We all have that property that we gawk at but can never muster the courage to approach. For the longest time, my unapproachable permission was a brick farmhouse on a hill. I drove by this house every day for years, but something held me back. Instead of asking for permission and facing the possibility of rejection, I'd settled for thinking that I could get permission. I'm almost positive that I'm not the only hobbyist who thinks this way. We all have that unapproachable permission that we silently salivate over... A few weeks ago, I had been poking around the remains of the Fickel House...

I may have jumped the gun a little on Spring. The forecast is calling for another coating of snow on Friday--and I use the term 'coating' in the hopes that the suggestion will manifest and we'll only see a coating of the white stuff. Fortunately, Saturday is expected to bring temperatures in the sixties... so maybe I'll still be able to hit my permissions by Sunday. My chosen topic for this post is Respecting the Fellow Digger--something that has really been weighing on me recently. As you know, I write a lot about respecting and appreciating the property owners who grant us permission, but I've...

I love old homes. I love everything about them. I love the stone-work, the wood-work, the brick-work, the shutters, the doors, the door-knobs, the windows, the window-panes, the fancy molding, the spindles on the porches. What more can I say? I absolutely love old homes. Not to mention, I have this horrible habit of purchasing architectural elements from old homes. It must be some sort of compulsion, because I just can't help myself. In my garage at this very moment, I have four old doors, three old chandeliers, a handful of glass doorknobs, some swirly-pane windows... As a matter of fact,...