Last time on the blog, I shared about the heartbreak of covering the upstairs ceiling. Ironically, while I was writing that post, my contractor called to prepare me for another possible disappointment — the upstairs floors might not be salvageable.
Cue the internal response: “You have GOT to be kidding me!”
I tried to keep my brain calm while my heart was quietly breaking, and instead listened as he walked me through their concerns.
Several boards would need to be removed and replaced. (No problem — that’s exactly why we saved so much wood from the main floor. We knew this was a possibility.)
The crew would have to painstakingly comb through the entire floor, securing loose boards with screws. (Time-consuming? Yes. Impossible? No.)
There was also concern that the floors might not be thick enough to sand again. (My immediate thought? “Then... just… barely kiss them with the sander.”)
Even if we cleared those hurdles, the floors would need to be sealed multiple times to preserve them for the long haul. (Honestly, that part sounded pretty great to me.)
Then came the big sigh from my contractor.
“And after all that, you’re still not going to have a perfect floor… and it will likely cost as much — if not more — than installing brand-new LVP because of the labor involved.”
All completely valid points.
But what I heard was this:
I can spend roughly the same amount of money and end up with either a brand-new, perfectly uniform floor…
—or—
a beautifully imperfect, quirky, 100-year-old Douglas fir floor that carries countless stories.
Is there really even a choice there?
I’ll choose quirky and old every single time.
Decision made.
And the moment the first sanding strokes began, I knew we had made the right call. Watching those floors come back to life has been nothing short of magical - like uncovering a piece of this building’s history that had just been waiting patiently for its next chapter.
Over the past year, the upstairs renovation has been a constant balancing act between preservation and practicality. With the ceiling, we had to let go of something original in order to protect the building’s future. With the floors, we had the chance to hold onto something original — and we grabbed onto it with both hands.
Together, those two decisions tell the real story of renovating a 100-year-old building. Sometimes honoring history means saving what you can. Sometimes it means recreating it in a new way. Both require creativity. Both require patience. And both are rooted in deep respect for the stories that lived here long before Walnut + Twine ever poured its first cup of coffee.
If there’s one lesson this renovation keeps teaching us, it’s this: preserving history isn’t about freezing time. It’s about helping carry it forward.
This building keeps teaching us that old things don’t have to be perfect to be beautiful — and honestly, neither do dreams.
Comments (4)
I love your comment about “ carrying history forward” as you and your family have become an integral part of the history of this community and this building that holds so many memories.
Jessica, the floors are just as beautiful and pure as your heart! I am thrilled for you and all of our community that you chose to restore the original floor! Incredible floor, incredible owner ❤️❤️❤️
I LOVE this blog! You are such an amazing person that has such a BIG ❤️ for our towns history! It’s absolutely beautiful! I love beautiful imperfections.. I being one 😏
Always fun to read. You are just awesome 😎
Wow it looks beautiful, so much work but, look at all that space 😍