Last summer, I became the reluctant owner of a 70s ranchburger. It sat on a hill, its low-slung roof barely visible on the hilltop, an architectural orphan with poor bones and no clear style. Rumor has it, the home had been built without blueprints, and over the years, it had been remodeled many times. It was a far cry from the gorgeous Mid-Century Modern that stood on the nearest hilltop, and it wasn't even close to being French Country, as the sales brochure had insisted.
But I saw great potential. I still do.