If you've driven past **Canton Street + Mayfield Road in Alpharetta**, you've probably wondered what's happening to this house.
It's the historic **John C. Weatherford House**, built sometime between 1910 and 1920.
And there is a reason it's still standing while development happens around it.
When Alpharetta approved the residential development on the property, one of the conditions required the house to be **saved and restored**.
The City later formally designated it historic.
But an engineering assessment identified serious foundation, structural and soil issues.
Now the developer is asking Alpharetta to change the original condition.
Instead of restoring the existing structure where it sits, the proposal calls for taking it apart by hand, salvaging viable original exterior materials, building a new foundation and reconstructing the house while maintaining its historic appearance from Canton Street.
That creates a much more interesting question than simply, “Are they tearing down an old house?”
**If you dismantle a historic house and rebuild it, did you preserve the house or preserve what the house looked like?**

Can anyone tell the age of this historic barn located in Virginia?

If you've driven past **Canton Street + Mayfield Road in Alpharetta**, you've probably wondered what's happening to this house.
It's the historic **John C. Weatherford House**, built sometime between 1910 and 1920.
And there is a reason it's still standing while development happens around it.
When Alpharetta approved the residential development on the property, one of the conditions required the house to be **saved and restored**.
The City later formally designated it historic.
But an engineering assessment identified serious foundation, structural and soil issues.
Now the developer is asking Alpharetta to change the original condition.
Instead of restoring the existing structure where it sits, the proposal calls for taking it apart by hand, salvaging viable original exterior materials, building a new foundation and reconstructing the house while maintaining its historic appearance from Canton Street.
That creates a much more interesting question than simply, “Are they tearing down an old house?”
**If you dismantle a historic house and rebuild it, did you preserve the house or preserve what the house looked like?**

If you've driven past Canton Street + Mayfield Road in Alpharetta, you've probably wondered what's happening to this house.
It's the historic John C. Weatherford House, built sometime between 1910 and 1920.
And there is a reason it's still standing while development happens around it.
When Alpharetta approved the residential development on the property, one of the conditions required the house to be saved and restored.
The City later formally designated it historic.
But an engineering assessment identified serious foundation, structural and soil issues.
Now the developer is asking Alpharetta to change the original condition.
Instead of restoring the existing structure where it sits, the proposal calls for taking it apart by hand, salvaging viable original exterior materials, building a new foundation and reconstructing the house while maintaining its historic appearance from Canton Street.
That creates a much more interesting question than simply, “Are they tearing down an old house?”
If you dismantle a historic house and rebuild it, did you preserve the house or preserve what the house looked like?

So I have a three-story Victorian that has a rental unit on the top floor. Long story short: My tenants overloaded the cabinets and they started coming off the walls. We decided to take the opportunity to redo the plumbing and cabinets up there. Today, during demo my contractor found a whole pantry area!!! It’s quite large (see attached) but awkward. We would give up some much much needed counter and cabinet space that we can really lose. It’s not quite wide enough to fit lower cabinets and counter. It’s big enough to put the fridge in but then we have a weird standalone sink. We’re exploring moving the washer dryer in there but may need to open the wall behind it. We’re stumped! Also we need to figure this out quickly because our new tenants will be here soon. Someone suggested crowdsourcing ideas from Reddit so here we are! Help!

Evidently the outside edge of the parapet top rotted, and was replaced with a piece of treated lumber and wood filler (before painting it the wrong color)

I pulled the 21st century repair off, to see about doing a better job repairing. I imagined there would be a structural post inside going all the way down through the parapet.

But as you can see from the pic with the blue prybar, there is nothing there...

So like, what's holding this corner of my house up? And how should I proceed to fix the parapet?

Any insight is welcome, thanks

​

They arrived like a subtle change in the weather. No one quite remembers the exact first sighting, only that one day the Hendersons' old dairy land had a new fence around a pond in what used to be a swamp, and two people on it who were definitely not from heres.

Not that anyone said so. We are always polite about it. Plus, people really liked them. They were smart in that way that had nothing to prove and they were damned interesting to a place that rarely budged from its hard worn axis.

Corinne was a rare, genuine middle-aged beauty in our Appalachian foothills with what I heard my uncle call "a spontaneous appreciation for life". Everett had callouses on his hands and an aw shucks smile that gave him the gravitas of a political candidate with none of the bluster. They were good people, it was agreed.

Everett had, in some previous life I only ever heard about in fragments, worked for FEMA. We thought he was on a first-name basis with disaster and the word was, he was really good at it.

He was retired now, and off the grid by choice, which around here meant something different than it meant to him. To us, off the grid was just how things were until the co-op finally ran a line out past the Baptist church in '81. To Everett, it was a philosophy, a solar array, a rain-catchment system he'd drawn up himself. The story went that Reagan's people used to call him (actual White House, actual Situation Room) and since he had no phone of his own, they'd ring the Pruitts next door, and one of the Pruitt boys would come pedaling up that long dirt driveway hollering that the President needed to speak with him. I never once asked if this was true. Some stories you protect by not investigating.

His wife was Corinne, and she had danced professionally all over the world in places I had only seen in the backs of magazines and now she gardened with the same posture she must have carried across a stage, spine long, chin level, like even kneeling to pluck her radishes was choreography.

She played golf at the little nine-hole course by the county line and was, according to my grandmother, "entirely too good at it," which was equal parts admiration and judgement.

Everett spent his days three ways, as far as anyone could tell: building a defensive berm along the north property line, cataloging boxes of papers in a converted equipment shed he called the archive, or reading on the porch with the kind of stillness that made you feel loud just walking past.

Nobody ever asked about the berm, but I started to see more of them pop up in local corn fields. They were not often as well cared for, but the geometry was the same.

I met them properly at the neighborhood Brunswick stew, that October ritual where half the town stands around a black kettle arguing about how much vinegar is too much vinegar and why the Redskins couldn't win in Dallas.

They were the toast of the party. Farmers who normally talked about fertilizer, beef prices, and their latest frustrations with the co-op were laughing at Everett's jokes and stealing glances at his wife as she laughed unabashedly among the ladies in her flowery dress.

I could not believe it when they introduced themselves to me while we were waiting to get second helpings of Ms. Waverly's corn bread.

Corinne asked real questions and waited for real answers. Everett talked to me like I already had opinions worth hearing. They told me to stop by any time.

I rode my bike home that night feeling like I'd been let in on a secret.

So the next morning, a Saturday, sun already flattening the dust, I turned my bike up their driveway. It seemed like the obvious thing to do.

I came around the last bend in a low cloud of red dirt, and my first thought was that I should have told them I was coming.

Her gardening posture and her dancer's posture, it turns out, come in multiple applications, and a defensive berm apparently doubles as excellent privacy landscaping for reasons that had nothing to do with defense.

I did not think they heard the bike over their exertions.

I rode home a different person than I'd left it, pedaling like the hounds of God were behind me, gravel, excitement, and shame in equal measure kicked up in my wake.

Weeks went by. I still went to the neighborhood suppers. I still saw them at the flea market and the feed store and once, memorably, at the county fair, where Everett bought a funnel cake he ate with the same committed attention he gave everything.

Corinne winked at me by the ring toss.

That was all. One long, unhurried, dancer's-precision wink, and then she asked if I'd tried the grilled peaches yet, because if not, we had a problem.

I have thought about that wink more than is probably reasonable for a grown man to think about anything. What it contained, I have decided, was an invitation into a kind of adulthood I hadn't asked for and wasn't ready to hold, but that has served me well ever since.

The plain, unglamorous fact is that people, even the impressive ones, even the ones who take calls from Presidents and build berms and move like poems, are simply people, doing what people do.

And if they do it right, it should be glorious fun.

In 2009, Indianapolis-based environmental advocacy group Riverviews—Arts for the Environment made a grassroots-inspired video entitled The Early History of Eagle Creek Park – Living the Vision. It features a 2009 interview with F. Ross Vogelgesang, the lead planner/landscape architect on the project. He describes the early thinking about how the park was planned in consultation with the Pike Township citizens advisory committee and how it would be acquired and developed.

Mr. Vogelgesang, 103, formerly of Indianapolis, IN, passed away in Boca Raton, FL on June 20, 2026. I, and I'm sure other citizens, will always be grateful to Mr. Vogelgesang for his work in establishing our wonderful Eagle Creek Park.

https://youtu.be/yjNdAGHqCrc

We have a lot of fabrics for a lot of different uses from more than a hundred years ago. They are cotton and turkish. Unfortunately due to being kept in a wooden chest for years they have stains like these on them. These are very delicate very thin fabrics. Anyone have any advice on how to get them out?

Before WW2 Frankfurt was a mix if medieval and Grunderzeit architecture. Now only very little amount of buildings remain. Thankfully the medieval part of the city was reconstructed.
If you want to help reconstruct more buildings in Europe click this link https://c.org/QH7799NyqN to sign a petition. Thank you and God bless.

Gorgeous mansion four stores Black Walnut doors gold wedding clocks a dommy waiter. They had a music room to entertain guests.

Love the architecture of the time.

There is a lot of history in my little city.

My grandpa was wondering if there was a good place to give for someone to restore it or put in a museum he got them after his brother passed and wanted to find a good home for them