The House That Came Back

Every collector has a story about the one that got away. The item they hesitated on. The listing they checked one last time, only to find it gone. The piece they assumed they'd never see again. A few months ago, I thought I had one of those stories. Instead, it became something entirely different.

It started with a Facebook Marketplace listing. The photos weren't particularly good, and I couldn't tell much about the quality of the build. But there was something about the house that caught my attention.

I made an offer.

The seller declined.

A little later, I tried again.

The answer was still no.

As we talked, I realized the seller didn't know much about the houses themselves. He was selling a collection that had belonged to his mother, referring to several by the wrong names and admitting he wasn't familiar with their history. Even so, I couldn't stop thinking about that one particular house. Then one day the listing disappeared. I assumed someone else had purchased it. Disappointed, I moved on. Sometimes that's just part of collecting.

Then, a few weeks before leaving for Turkey, I noticed another remarkable house for sale—a Joseph Angel. It was beautiful and priced accordingly. Before I had much time to think about it, that listing disappeared too. A few days later, a collector friend reached out.

She had purchased the Joseph Angel and needed to make room for it. She mentioned she was planning to sell another house and wondered if I might be interested.

Then she sent me a photograph. I recognized it immediately. It was the Marketplace house. The same one I had been watching for months and assumed was long gone. Somehow, after all that time, it had found its way back to me. The irony wasn't lost on me.

I ended up purchasing it for less than I had originally offered months before.

At that point, I thought the story couldn't get any better. I was wrong.

That very same day, a fellow collector, Angela Mahoney, shared photographs of a newly acquired dollhouse and asked if anyone could help identify its builder. The house looked remarkably familiar. It was the same model. Angela's house was missing its bottom board, exposing the builder's stamp. It read simply: Korff.

I immediately sent photographs of my own house to Loren Korff, and he confirmed what we had begun to suspect. The house I had admired on Marketplace for months wasn't just an interesting find. It was one of his Nob Hill designs. Suddenly, a house I had almost forgotten about became one of the most exciting additions to my collection.

Now the story is taking another unexpected turn. Angela and I have decided to renovate our Nob Hills at the same time, each following our own creative instincts while documenting the journey along the way.

The same house.

Two different visions.

I have a feeling we're both going to discover something unexpected before these houses are finished. And I can't wait to see where they lead us.