We Accidentally Bought a Bungalow

How a historic cottage became the seed of The Whiskey Porch and our “small-not-tiny” design philosophy

We didn’t really intend to buy an old bungalow. It was the last thing on our minds. But one day trip changed everything, and set us on a path toward reinvention that would eventually grow into The Whiskey Porch and our compass.

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From Comfort to Disconnect

At the time, we were living in Phoenix. We were juggling two stressful corporate jobs, two kids already out in the world, and our youngest (the twins) still in elementary school.

Our house was a modern, large tract home in Ahwatukee. It was comfortable, modern, and convenient to work and school. I had remodeled it completely when I bought it in 2005: plenty of space, a gorgeous pool, and a cozy garden where we hosted countless memorable gatherings.

But here’s the thing: it looked just like every other house on the block. And across Phoenix, for that matter. It did its job, but it never spoke to me. It wasn’t inspiring, just an expensive and practical solution while raising kids and working full tilt. Deep down, I knew I wouldn’t put down roots there.

Someday, I’d look for a place that felt like home.

A Serendipitous Find

On a whim, Michael and I started taking day trips up north to the mountains. Prescott drew us in - cooler air, ponderosa pine forests, historic streets, and only 2 hours away from the concrete sprawl of the big city.

At first, it was simply a getaway. But then we started browsing real estate listings, just for fun.

We found ourselves gravitating toward the old bungalows downtown. Even in 2010, in the middle of the recession, they were rare. So when a new listing appeared one day, almost by chance, it caught our eye.

We took the day off work, drove the 100 miles north, and walked through a shaggy, overgrown, yet charming historic bungalow. The next day we made an offer - simply because it just felt… right.

Suddenly, and almost unbelievably, we were the owners of a 1924 cottage in downtown Prescott.

Now what?!

The cottage as we first found it.

👉 Have you ever bought something big (like a house) mostly on gut instinct? I’d love to hear your story below.

Be Careful What You Wish For

As magical as it felt, the reality was less romantic. We were one of five offers (including investors with deeper pockets) and somehow ours was accepted.

While this house was a 1924 craftsman bungalow, and on the National Historic Register, it had been long forgotten.

It came “as is” which meant holes in the walls, no functioning heater, no insulation, and mysterious stains on the ceilings. It offered drafty original windows, a tiny 1,100 square feet, and a property smothered in chain-link fence and overgrowth.

Starting to clear some of the chaos and overgrowth so we could see what we had to work with.

Prescott itself was an unknown, too. Much of the investment in town had shifted to the outskirts, leaving the historic center worn and neglected. This street was on the original plat maps from the mid-1800’s and it looked like it hadn’t seen much upkeep since the early 20th century.

We knew we were taking a risk - especially in the depths of the recession and there was no guarantee that the house, the property, or the neighborhood would prove to be a worthwhile investment.

Still, it felt like the right time, the right place, the right house.

In the end, we simply followed our hearts.

The Long Game

The real question became: could we actually make it livable?

Since we still worked and lived in Phoenix, a 2-hour drive away, progress was limited to weekends. We cleaned up the inside with paint and a few minimal tweaks, then turned our focus outside.

Selfishly, we wanted to soak up every possible moment outdoors in the cool mountain air.

Weekend progress in high gear. One tiny step at a time.

Those years became a balancing act.

The plan that emerged focused on the long-term: in eight or nine years, when the twins headed to college, we would downsize fully - selling the Phoenix house and moving to the bungalow full-time.

That meant weekends filled with DIY projects, yard clean-ups, and what I call “extreme power-gardening.” With only two days a week, I had to create the garden of my dreams at high speed - shovel, haul, dig, repeat. It was exhausting but deeply satisfying. (Thankfully, we were younger!)

And then there was the commute: two hours up the mountain (if we were lucky), two hours back down. Each trip meant loading up the car with the kiddos, their homework, the cooler with food, the dog, the cat, lists of to-dos. Over and over again. For eight years.

Moments of Doubt & Overwhelm

We had created a very specific vision of a smaller and simpler life. And this was our chance to invest in that future.

There were plenty of moments when it felt like too much. Money was extremely tight, time was tighter, and the kids didn’t always share our vision. Doubts crept in. Overwhelm was constant.

But we held onto the vision. Year by year, the cottage was cleaned up, the garden began to bloom, and we fell more in love with the house, the neighborhood, and historic Prescott itself.

Eight years passed in what now feels like a blink. We sold the big city house and began sorting through all the stuff we’d accumulated - throwing away and donating masses of it. At last, we were finally in our little cottage full-time.

But that’s not the end…

In 2019, after all that waiting and “making do,” we finally dove headfirst into the massive gut-renovation of the main house, followed by the carriage house.

Because apparently, our idea of “simpler” meant several more years of even harder work and chaos. (More to come on that tale…)

Looking back from the other side, I can tell you: it was worth every bit of the effort. Today, this is our dream home - the one we plan to stay in happily for the “duration.”

And finally, Ibis -the-yellow-lab greeting you from our dream home in Prescott, Arizona.

👉 If you dream of a smaller, simpler life - what does that look like for you? Let me know in the comments below.

The Little House that Could

This little bungalow became more than just a house. It was the seed of something larger - the idea that small doesn’t mean less. It can mean more. More intention, more soul, more connection to place and purpose.

That idea eventually shaped The Whiskey Porch and my “small-not-tiny” design philosophy. If you’d like dive deeper into what that means, I unpack it here:

The Myth of Tiny, The Magic of Small

So in the end, we didn’t just accidentally buy a bungalow. We accidentally found the life we’d been searching for all along.

What began as an accident became our compass. And it’s still guiding the way we live, design, and dream today.

With contentment & possibility,