The Freeman House Project

I bought the Freeman House knowing exactly what I was getting into.

Or at least, I thought I did.

Built in 1908, it’s the kind of house that pulls you in before you’ve had time to think it through—layered architecture, original woodwork, tall windows, and just enough signs of age to make it clear that nothing inside was going to be simple. It had been lived in, worked on, covered over, and left alone in all the ways old houses tend to be.

I didn’t buy it to update it.

I bought it to restore it.

At the time, I had never owned a home before. I hadn’t repaired plaster. I hadn’t taken on anything at this scale. But I knew I wanted to learn how to do this kind of work—the kind where progress is measured in what you can stand back and see at the end of the day.

That didn’t come out of nowhere.

My dad built the house I grew up in. He solved problems as they came up, figured things out when there wasn’t a clear answer, and kept moving forward until it was done. That stuck with me more than I realized at the time.

This project feels like a continuation of that, just on a different kind of structure.

The Freeman House is now part home, part project, and part long-term plan.

I live here with my daughter part-time, and over the next five to seven years, this will be a full restoration—done room by room, learning as I go. The goal is to bring the house back to life without stripping away what makes it what it is.

At the same time, this is the first property under Navigaturis, a broader idea around experiential travel and property management. The vision is to create places that people don’t just stay in, but remember—where the building itself is part of the experience.

The main level of the house is already open to guests.

If you’re curious what it’s like to stay in a work-in-progress historic home—and see the restoration as it happens—you can book a stay here:
[Book the Freeman House on Airbnb]

What I’ve learned quickly is that old houses don’t reveal themselves all at once.

Every room has its own set of decisions. Layers of wallpaper hiding unfinished plaster. Repairs that held just long enough. Things done halfway, or in a way that made sense at the time but doesn’t hold up anymore.

You don’t uncover all of it in a plan.

You uncover it by starting.

This blog is a record of that process.

Not just the finished results, but the work itself—what it takes to stabilize plaster instead of tearing it out, to repair instead of replace, and to figure out where modern materials fit (and where they don’t).

Some things will go right the first time. Some won’t. Each room gets a little better.

That’s the point.

Start Here

If you’re new to the project, start with the first room:

→ [Upstairs Bedroom Restoration: Wallpaper Removal to Skim Coat]

It’s where I learned the most—and where the rest of the house really begins.

The goal isn’t perfection.

It’s to understand the house well enough to bring it forward without losing what’s already there.

And to build something—over time—that lasts.