the house that dad built

I moved into a house just over four years ago that, in the kindest of terms, could be called a "fixer-upper". The only reason I bought the house was that I could see through it's current state to it's potential and that I knew what my Dad could do. Not a contractor by trade, but a contractor by hobby, my Dad has had a hand in building some parts of, if not all of, most of the homes and cottages that I've had the pleasure of living in during my life....and they.were. fabulous.




So four years ago, he began with the backyard here and has worked on a piece of this house every fall and winter since...the basement, the front foyer, the kitchen, the main floor bathroom, the second room in the basement, the laundry room...plus some crazy stair and closet renos in between. And this house is like Forrest Gump's box of chocolates...once you start tearing down, you never know what you are gonna get.



Throughout the last four years I know, even though he would never tell me, that my Dad has encountered days of frustration working on this house, due to it's intricacies, that would have caused a lesser man to abandon the project in search of the nearest pub. And through his perseverance, what I have ended up with is not just a house with some fantastic renovations...I've ended up with a house that, as I move from room to room, I can see the reflection of my Dad in.



I can feel his presence in the design of my kitchen; hear his "whistle while he works" in the walls of my rec room in the basement; see his eye for small details in my bathroom. And those nuances will be there forever for me. My Dad lives in the very walls of my house....it is not just the house that Dad built...it is the home that he built...for his work is part of the very essence that makes my house a home. And that is one of the things that I love most about this place...it is the thing I will never be able to put a price tag on.