Why We Bought a 1915 Craftsman (When it Made No Sense)

On paper, buying a 110-year-old house that needed restoration was probably the last thing we should have done.

We needed to save money, not take on another project.

We needed something easy.

Something updated.

Something that made sense.

Instead, we bought a house that needed us almost as much as we needed it.

But to understand why, I have to go back a little.

After COVID, our family made the decision to move home to Indiana after spending the last decade raising our children in Austin, Texas.

We had built what many people would have considered our dream life. We lived in a 6,000-square-foot custom home that my husband and I poured ourselves into. We updated it from the inside out, and I finally got the backyard pool I'd always dreamed of.

Then life changed.

My husband—the primary provider for our family—was laid off. What we thought would be a short season stretched into more than a year before he found another job.

At the same time, our son's autism, OCD, anxiety, and depression were becoming increasingly difficult to manage. Financially, we were drowning. Emotionally, we were exhausted. And perhaps hardest of all, we realized the community we were living in was no longer giving our son what he needed.

He needed a place where he could belong.

A place where he could safely walk to the coffee shop, the library, or downtown without depending on us for every ride.

A place where people knew his name.

A place that felt like home.

We weren't looking for a different house. We were looking for a different life for our family.

So we made one of the hardest decisions we've ever made.

We sold the house we'd worked so hard to create and started over.

I've always loved old homes, so naturally I searched for historic houses in downtown Franklin. We lost offer after offer. Every time I thought, "Maybe this is the one," someone else got there first.

Then one afternoon, a new listing appeared.

I called our realtor immediately, and within an hour I was walking through the front door.

I was by myself because my husband had taken my daughter to the emergency room. So I did what any mom would do—I pulled out my phone and started recording a video so my family could see it later.

That day wasn't just about buying a house.

Life was happening all around us.

The part that still makes us laugh?

I hadn't even finished walking through the house before I knew.

This was it.

I can't fully explain it, but the moment I stepped inside...

I felt at home.

The first time I saw her.

An investor had updated the house, but in the process, many of the original details that made this 1915 Craftsman special had been covered up or forgotten.

Where other people saw outdated finishes and more work, I saw possibility.

I saw beautiful bones.

Of course, beautiful bones still needed a lot of work.

We quickly discovered that restoring this house wasn't going to be a weekend project.

I saw history.

I saw a front porch that would one day be filled with rocking chairs, conversations, and family.

I saw my family here before they every did.

Most of all, I saw a home worth bringing back to life.

So...I did something that still makes us laugh.

I wrote an offer right then and there.

Without my husband ever seeing the house.

Without my kids seeing the house.

I sent them the video after the offer was submitted.

Thankfully, they trusted me.

Closing day, I think the stress finally caught up with Brian.

Looking back, buying this house probably still doesn't make sense on paper.

But life isn't always lived on paper.

Sometimes you choose the place where your family has the best chance to heal.

Sometimes you choose slower over bigger.

Community over square footage.

Character over perfection.

This porch quickly became one of Brody's favorite places.

A place where he could simply be himself. A place to listen to music, decompress, and just breathe.

And sometimes an old house has a way of reminding you that the most beautiful things aren't the ones that have never been broken.

They're the ones that have been lovingly restored.

This old Craftsman wasn't the beginning of restoring a house.

It was the beginning of restoring our family.

And somehow...

Before we'd painted a single wall.

Before we'd uncovered the first hidden details.

Before we'd restored a single thing...

It already felt like home.

Until next time,

Let's keep restoring, together.

Brandi