A little background: my husband and I purchased a small farm in the southern Kettle Moraine region of Wisconsin in 2018 and took possession last July. The property includes the original farmstead, built in 1842 of stone and clapboard. The previous owner updated the kitchen, probably in the late eighties, and it held up pretty well. Nevertheless, the appliances were tired, the cabinets warped, and the mice plentiful.
So last fall, we hired our favorite contractors, Brillo Home Improvement, brought in a dumpster, and began what can only be called a madcap game of “What’s behind Door #1.”
Spoiler alert: mice.
BEFORE: Here is a view of the farmhouse kitchen and eating area. We really wanted to keep the original configuration as we faced so many projects and wanted to be judicious with the costs of improvements.
BEFORE: I don’t like corner sinks — I called this one the Bermuda Triangle — but the view is spectacular. Also, you can’t tell from this photo but the floor slopes to a rather shocking degree. This is why most of the cabinet doors didn’t close tightly. The whole room was cattywampus. The only accessory it lacked was an empty vodka bottle.
Just as I have my favorite contractor, I also adore my painter. Kirk Korneisel and I have worked together for a looong time. We decided on Benjamin Moore’s Cloud White for everything.
On the left is the opening we cut into the floor under the old sink. With the crawl space exposed, we were able to blow spray foam insulation, protecting the pipes from freezing and shutting down the mouse interstate that ran through. On the right is the opening for the fridge. Same dealio. An off-ramp for rodents.
You can see where we cut a hole in the exterior for the exhaust vent. We also added insulation and felt a difference immediately. The farmhouse was so cozy this winter.
We painted the ceiling white — one coat only so that the grain of the wood shows through Again, note the slope of the floor, which required very careful installation of the cabinetry.
With a view towards the pond, the chicken coop, and the bird feeder, it’s a feather parade all the livelong day and doing dishes is pure pleasure. The yellow blooming branches are freshly cut from our little row of cornelian cherry trees at Viagra Point.
The eating area of the kitchen is quite small. I purchased the antique dropleaf table from Monches, the shop that the previous owners operated here on the property.
I think it was Suzanne Kasler who said a room is designed using color, texture, pattern, and scale, but only one can be the star. In this kitchen, texture is the name at the top of the marquee. Then pattern. Color and scale, not so much. The pillow is a vintage find.
The hallway leads to the second house, a log cabin built in 1910. The previous owners disassembled and moved the cabin here, reassembling it log-by-log as an addition to the original farmhouse.
The pantry contains electrical to alleviate crowding of appliances on our limited counters. Please note that while we enjoy country living, we cannot endure early mornings with the chickens — Henrietta, I’m looking at you — without an espresso first.
We installed a pair of French doors that lead to a new stone and brick patio. I can’t wait for summer when I’ll leave the doors open, fully expecting a groundhog to waltz in and ask for a ham sandwich.
There is no subflooring in this house. The ceiling in the kitchen is the floor of the attic. As a result, the dust floats down constantly. Can you see the lines from my fingers on the cooktop hood? That is one week’s worth of mites. This might earn me an Erma Bombeck epitaph on my headstone someday: “Big deal. I’m used to dust.”
The original kitchen reno called for open shelving next to the exhaust hood. I got cold feet. Open shelving is a luxury if you have plenty of storage. It requires styling. And it gets dusty. Also, can you imagine if my mice relocation plans didn’t work? I’d potentially have had them scampering over and around the glasses and dishes out in the open.
The keys to Sweaty Betty on the wrought iron hook. Above hangs a vintage woodcut I bought a decade ago. It depicts a farmer forking hay in front of a timber frame barn that looks remarkably like our chicken coop.
You may think this is a stick of butter but we call this ‘dip.’ It’s great with patayta chips or carrots.
Flow is a bit tight, no doubt. As you can see, we cannot open the fridge while answering the door. It’s one or the other.
The plates belonged to a friend whose mother painted them for a dinner party, probably sometime in the 1940s. I tried to sell the collection in the shop and couldn’t believe no one saw their charm. My friend ended up gifting them to me, and I absolutely love the way they look.
I had the sconces electrified and then inside mounted on the wall. It was a tricky process, locating small enough boxes to house the wiring, and then opening up the wall from the opposite side for mounting. The electrician initially hung the sconces by measuring from the floor. Big shocker, they looked cattywampus, and had to be rehung by measuring from the ceiling.
This blog post wouldn’t be complete without eggs in it. The wire basket is vintage and a gift from a friend. Did you know that we keep our eggs sitting on the counter? Once we wash them and remove the protective coating on the shell, we put them in the fridge.
My husband, downing a few blueberry pancakes with fried eggs before, I dunno, hammering nails into things, or raking things into piles. He is always busy. Except when he’s eating. Farm life is made for a man like him.
Thank you for joining me on this tour of our little kitchen. If you would like to read more about our experiences with mice, click here.