Home & Garden Cover Stories

I was eight years old when I picked up my first hammer with the full intention of causing destruction.

Good destruction, of course.

It was demolition, and to an eight-year-old, there are few things more satisfying than learning you are allowed (encouraged, even) to help knock something down. The house was the first one my parents ever bought: a two-family fixer-upper in a rural suburb that they dreamed of turning into a one-family home. “Fixer-upper” is a generous term. The house leaned a little. The windows were cracked. I still remember waking up one winter morning in the bedroom I shared with my two brothers and feeling snowflakes drift in through the broken glass.

But my parents never seemed discouraged.

They had started their family young, my mom at 16 and my dad at 18, and by the time they bought that house, it represented something much bigger than its sagging walls. It was possibility. It was a start. It was theirs.

They had very little money, but they had vision, determination, and faith that made them see what a house could become instead of what it lacked. My dad liked to remind us that the place had “good bones” and, if you have that, the rest is simply a blank slate of possibility. He was not a trained carpenter, and his early experience came mostly from building tree forts, but he was fearless about figuring things out, and that confidence became one of the greatest gifts he passed down to us.

Every house my parents bought had good bones and a very long to-do list. But they had a gift for seeing possibility where others saw burden, and over time that vision changed the course of our family’s life. With each renovation, they built equity, stability, and a future that looked very different from where they had started. Neither of them had a college degree, and they knew there were limits to how far a paycheck alone could stretch. So they found another way: with courage, sweat equity, and a willingness to take on what others would have passed by.

As kids, we were part of it all, whether we liked it or not. We knocked down walls, hauled debris, painted rooms, and watched spaces slowly transform. (Going to the dump is still one of my favorite pastimes.) I argued with my brothers and whined quite a bit because, let’s face it, that was not the “fun” our friends were having at the time. But somewhere in all that noise, something important took root in me.

I learned that I loved it.

I loved the creative problem-solving. I loved seeing something neglected become beautiful. I loved learning how to do practical things that saved money and created value. Most of all, I loved that building was my dad’s happy place, and as a little girl, I loved being able to share that with him. Truth be told, I still do!

Looking back, I can see that home was never just about the houses. It was about family. Every house my parents bought became the family home because we all had a hand in shaping it. We did not just live there. We made it ours.

My grandmother often said, “What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger.” At the time, that sounded like one of those sayings adults repeat because they can. But in hindsight, she was right. Those years gave me more than memories and practical skills. They built resilience. Grit. Confidence. They taught me not to be afraid to try.

That lesson followed me into adulthood. When I bought my first house with my first husband in 2001, it was a foreclosed-upon “beauty” in the city of Jamestown that we purchased for $23,000. Other people might have seen a mess. I saw another house with good bones.

Then life shifted, as it does. There was divorce. There was remarriage. There was the beautiful and complicated work of blending a family. I had two daughters. My husband had a son and a daughter. Suddenly, the life we were building no longer fit the house we were in.

That search led us to Maple Springs, a hidden gem in the best little community in Chautauqua County. The house we found was another foreclosure: a three-family home with a detached garage that had been turned into another apartment. Plenty of space, plenty of problems. In other words, exactly the kind of place I had been raised not to fear.

The bones were good, so I did not hesitate. Thankfully, my husband values frugality as much as he enjoys a good adventure, so he was all in too.

What followed was one of the biggest renovation projects of my life, and one of the most meaningful. Blending families can be challenging. Love is there, but belonging takes time. We needed more than a roof over our heads. We needed something that would bring us together. We did what my parents had done: we gave the kids tools and made them part of the process. They knocked down walls with sledgehammers, helped paint, laid flooring, and hung drywall. We built bonfires and burned old decking. We got dirty. We got tired. We laughed a lot. And without fully realizing it, we built more than rooms and hallways. We built connection. We built trust. We built shared ownership of a life we were creating together.

Just as it had been when I was growing up, family showed up. In our family, when someone has a project, people come. They bring tools, know-how, willing hands, good humor, and a cold drink for the end of the day. There is something deeply moving about a home touched by so many hands. The place belongs not just to the people who live there, but to the larger story of the family itself.

When I was 11, I made a wooden plaque for my parents in the shape of a house. I carefully inscribed the words, “Home is where the heart is.” At that age, I did not fully understand the depth of what I was saying. I just knew it was a good thought. My parents knew the importance of those words. That keepsake has been displayed in every house they have owned. Today, it hangs in their kitchen, the place where our family still gathers most often. Because home is not just where you eat dinner or keep your belongings. It is where people gather. Where children learn. Where traditions are handed down. Where hard work becomes memory. Where love takes practical form.

Now I find myself in another full-circle season. Our children are becoming homeowners themselves, and the work continues. They call when they need help with a bathroom, a floor, or a project that feels just big enough to be intimidating. My dad still shows up. My mom still helps. But now I am often the one guiding the next step, watching the kids learn to use power tools and trust themselves the way I once learned to. That may be one of the greatest joys of all: seeing confidence become legacy.

Homes and families have a lot in common. Both require vision. Both demand patience. Both go through seasons of mess, repair, and reinvention. Sometimes things crack. Sometimes they lean. Sometimes they let the snow in. But if the bones are good, if there is love, determination, and a willingness to keep building, then almost anything can be restored.

I picked up my first hammer thinking I was helping tear something down. What I did not know was that I was also beginning a life shaped by building: houses, families, memories, and a sense of home that has carried me through every transition.

Home, I have learned, is more than a place you live.

It is the foundation that holds a family together.

Sarah Tranum is a proud Do-It-Herselfer and the director of the Occupational Therapy Assistant program at Jamestown Community College.

Leaves are forming on all the trees now, and the crab apples are just beginning to go from bud to blossom. Some of the earliest blooms have come and gone — daffodils, hyacinths, snowdrops. Meanwhile, green shoots in the earth get larger each day as they grow bit by bit to eventually form lilies, Shasta daisies, coneflowers, iris, and more. It’s still far too early to plant annuals and vegetables, but there’s still plenty to do in the garden.

This is cleanup time in my flower beds. Pruning shears and a rake have been my most-used tools so far this spring. All winter long I leave the leftover fall debris. Those remaining brown stalks from Black Eyed Susans, Shasta Daisies, and coneflowers, and the inevitable dry leaves embedded around them, provided cold-weather cover for insects. Now that it’s been warm enough, the remaining stems from last growing season can be removed, clearing the way for all the new growth that’s already begun under the brush. It’s also a great time to divide some perennials, especially lilies and daisies. Spring is inevitably muddy, but it’s the perfect time to edge flower beds, pull weeds, and mulch. Rubber garden boots are donned daily and discarded routinely in the garage to keep that mud out of the house.

Despite the routine nature of garden work — planting, dividing, cleaning up, and keeping multiplying plants in check — this spring feels brand new to me. Previous spring work in the garden was confined to evenings or weekends but having recently retired I now have no such time constraints. Frankly, it’s a bit disorienting as I find numerous ways to fill my newly found time. Rainy days have so far been spent sewing, writing, and planning projects. But sunny days are for the garden, and I’m so grateful to have had the sun and warmth recently.

When we think about the seasons of life, they sometimes mirror the seasons in the garden. Spring is for new growth and the promise of things to come. Summer is gloriously colorful with flowers in full bloom and trees in full leaf. Autumn is when the summer growth fades and the leaves turn color and then fall. Winter is the cold end when we hunker down and view the garden from indoors. This retirement age is often considered the autumn of our life, as growth fades and we approach winter, but this year I’m viewing the seasons with new eyes.

Spring has arrived gloriously with greenery sprouting forth all around. I’ve had time to witness miniature buds on the blueberries, and dogwoods as they begin to form flowers. I’m watching daily now as the smallest purple shoots expand into what will eventually become lilacs. The earliest leaves of the forsythia have turned from yellow to green. The emerging colors in the garden are inspiring growth and creativity; feeling like this autumn season in life is a spring awakening sparking fresh, creative processes. After decades of engaging my brain in work-related tasks (albeit some of them creative) this season when I’m not behind a desk feels like a time to stretch and grow and try new things. My head is spinning with possibility and opportunity, just as my garden offers a glimpse of the colorful months to come. Now it’s a question of how to reign in and direct these creative sparks into productive processes.

Whether you’re a gardener or not, and no matter your age, take a moment to enjoy the natural world unfolding around us this spring. Watching the renewal of trees, shrubs, and perennials is awe inspiring itself, but feeling it in your soul as a metaphor for a new season of life is a daily gift to unwrap, especially if it propels you towards some creative act. Happy spring!