VIA TESORO
It was number six in this great adventure of owning and renovating twenty-three homes.
Via Tesoro—two acres, hugged by a hillside, with irresistible potential—a homely, Tudor-inspired “80s new build” that we lovingly and painstakingly transformed into what it wanted to be when it grew up—natural stone walls, secret gardens stuffed with roses, limed-brick fireplaces, handcrafted staircase, rough-hewn beams—the "oh what this could be," coaxed into becoming by seemingly tireless hands.
Each unique property became a bold affirmation that the nature of our lives together was inexplicably wrapped around the need to create. Husband and wife, seeing potential in what others overlooked, discovering a mutual purpose in breathing new life into places abandoned and unloved.
It was 2004. By then all three boys were somewhat “reluctantly proficient” at painting and drywall, and my design business was flourishing from an obsession with helping others transform the way they live. And then, affirmation of my professional purpose came in the form of a Cover Feature in Better Homes and Gardens magazine, dubbing me the Nomadic Designer, inspired by our family’s somewhat unusual way of life. The article, while ushering in the start of something bigger [professionally] than I could dream, was also premonitional in predicting an inevitable end—just three months after the story published, Ron and I began to sense a prompting that it was time for us to find another home in need.
As with every other property we owned, Via Tesoro was sold to someone who was seemingly destined to be its keeper, a charming man named Jim who, in his own words was, ”drawn to the energy of this place as if it were a long-lost friend.”
It was as if the home was designed just for him. Through the years I have learned to listen to the whispers of those who will inevitably come along, and I embed what will be noticed and adored into every corner.
This twelve-year love affair between Jim and Via Tesoro ended with his untimely and unexpected passing. A note from his daughter-in-law found its way to us, sharing that Jim’s passion for his sanctuary [the word she used] never faded and inviting us to join in mourning the separation of her daddy from his "dream home" that gently and diligently loved and served his family for over a decade.
Tonight, I am thinking of Jim. How this single dad let his heart lead when choosing where those he loved would lay their heads. How he was captivated by the roses, the place where I felt God the most. How he surprised me with his tender appreciation of every design detail. How he understood that what is felt, is far more the truth of a place than what is seen… even when what is seen is breathtaking.
It isn’t often that I am blessed with a glimpse into what one of my homes would ultimately become.
A home filled with beautiful moments is the definition of Sanctuary in every possible way. When I think of Jim and his family, I am profoundly assured that everything matters, not simply the utility of a thing.
Everywhere we look there is evidence that our Creator delights in beauty for its own sake, and I imagine this is precisely Jim's experience of his new heavenly dwelling.
More than anything I do, it is the legacy of creating that sense of home—as close as we can get to being on the other side—that pleases me most of all.
As a footnote I’d like to mention that the word Via means,“en route to a destination.” And Tesoro means, “Treasure.” We are all nomads, after all, simply traveling through.
There was an ancient, nomadic tribe known as the Tartars. From generation to generation they lived off the land, cultivating the best possible existence from a place, then enthusiastically moving onward when prompted either by spirit or circumstance. Their enthusiasm for this adventurous way of life led them to create a curse for their various enemies that sounded like this—
“May you stay in one place forever.”