I grew up on a hobby farm just outside of Ormstown. Horses, open fields, and a barn that I spent a lot of time in.
There was a rope swing in the hayloft and I spent entire afternoons there. I didn't know it then, but I was paying attention to something. The size of those beams. The marks left on the wood from the people who built it. The way the whole structure had been put together by hand, without any of the shortcuts we take today. It was built to hold. And it had been holding for over a hundred years.
That stayed with me.
Driving the 138 along the Châteauguay River, or even right in town like Huntingdon, you see it everywhere. Beautiful old homes, well-kept properties, gardens that have clearly been tended for years. People out on weekends, weeding, cutting grass, taking care of what they have. There's a pride here that I find genuinely moving. It's quieter than the city. A bit slower. And people seem to understand instinctively that a home is worth caring for.
This region has such beautiful properties. Stone and brick farmhouses, heritage properties that have passed through generations, homes with history written into every wall. They're not perfect. They've been added to, patched, updated, sometimes not very kindly. But the bones are there. And the bones are everything.
One of my favourite parts in this work is what you find when you start peeling back layers.
I have these photos above from a project where we pulled back carpet to find the original wide-plank floorboards underneath. Two inches thick. Still solid. Still beautiful. Someone had covered them up, probably decades ago, probably thinking they were doing the right thing.
And it's not just floors. So many of these homes have been renovated and updated over the years, but the owners never threw anything away. A cast iron sink sitting in an outbuilding. Solid wood doors stacked against a wall in the barn. Original hardware saved in a box somewhere, waiting to come back in.
One of the things I love most about working on century homes is doing exactly that. Bringing those pieces back in, not as decoration, but as the real thing. Because they are the real thing.
You can't buy that at a showroom.
I live out here too. Not in the city, not commuting in for projects. I'm in Hinchinbrooke, in an 1830s farmhouse, with horses and all the realities that come with country living.
Whether you're in Hudson, Huntingdon, or somewhere in between, we likely already share something. I know what it feels like to be out here on a weekend, to care about what your property looks like, to feel that pull toward doing things properly. You don't have to explain that to me. I already get it.
If you're in the early stages of thinking about a renovation and you're not sure where to start, I have a free guide for exactly that point in the process. And if this resonated and you want to stay in touch, I'd love to have you on my newsletter. I share things like this there too:
If you're curious about working together, my services page is a good place to start, or you're always welcome to reach out directly.