wasn’t life or death. “Ooh…my head. My knees. My wrist!” Where a freshly installed plexiglass windshield was once fastened, a big open hole remain in its place. “I think our foreheads took out the windshield.” I said. “I think you’re right.” Trenton replied. “You sure you’re alright?” I could hear the shaking and nervousness in his voice. “Yep.” I quickly replied. “Ooh…my head. My knees. My wrist!” When I had seen the incoming cow path that was deeper than the Grand Canyon, I braced myself as best I could to prepare for the incoming blow. With loaded rifles, I didn’t want to jump out of a moving vehicle. At impact, my body slammed forward where my head hit the windshield, my knees hit the dash, and my wrist jolted into the handle I was holding onto. I could hear Tyler laughing behind us as he stayed back in the draw in case the herd circled back. He had witnessed the whole thing. It wasn’t until he realized both Trent and I were injured that he stopped laughing. Trenton apologized to me profusely, as we both know that pasture well, but thought we were on a different hillside than we really were. The Muleys were long gone; their bouncing tails a thumb to their nose. And…I could no longer hold my rifle up in the air to shoot. Lovely… We go to leave the pasture, and my wrist is a boomerang. I don’t want to straighten it. “It can’t be broken though; it doesn’t hurt thatbad.” I take off my stocking cap. “Look at that knot on my head!” Yikes. Thinking it’s just a bad sprain, we go back to Grand Central Station to finish out for the night; my wrist a limp noodle. Two days later I head to the doctor to get my wrist checked out just as a precaution. Sure enough, my Radius bone had a hairline fracture on the very end. The x-ray told the tale. I was fitted for a cast, and at 29 years of age, I experienced my first broken bone. I like to think of every experience as a life lesson. Was this dumb? Oh yes, incredibly so. Have we learned from it? You betcha. I’ve taken quite a few rides in the go-getter since. Ever hear the phrase, you gotta get back on the horse? Well, I did. Trenton drives slow now; he’s never driven that fast since. But every time Trenton hits the breaks a little hard, or going down a steep hill, that moment comes rushing back to me and I’m transported to that cold November day. I know he’s taken back there too. I’m a firm believer God put dogs on this Earth because man needed a steadfast compassionate companion. Hence, the term “man's best friend” was coined. Growing up, I was raised with kitties. Sunshine, my gray American Shorthair lived to be well over 15 years old. That cat tolerated everything. She was my best friend, let me dress her up in clothes, and learned to love riding in the basket that was held on with hose clamps of my brother’s hand-me-down bicycle. I remember Sunshine at our farm in Litchfield before we moved to Pleasanton in 1997; I was a first grader, and Sunshine passed away in 2010, when I was in college. I remember mom calling me to let me know it wouldn’t be long; and I stopped by after waitressing at the local bar late at night to give my childhood kitty my goodbyes and the last snuggle. When I married Tyler, cats weren’t his thing. In February of 2011 we got our Simon cat, and shortly after, our golden retriever, Shelby dog. By April of the next year, we realized our Shelby needed a friend. Tyler and I, wanting a beagle, took to the internet to find our perfect companion for Shelby. We found our “beagle” in Hastings: a tri-color coon dog mix. I remember when meeting him for the first time, Tyler asked, “are you sure you can handle a dog this big?” “Of course. Look at how lovable and cute he is.” The parking lot of the animal shelter should’ve been our first sign of the “free spirit” we had just adopted. This 8 month old pup couldn’t even figure out how to jump into the car. What?! When we got home, Shelby wasn’t sure of what we had done. She wasn’t sure of sharing her territory, her toys, or her stuffed animals. However, weeks went by, and these two young pups learned how to tear apart the house in ways that I couldn’t have imagined. I recall getting home one evening from waitressing, exhausted, at 1.30am and finding my brand new Victoria’s Secret bra chewed into two pieces, surrounded by the contents of the trash can and one entire roll of Brawny paper towels, ripped and shredded into pieces of confetti, ready to celebrate with when Mom walked through the door. We also learned of our Boomer’s other quirks: we had to teach him how to go up the stairs, he wouldn’t whine at the door when he needed to go out (he wasn’t very house trained at first), and if we made a noise just right, he would cock his head to the side, and his big floppy ears that could pick up radio signals would droop down in cuteness. Boomer was accident prone. I don’t know how many vet bills were spent on that dog. Early one morning before school, I let Boom out like usual, and he came back all shook up with a gnarled, bloody leg. He had gotten hit by a car, and I was late to school getting him stitched up with a cone of shame. Later on, we tried having a tumor removed from his front leg, as he was a young 3 year old dog then, but it was too interwoven with his muscle, and amputation was the best option for cure. We decided against it, and his tumor steadily grew, but never impeded his love of running. SQUIRREL! One simple word. Not squid, squall, squish, or square. “Squirrel!” And our Boom dog would check every house window or tree in the block at the drop of a hat. Squirrels and other fluffy critters that moved were his passion; although his baying hound dog bark always spooked them off before he got out the door of the house. Our Boom. He wasn’t bright, he was clumsy, and he was downright naughty sometimes. But you remember man's best friend? What makes a dog “man’s best friend?”
Man’s best friend knows when you need him most, without prompt. Boomer first left his significant mark on my heart in May of 2013 when Tyler and I experienced a miscarriage. We weren’t very far along; 8 weeks. Still, as any mama who has gone through a miscarriage may know, the mental and physical pain is so hard to bear on your own, and if you had all the support in the world, you still feel empty and lost. Boomer laid in bed with me while I grieved; his kind eyes looking at me with his head on my hip. He knew something was wrong; he sensed it, and he was completely content spending the day by my side. Man’s best friend seeks comfort from his humans he trusts most. Boomer searched for security from us whenever he heard the “emergency alert system” indicating a thunderstorm 50 miles away. It could be sunny, 75°, with not a cloud in sight, and Boom knew a storm was on its way from the warning tones. He stayed close to us; snuggled up on my lap, or under foot. Man’s best friend loves his family unconditionally, even the little creatures. When our 2 boys come into our lives, my mother warned me that dogs could become jealous. This absolutely wasn’t the case. Boomer took to it to love his two new tiny family members, and never growled or showed his teeth when either boy pulled themselves to stand, using him as their support. He played hide and seek with Easton, and loved playing fetch. He slept at the foot of our bed on his dog bed every night, and napped with whoever was willing on the couch. He loved being with his family. We lost our Boom this May. Countless times I cursed that dog for his quirks, clumsiness, and his obsession with running the town. Our “high on life” hound always kept us on our toes. Saying goodbye to Boom was tough. Tougher than saying goodbye to my Sunshine cat. Boomer inspired me to live life to the fullest, and love unconditionally. Man’s best friend left an impact on my heart that never fathomed to exist in my mind before having dogs. Rest easy, Boom. Keep chasing those squirrels. Man's best friend doest stop his job once he's left this Earth; he continues to watch over and protect his family long after he's gone. It's an unconditional forever love. I've said before that I was raised in an antique store. Some of my earliest memories are perusing through some small, dusty store in Nebraska, just looking for the perfect My Little Pony to add to my collection. Which by the way, I brought my collection home from my mom and dad's a few years ago, and hid them around the house for Tyler to find. He wasn't impressed, and didn't play along with finding the 60+ plastic ponies I had stashed around the house. We were still finding hidden horses weeks later! Through the years, I started different collections to add to when we went antiquing; collapsible cups, vintage hats & furs, and various American dinnerware patterns of the 1940s. My parents had passed the antique bug onto me, and that continues into today. There's always a joke my dad has that their house is "walk in, back out." While it's not quite like that, they do have an amazing selection of antiques. Growing up, I found it completely normal helping my mom choose which table cloth and dishes to set out when company came. We would go down to our basement and find something that would go with the holiday decorations, or get out a set we hadn't used in awhile. I always enjoyed pairing the colors together to make a beautiful place setting. Now that I'm grown, with a family of my own, I've renewed my love of everything antique and vintage. Tyler jokes that I turn into my mom more and more every day, and this is definitely par for the course. I keep finding myself wanting to collect more and more; but our Little White House, and my husband, are definitely saying no. My solution? Vintage jewelry. Up until this last year, I had no knowledge of vintage jewelry. I had a small bag of costume jewelry from my grandma, but rarely wore it. It wasn't until my mom shared a link to an online auction in Hastings that I started a new passion. This auction was loaded with vintage furs and jewelry, and were all going so cheap! My mom and dad wanted a set of dishes from the auction, so I placed my bids. When Tyler and I went to pick it up, I ended up in the doghouse. He had no idea I had bought enough to fill up the back seat of the pickup...oops. I had a blast going through all of the cardboard flats of jewelry, and joined a Facebook group dedicated to vintage jewelry to act as a helpful resource. It was here that I realized I could turn this new-found passion into a business venture. Here, Rooted in Vintage was born. I decided selling on Poshmark was easiest. I take pictures of my pieces, and list them on the app. I sell all over the country, with a lot of pieces going to New York and Florida. I am able to keep the pieces I love, and sell the rest. My proceeds currently are going towards my student loans for my master's degree. My goal is to be able to pay off my student loans solely from Posh. Easton has really taken a liking to everything vintage. He's quite the entrepreneur as well. He loves thrifting with me, and is always right next to me to help pack up a Posh order. At some point, we may start doing some in-person shows, as Easton would really gain a lot working with customers! For now, with our hectic schedule, we are happy with what we are doing. I am able to fulfill my addiction of everything antique/vintage, while jewelry is small enough that it doesn't overrun our entire house. I am rooted in vintage.
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Kathryn HollandWife. Mother. Teacher. Lifelong student. Archives
March 2022
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