I had planned to write a different article this week—something about being human, how everyone makes mistakes, and how cohesive remodeling teams catch them. Perhaps you can spot the "Where's Waldo" stray tile in this beautiful tub shower in process?
But this past weekend literally hit home, and I feel compelled to share what happened. A little over 30 years ago, I graduated from Bullard High School in Fresno, California. This weekend was our reunion. While we gathered at a local event space, we were close to my dad's house in Madera—a place always on my heart. He passed away while living in Georgia, many years after moving from my childhood home. Though I moved often with my mom after their divorce, this home is the one I feel most connected to.
Lot #1 in Madera Knolls. A brand-new model home on a triangular corner lot. No lawn, no trees—just a pink house waiting to be loved and repainted. I didn't know it then, but I was already starting my career in the remodeling industry during the buyer's walk-through inspection. I noticed everything, including the cracked windowsill in the kitchen nook's left window. I remember it vividly.
Over the years, my dad and I worked on that house every other weekend when I stayed with him. We poured concrete and dug a pit so I could crawl under my '79 Celica to change the oil. We planted a weeping willow, poppies, and roses. We built a code-compliant carport and patio cover and roofed it ourselves. We even painted a mural on his bedroom wall and added glass shelves so a ceramic knight and dragon could wage an epic battle amidst green rolling hills. We painted the high-pitched popcorn ceiling in the living room to look like clouds in a blue sky.
After remarrying, he moved to Oregon and then Georgia. I had already relocated to the San Francisco Bay Area, but the new owners loved all the personal touches we'd added.
After my dad's passing, I googled the address but could never find my "home." Had I made a mistake? Had I dreamed it all? Maybe I had the wrong address? Something felt wrong, but I couldn't pinpoint it. Where was the walkway to the mailbox lined with rosebushes? Where was the willow I'd dreamed would one day hold a tree swing? Where was the fence our dog Ginger would dig under so the "boys" could gallivant around the neighborhood?
In the nostalgia of reconnecting with old friends, young love, and many people I couldn't quite remember, I yearned to drive past this significant part of my history. Though my child will never inherit this place, passing on a home to others is a legacy close to my heart. My husband obliged, and we pulled up to the corner—an address I'd double-checked several times the night before—to find a house that was not my home.
Yes, the county parcel records listed my dad and stepmom's names. Yes, I used GPS to ensure my 20-year-old memory wouldn't mislead me. But this house was not my home. Nothing remained of the house that love built. The driveway was in a completely different place. The building sat at a different angle. The trees were all only a few years old. This couldn't even be a remodel of my former home. What had happened?
Who tears down an entire home built in the late '80s? Only a fire could make even the bones, concrete, and structure of a home this different. After returning home, I discovered this was exactly the case. Through a deeper public records search, I learned the house had burned down under the second owner, apparently after a bank foreclosure. The Zillow images showed a completely blank lot—no house, just raw earth picking up in the wind. Picture a scene from The Grapes of Wrath where a home once stood.
Today, a new home stands there. I recognize the love the new owners have put into it—the young trees and flowering plants, the kids' playhouse in the backyard, the little wishing well on the lawn. So I ask: what is the value of this home? Is it the $215,000 my dad sold it for in 2004? The $65,000 the fire-emptied lot sold for in 2018? The current Zestimate® of $393,000? To the next buyer, it may be these numbers. But to me, it's so much more. I will always hold those fond memories, though I'll never pass by again.
Today, when working with clients, I'm always conscious of the value our remodels bring to their homes. At Design Set Match, we remodel for you, your family, your lifestyle, and your future—and for the next homeowner who will come along and add their love to continue the legacy of a home for their family.