Proof that if you love it, it will work.

When I say I built a new house with old things, this is exactly the kind of story I mean.

In our kitchen, there are two arched openings that lead into the pantry, one on each side. From the beginning, I dreamed of having matching cabinets tucked inside those arches—something special, something with character. Of course, finding two antique cabinets that matched perfectly? Nearly impossible. So I figured we’d design them.

But here’s where slow decorating comes in. Sometimes you don’t start with a plan—you start with a piece you love, and the plan reveals itself later.

A full year before we even broke ground on the house, I was in New Orleans with my friend Daphney for her son’s graduation. We had a little extra time and, naturally, we dashed over to one of our favorite architectural salvage shops. If you’ve ever been to one, you know it’s like treasure hunting through a maze—rooms filled with doors, hardware, chandeliers, and the most random relics you never knew existed.

That day, with only an hour to spare, I found them. Two matching pairs of antique pine doors. The wood had the most beautiful, warm patina, and though the glass panes were missing or broken, the diamond pattern was still striking. I didn’t know where they would go, but I knew I had to have them. Love at first sight.

We somehow loaded them into Daphney’s car—her parents, our luggage, and these giant doors all crammed together. I’ll never forget the look on her dad’s face when he opened the car and realized that was our ride home!

For months, those doors just lived in the back of my mind. I kept turning them over, thinking maybe they’d end up as windows above a bathtub. Then one night, it clicked: they were perfect for the pantry cabinets. Right in the heart of the house, where everyone would see them.

Of course, telling the cabinet maker I wanted to use antique doors was another story. Contractors don’t usually love antiques—they take longer, they never measure perfectly, and they’re just not as predictable as new. But I handed him my vision, gave him the doors, and trusted the process.

They were the very last things installed. At one point, it felt like they weren’t going to work. The problem? You can’t replicate the warmth of antique pine with new pine, and the cabinet boxes had to be built from new wood. The cabinet maker suggested staining them dark so everything would blend, and honestly, I was too exhausted at that stage of building to argue. I just let it go.

And then they arrived.

He had gone above and beyond—his carpenters had actually distressed the new wood so it looked as old as the doors themselves. We added reeded glass and brass pulls, and suddenly, they weren’t just doors. They were a story.

Now, those cabinets are one of my favorite parts of the kitchen. The dark stain contrasts beautifully with the green cabinets, the warm walls, and the marble floors. They anchor the space, and every time someone notices them, I get to tell the story of how they came into my life before the house even existed.

That’s slow decorating. That’s building a new house with old things. If you love it, it will work.