When the Answer Wasn't Right Yet

Some of the biggest decisions in a restoration begin with a feeling that something isn't quite right. That was the case with Cedarwood Manor.

As I prepared the house for the Seattle Miniature Show, one detail kept drawing my attention. The tower. No matter how many times I looked at it, the proportions felt off. The original dome seemed too heavy for the rest of the house, and once I noticed it, I couldn't unsee it. So I did what restorers often do. I took it apart.

The original dome came off, and I shortened the tower by four inches. Using the pieces I removed, I built a new octagonal cap roof, convinced I had found the solution.

Then I stepped back to admire the result. It was better. But it still wasn't right.

That can be one of the hardest moments in any creative project. You've invested hours of work, you've improved the design, and yet something continues to ask for your attention.

I've learned not to fight those moments. Instead, I put the tools down. I look at the house from across the room. I leave it alone for a day or two. I let the answer come instead of forcing it.

While the tower waited, the rest of Cedarwood Manor continued to move forward. Every room was carefully cleaned. Small repairs were finished. Every surface was dusted and inspected one last time before the Seattle Miniature Show. Eventually, the tower found its balance—not because I rushed to solve it, but because I gave myself the time to really see it.

Not long after, Cedarwood Manor found a new home. I still think about that tower from time to time. Not because it was the most difficult part of the restoration, but because it reminded me that some of the best decisions aren't made with a paintbrush or a saw.

They're made by slowing down long enough to listen to your instincts.

Sometimes the house already knows the answer. It just takes us a little while to hear it.