choosing stone

The staircase was one of the first things I noticed when I walked through the house the very first time. Worn and softened by time, with a curve that felt both formal and familiar. Even before the papers were signed, I knew I’d keep it.

The spindles on the staircase are a St. Anne’s style original design—slender, turned woodwork that you just don’t see manufactured anymore. We kept every one of them, preserving a piece of craftsmanship that connects the house to its history.

Restoring the staircase meant stripping it back—layers of old paint, years of patchwork repair—and bringing forward what had been there all along. I chose an espresso stain for the wood. Something deep enough to feel grounded, not glossy. It’s the kind of color that absorbs light rather than bouncing it back. It makes you slow down—probably a good thing since I’m usually rushing around like it’s a race.

It took almost seven weeks. Careful work, one pass at a time. I’d walk past and think about all the footsteps this staircase has known. Children running down toward the day. Someone older, moving slowly, holding the rail a little tighter. Laughter, arguments, arrivals, goodbyes. It’s held every part of a life. Over and over again.

At the top of the newel post sits a crystal finial now. A small gesture that catches the light in a quiet way. Not showy, just steady—kind of like the staircase’s way of saying, “I’ve been here longer than you, but I’m glad you’re taking care of me.”

There’s a photo I took one morning—tools out, light stretching across the wood, a quiet pause in the day’s busy rhythm.

Some parts of the house will be new. But this—the staircase—is how you’ll be held on your way through. Old wood, carried forward, touched again.

-L