Construction was never just a trade in our house. It was an art form.

I grew up in the San Juan Islands, in a home my dad built with his own hands. He was a finish carpenter. Whether I was pegging hardwood floors or sitting beside him on the roof during yet another addition, I learned early what good work looks like up close, and what it costs to do it properly.

In 2010 my husband and I wanted a home together and could not afford turnkey. So we bought what we could afford and rolled up our sleeves. Four houses later, remodeling had stopped being a necessity and become the thing I actually wanted to do.

I did not start out an expert. I had vision, tenacity, and a stubborn refusal to let a room stay ugly. I learned from every mistake and every misstep, and those imperfect starts are exactly where the skill came from.