Aside from carpet in every room (yes, every room — kitchen and bathroom included) and hundreds of nails in every surface (even window frames and door jambs), our new home is filled with the results of some strange decisions. (When my father-in-law first toured it, he said, “You can just tell some old fart lived here and did all this work himself even though he didn’t really know what he was doing.”) Of course we were already aware of many of the home’s oddities when we bought it, but others are revealing themselves to us as we renovate. By now, we have quit asking “why” the former owners did what they did and have learned to just take it all in stride. Here are some of our favorites that keep us shaking our heads as we work to remove the evidence of afore-mentioned Old Fart’s handiwork:

1. An addition built around an addition. I’ve been calling these rooms the mudroom and the back porch, though neither moniker is quite accurate. The small first addition is (natch) carpeted; the larger, second addition spans the entire back of the house and has three separate entrances. (As my niece pointed out, we won’t have to worry about finding a way out in case of a fire.) It’s fully enclosed yet not heated, so it’s neither porch nor usable living space.
2. Sad views. Because the porch-room spans the entire back of the house, the kitchen and rear bedroom windows look out into this sad, dark space. And because the porch is three steps down from the main house, those windows look directly into the dropped ceiling in this space. Which means the view from my bedroom is of dust and darkness and probably some critter’s nest.
3. The back porch-room (proom? rorch?) was also built around an old gas grill. Apparently O.F. didn’t want to bother removing it, so he just rendered it inoperable by placing a windowsill directly above the lid, preventing it from ever opening again.
4. Back porch was also built with apparent disregard for the location of the dryer vent. Yes, the dryer vents onto the porch, making it a veritable sauna. (Hey, maybe I’ve discovered its true purpose!)
5. Doors, doors everywhere. Inside the front door, there is another door that leads into the living room. There is a door going from the dining room to the hall. There is a door at the foot of the stairs and a door at the top of the stairs. There was even an accordion door at the back of the kitchen (removed promptly by Ryan), which led into a small hall containing three more doors: mudroom, pantry, basement. There are 18 doors on the first floor alone (but since most of them are beautiful solid wood doors with really cool old glass doorknobs, it’s all good, and they do seem to be useful in containing the heat).
6. Wall-mounted aerosol air freshener holders on every doorframe. Apparently O.F.’s widow liked to drift from room to room in a perpetual cloud of Air Wick Vanilla Indulgences.
7. An old gun cabinet, which was converted into a pantry, which is actually kind of cool, except for the fact that O.F. had replaced the doors with unattractive exterior shutters.
8. Another pseudo-room in the basement, sectioned off with a chicken-wire partition and a storm door, which housed O.F.’s workbench. Maybe his wife was trying to contain his creative genius? (In a fortuitous moment, when Ryan ripped down the chicken-wire wall and the attached shelves, he discovered the shelves were actually the original doors to the gun-cabinet/pantry, which will be restored to their proper place.)
9. The basement bathroom, which I have been referring to simply as the WC. Though billed as a half bath, it is actually just a toilet enclosed in a very small space. O.F. clearly went to great lengths to create a little sanctuary in an otherwise drab space. Though the rest of the basement has concrete floors and bare walls, the WC is (of course) carpeted and wallpapered, has a medicine chest, a jaunty little straw hat on the wall, and its own wall-mounted air freshener holder. (But if you’re taller than 5’10”, don’t expect the door to close while you’re seated.)
10. Lots of stuff. Mrs. O.F. went to live with family and apparently didn’t feel like packing up many of her books (1975 Missouri State Manual, anyone?), her two dozen brooms and dusters, an assortment of wine glasses, an artificial Christmas tree, a few tables, or her late husband’s tools (huge bonus for Ryan). She also left us about 500 ant traps and several boxes of D-Con. She apparently had a thing about pests. And odors.

The other night as we were scraping wallpaper in the kitchen, there was a loud unidentified thump from the back hall. “It’s the old man,” Ryan said. “His ghost is still here.”

“He’s watching and he’s pissed that we’re destroying all his handiwork,” I offered.

“Or he approves.”

Maybe Ryan is right. I like to think he would approve. Rest in peace, Old Fart. Your strange but beautiful house is in good hands.