I didn’t set out to become a ranch expert, but after redoing a few rooms and projects for friends, my husband entrusted me with a 1970s ranch house that he insisted was beyond saving. Initially, it was an investment for its land, and the house was supposed to be demolished. But with a $150 per-square-foot budget, I knew I had my work cut out for me, so I began to draw up a plan with both purpose and repurpose—the first to create functionality and the second to upcycle items that would help save on the budget. Three years later, we quadrupled our investment, and I’ve learned a thing or two that I’m already applying to our latest ranch renovation.
I love a design challenge, and if you’ve ever seen other posts from my DIY Ranch Design Series, then you know that this entire project was full of them. The first and biggest one could’ve been a deal breaker, and I’m not talking about the little-blue-bathroom that was. It was the poolroom-turned-master-bedroom.
At first glance, this room looks like a strictly cosmetic renovation, but what is not seen here is that it was built much later and completely separate from the rest of the house. The only way to access this room was through the outside, meaning there was no way to enter the poolroom from the house. And we just couldn’t leave the room with the best views to be hardly enjoyed. It was important to have the entire house be one open, fluid space.
Thus, the poolroom had to be figured into the house.
Growing up in New Mexico, we only ate eggs from the chickens that we raised ourselves. In fact, I never had a store-bought egg until I left home, sixteen years later. If you’ve ever had farm-fresh eggs, you just know the difference. There’s no comparison! But honestly, it was the love and hard work of caring for our chickens that made those edible pieces of heaven even tastier. My responsibility was the chicken coop, and whether it was one hundred degrees or thirty degrees outside, I collected the eggs, cleaned out the coop, and fed the chickens every morning before school. To this day, I can still remember every nook and cranny of that chicken coop we built with our bare hands.
Some of my fondest childhood memories were centered on our small farm. It shaped us—taught us the value of life, taught us that effort and care lead to positive results, and it taught us to appreciate today because there are no promises tomorrow.
Now that I’m a parent, I value my upbringing even more so, and I try to seek out small ways of bringing those life lessons to my daughter. I don’t want her to become complacent with city life. I don’t want her to go to the grocery store and not appreciate how the produce gets there. She will know the value of life. She will know how to work hard and appreciate what she has.
And that’s why we decided to build a chicken coop for Darlington. But what started out as a coop large enough to give her room to play with the chickens—allowing them to be free range without becoming a free lunch for the coyotes and water moccasins—turned into something far more than just a basic coop. This month, the chicken coop is Part X of our DIY Ranch Design Series.
I’m not sure if I shared this before with anyone outside of my family, but when I was little, I was a bit of a mad scientist. Growing up in the country with nothing to do and neighbors who lived a few acres away made me a creative kid by default. Couple that creativity with an entrepreneurial spirit and ta-da trouble in the form of liquid messes and missing bathroom products. Mom’s shampoo was always the go-to fragrance for my concoctions—perfume, shaving cream, bath gel—and dad’s foot powder made an excellent thickening agent. Grandma would find tiny glass bottles at the flea markets, and I’d go around the neighborhood to our five or six neighbors, selling my potions.
At the end of the day, I’d walk away with a few bucks, and then hand it over to Grandma so she could purchase bottles for me again. It was a vicious cycle—the overhead was killing me. Eventually, Mom and Dad bankrupted my business. I was convinced that the neighbors were devastated, but I guess that’s what happens when your family unwittingly invests in your business and you’re nine years old.
Keeping that spirit alive today, I wanted to build a space for Darlington where she could learn about business and fan the flames of creativity. Yes, she’s only three and a half months old, but it’s never too early for teaching opportunities!
