Where ideas turn into builds, and builds turn into stories.
Brave or maybe a little delusional. That’s still up for debate. Taking on a 4,100 square foot oceanfront fixer-upper while raising a 14-month-old baby boy isn’t exactly the definition of “perfect timing,” but here we are. The Beach House is big, bold, and full of potential, and I’m diving in headfirst to transform it into something truly special.
This isn’t TV magic with unlimited budgets and neatly wrapped storylines. It’s real life: long days, unexpected problems, tight budgets, and small victories that feel huge. I’m sharing it all, the good, the bad, and the in-between, because the process matters just as much as the finished space. The Beach House isn’t just a renovation project; it’s a journey, and I’m inviting you along for the ride.
Finishing the Stone House felt like closing one chapter and stepping into another. I packed up what mattered, sold the rest, and headed west to Vancouver Island with little more than a plan and a gut feeling. Within weeks, I landed in Nanaimo and found my next project - a 30-year-old West Coast fixer-upper with ocean views and quiet charm. It was a big shift from the century homes I was used to, but the salty air and sound of the waves instantly felt like home.
This time, I trusted my instincts. No more designing to please others - just creating spaces that felt true to me. The house needed everything: a legalized basement suite, fresh paint, new cabinetry, modern flooring, and updated bathrooms. It became a lighter, brighter space that reflected where I was - balancing building, motherhood, and learning to slow down. It wasn’t about perfection, but about the process, the risks, and remembering why I love to build.
The Stone House in Solina was my second century home restoration, and the moment I saw it, I knew it had to be mine. After finishing the Major House, I wanted another project with just as much history and heart. This stone farmhouse, surrounded by rolling fields and tall trees, drew me in instantly. Its limestone walls and original beams had a quiet strength - a home that had stood the test of time and was waiting for someone to believe in it again.
The renovation came with new challenges, unfolding during the pandemic when supplies were scarce and progress was slow. I lived in a trailer on the property for part of the build, pouring everything I had into bringing the house back to life. It wasn’t just about the transformation - it was about resilience, renewal, and the power of hard work to rebuild not only a home, but myself too.
Tucked away in the quiet hamlet of Whitevale, Ontario, stood the Major House - a 3,500-square-foot heritage home built by Henry Major, the farmer whose family gave the property its name. When I first stepped inside, I could see its potential, but over a century of wear had taken its toll. What followed was a two-year transformation where we gutted the home, jacked it up from the inside, and rebuilt it from the ground up while preserving its history and timeless charm.
Every inch of the renovation was hands-on and heartfelt. We added new windows and doors to fill the rooms with light, a sleek metal roof, and an outdoor living space with a deck, pergola, and hot tub overlooking the property. It was a huge project, but watching the Major House come back to life remains one of my proudest accomplishments - a restoration of history and proof that even the most timeworn homes can be reborn.
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