09/26/2025
We’re beginning a renovation right now that’s a little different than most. Not because of how it looks when it’s done... well, partly. But a lot because of what had to happen first.
In order to build this one the right way, we had to lift the house up off its original foundation. We mean that literally. Steel I-beams were slid under the structure, and cribbing stacked like big Jenga towers with a web of pneumatic jacks carefully staged around the perimeter. Inch by inch the entire home was raised about three feet into the air. Not so much by brute force as by precision. And not for show or even utility, but for survival.
Only after this step can we begin to retrofit a new foundation underneath it. One that belongs to this century. And that protects the structure from water and time. One that can carry the investment, the labor, and the memory of a place forward; maybe for another hundred years or more.
We disconnected the utilities, every mechanical fastening between the home and original foundation. We cut it loose from the past.
This is what historic preservation looks like in Charleston in the 21st century. The foundation itself, though once poured with the idea that it might be the only thing still standing come Hell or high water, has proven to be a sacrificial element.
All homes have sacrificial elements though. Paint, roofs, even siding. These things need maintenance as long as they can last. And eventually need replacement to save the greater historical record. Toady, it was the foundation.
Preservation is full of contradictions. We debate them and evolve our understanding of them daily in Charleston. Grappling with these contradictions is where the Lord’s work gets done. Historic preservation is not always as clean as textbook instruction. It’s often about making judgment calls that maintain the fidelity of the historical record.
