A New Chapter in Western Massachusetts

When Miguel and I moved to Western Massachusetts, it wasn’t just about geography; it was about building something new, something rooted in both purpose and growth. We left behind the rhythm of Providence for the quieter, steadier pace of the suburbs, trading city noise for wooded backroads and wider skies. The move was intentional. I wanted better educational opportunities for Miguel, more space to breathe, and a fresh start where we could grow into the next chapter of our lives.

The house we found wasn’t flashy. It was an older Colonial built in 1910 with good bones and history in its walls, creaky floorboards that told stories, crown molding that had seen generations come and go, a wide open foyer with beautiful columns that opened up into the living area. I could see its potential the moment I walked in, and I made a silent promise then: to preserve the soul of this home, but give it a new heartbeat, ours.

Decorating became more than a project. It was a process of listening to the house, to myself, and even to what I imagined Miguel might remember years from now. I started slow. The original woodwork was stunning, with aged oak doorframes, carved bannisters, and wide baseboards. So I made a choice early on: no tearing out. Instead, I restored what I could, sanding, polishing, letting the craftsmanship breathe again. Where walls needed paint, I leaned into light grey flat matte finish and bold black accent walls. Shades that spoke to strength, calm, and a grounded masculinity. The kind that doesn’t shout, but carries weight.

In the living room, I mixed mid-century furniture with more traditional pieces, leather, walnut, and steel. I kept the original fireplace but re-tiled the hearth with matte black stone. A balance of history and now. The dining room got a long, handmade table. Solid wood, clean lines. Every meal shared there would feel intentional.

Miguel’s room was a different kind of joy. He helped choose the theme, a black on black and bright white trim, and together we picked out art for the walls: space prints, a framed map of constellations, and a corkboard for whatever inspired him that season. His bookshelf grew taller, filled with stories, science kits, and LEGO sets.

Throughout the house, I added small details that felt like us. Vintage brass light switches. Soft wool throws on deep couches. A curated mix of art: black-and-white photography, abstract pieces with texture, and a few thrifted treasures that felt like they had their own secret pasts.

It took time. Every corner was a conversation between the house’s legacy and our new story. But slowly, room by room, we built a home that felt like both a respect for where we were, and a declaration of where we’re going.

Now, on quiet mornings when Miguel is reading at the breakfast nook, and the light spills across the original pine floors, I know we made the right move. This home, this town, it’s ours now. And every piece of it holds a part of our journey.