A year or two of quarantine only made me more of a homebody, so when I was invited to a dinner party — at a stranger’s place, no less — there was a certain level of social trepidation. But as soon as we passed through the quintessentially Southern screened door, I was too entranced by the house tour to be nervous.
Located in a soon-to-be-gentrified neighborhood outside Atlanta, the property looked directly out of the 1930s. It featured a bright corridor that ran straight from front door to back with rooms to either side. I could imagine opening up that convenient breezeway during the muggy Georgia summer, sipping a glass of iced tea for extra respite from the heat.
The home had an incredible blend of modern flow and historic sensibility. Its natural, handmade feel evoked a sense of familiar warmth as the host led us blithely from room to room in all her barefooted, bohemian glory.
A cozy, terracotta-orange sitting room opened through a wide archway directly into a long dining room and kitchen area in rich navy. Sleek silver appliances and a gray island accented the layout without disturbing the feeling of spaciousness.
Vintage green glass bottles and leafy houseplants decorated each gorgeously detailed mantelpiece, of which there were three — one in the dining room, one in the husband’s office, and one in the guest room. The master bath had been lovingly renovated in gray and white tile, with a huge walk-in shower and double vanities. It was easily the size of our entire bedroom — true #BathroomGoals.
Interspersed with the home’s timeless details, there were also fascinating glimpses of the owners as a couple. Out back, our host described how she’d wanted to build a 30-foot, domed practice space for her aerial acrobatics — but had instead settled on a pole with central rigging, which meant a lot of semi-public contortions and awkward waving at her neighbor, Joan.
Inside, bookshelves held a diverse collection of board games. And adjacent to the dining room table, which was already set for dinner, sat a surprising centerpiece: a large glass tank containing a very spoiled bearded lizard.
Taken at face value, all these things shouldn’t have worked together. Orange walls, green glass, reptiles? But instead, it created an inviting pastiche of boho comfort, and I was utterly charmed.
It didn’t hurt that both the food and the company were good. We lingered late over generous portions of shrimp scampi, talking about 80s nostalgia and local arts festivals.
When we finally had to head back to our own, slightly less inspiring apartment, I took my husband’s hand and gave the house a final glance of admiration. In my ever-evolving conception of our someday-home, I’d overlooked this niche of historical properties. But that evening’s dinner party opened my eyes to the potential hiding in old Southern gems.
It was a great reminder that the true soul of a home isn’t in the amenities — it’s in the bones, and how we make them ours.
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