THE SALT LAKE HOUSE

Salt Lake City has a certain kind of house.

You know it when you see it.

Brick.

One story.

Basement.

Probably built sometime between Truman and Nixon.

A driveway barely wide enough for one car.

A detached garage that's somehow both tiny and enormous depending on what you're trying to put inside it.

Three bedrooms upstairs that would collectively fit inside the primary suite of a new-build in Draper.

Beautiful original hardwood hiding beneath something unfortunate.

And a basement that has clearly experienced several distinct architectural eras.

I like these houses.

Rose Park ramblers.

Sugar House bungalows.

Glendale cottages.

Poplar Grove.

Fairpark.

Liberty Wells.

The Avenues.

Capitol Hill.

Millcreek.

Murray.

South Salt Lake.

Across the Salt Lake Valley, our houses tell you when they were built, how people lived when they were built, and approximately how many people have attempted to improve them since.

Sometimes successfully.

Sometimes with one screw and tremendous self-confidence.

The Salt Lake House is where I talk about them.

THIS ISN'T GENERIC HOME-IMPROVEMENT ADVICE

There are approximately seventeen billion articles online titled:

10 THINGS EVERY HOMEOWNER SHOULD KNOW

Fine.

But your house isn't generic.

A 1951 rambler in Rose Park has different problems than a 2021 townhouse in Daybreak.

A century-old bungalow in Liberty Wells has different details than a 1970s split-level in Murray.

A house near the benches deals with its site differently than one closer to the Jordan River.

And Salt Lake's climate isn't exactly neutral.

We've got:

hot summers

cold winters

snow

freeze-thaw cycles

intense high-elevation sun

dry air

irrigation

and dramatic seasonal temperature swings.

Your fence knows.

Your deck knows.

Your exterior doors definitely know.

This section of the Digital Vault is about houses here.

THE POSTWAR SALT LAKE RAMBLER

This might be the quintessential Salt Lake house.

Especially once you move west of downtown.

Simple footprint.

Low roofline.

Brick exterior.

Compact bedrooms.

Hardwood floors.

Basement.

Practical construction.

Not particularly interested in impressing anybody.

I respect that.

A lot of these houses were built during Salt Lake's postwar expansion, and they've now had 60, 70 or 80 years to accumulate modifications.

Which means the house you're buying today may contain:

the original 1950s structure

a 1970s basement

a 1990s kitchen

a 2008 bathroom

and

whatever somebody did to that closet during COVID.

That's not inherently bad.

It's just something you need to understand.

Old houses are layered.

ROSE PARK

Rose Park deserves its own conversation.

You've got a huge collection of modest mid-century houses that can be surprisingly good little homes.

They're not enormous.

That's part of the point.

The challenge is making modern life fit into a house designed when people owned approximately:

four shirts,

one television,

and apparently no shoes.

So when I'm looking at a Rose Park house, I'm thinking about:

storage

closets

built-ins

garage organization

doors

original trim

basement functionality

fences

gates

outdoor living

and how to make every square foot actually work.

You don't necessarily need a bigger house.

You may need your existing house to stop wasting space.

SUGAR HOUSE

Sugar House gives you a different flavor.

Bungalows.

Cottages.

Brick houses.

Older additions.

Remodels on top of remodels.

Beautiful original details sitting six feet away from something somebody installed in 1987 that makes absolutely no architectural sense.

These houses can reward restraint.

You don't have to erase the age.

Sometimes the best improvements are the ones that make the original house feel more like itself:

repair the trim,

restore a good door,

improve storage,

fix awkward transitions,

build something into an unusable nook,

and stop covering every surviving piece of character with gray LVP.

I said what I said.

LIBERTY WELLS & CENTRAL SALT LAKE

Now we're getting into houses where I become particularly suspicious of what's behind things.

Older homes.

Older framing.

Older finishes.

More generations of modification.

Potentially beautiful woodwork.

Potentially weird woodwork.

Sometimes both in the same doorway.

This is where you really want to understand what you're touching before you start ripping things out.

Especially in pre-1978 homes, renovation work that disturbs painted surfaces can involve lead-safe requirements. The EPA's Renovation, Repair and Painting program covers certain paid renovation work in older housing.

So yes, that old painted window casing might be gorgeous underneath.

No, we're not attacking it with a belt sander in your dining room like we're trying to summon Victorian dust.

Old houses require some respect.

THE AVENUES

The Avenues is where Salt Lake starts showing off.

Older houses.

More architectural variety.

Victorian-era influences.

Period details.

Historic properties.

And houses where replacing something with the nearest available product from the hardware store can be a genuine aesthetic crime.

This is where I care even more about:

proportion

trim profiles

original doors

hardware

woodwork

appropriate repairs

and understanding what actually belongs to the architecture.

Some properties may also fall within historic districts or other preservation frameworks, so exterior work can require additional consideration.

Before you tear something historic off the front of the house:

Maybe don't.

Let's investigate first.

FAIRPARK & POPLAR GROVE

These neighborhoods contain some of the most interesting opportunities for practical home improvement.

Older houses.

Modest footprints.

Properties that have often been adapted over time.

And plenty of places where relatively straightforward improvements can make a house function dramatically better.

I'm looking at:

awkward storage,

small entries,

basement spaces,

garage organization,

fences,

gates,

exterior wood,

doors,

trim,

and all those little finish problems that accumulate over decades.

These are houses where $2,000 spent intelligently can sometimes matter more than $20,000 spent cosmetically.

Fix the stuff you touch every day.

GLENDALE

Glendale gives you another mix of postwar homes, later development and properties that have changed significantly over time.

Again:

I like the practical stuff.

Can we make the garage work better?

Can we repair the fence instead of replacing all of it?

Can we turn a useless wall into storage?

Can we make the basement feel intentional?

Can we fix the seven doors that all have different personalities?

A home doesn't become better simply because you replace everything.

It becomes better when it works better.

SOUTH SALT LAKE

South Salt Lake is particularly interesting because the housing stock can change quickly from street to street.

You can encounter:

older cottages,

brick homes,

mid-century houses,

multifamily properties,

remodeled houses,

and newer development

within a relatively compact area.

That makes the phrase:

“What do houses around here usually need?”

almost meaningless.

Show me the house.

That's always better.

MILLCREEK, HOLLADAY & THE EAST BENCH

Different houses.

Different lots.

Different eras.

But the same rule applies:

Architecture matters.

Site matters.

Exposure matters.

And especially with exterior carpentry, where something sits on the property matters.

A west-facing wood gate getting hammered by afternoon sun is living a different life from one protected beneath an overhang.

A deck exposed to weather has different maintenance needs from a covered porch.

Wood doesn't care what neighborhood you're in.

It cares what you're doing to it.

MURRAY & THE MID-VALLEY HOUSE

Murray has a little bit of everything.

Older homes.

Mid-century houses.

Split-levels.

Ramblers.

Later suburban development.

And enough remodeling history to keep things interesting.

The 1960s and 1970s houses particularly have their own set of opportunities.

Storage may be better than the earliest postwar homes.

Floor plans may be larger.

But you can still encounter:

dated trim,

aging doors,

strange basement finishes,

old decks,

fences,

garage-storage problems,

and decades of incremental homeowner modifications.

Gary apparently lived in Murray too.

Gary got around.

WEST VALLEY & KEARNS

Postwar and later suburban houses often get dismissed because they don't have the architectural romance of an Avenues Victorian.

I disagree.

A modest house that works extremely well is a good house.

Period.

And these are exactly the kinds of properties where practical carpentry can earn its money.

Storage.

Garage shelving.

Closets.

Fence and gate repairs.

Entry systems.

Built-ins.

Trim.

Doors.

Decks.

Outdoor carpentry.

You don't need your house to become architectural history.

You need it to work for your life.

THE SALT LAKE BASEMENT

We need to discuss this separately.

Because the Salt Lake basement is its own architectural genre.

Upstairs:

perfectly respectable 1954 rambler.

Downstairs:

anything can happen.

Wood paneling.

Drop ceiling.

One suspiciously small bedroom.

A bar.

Three different kinds of flooring.

A bathroom that appears to have been constructed around an existing pipe.

A fireplace.

A closet beneath the stairs.

One room nobody knows what to call.

And a utility room containing every generation of the home's mechanical history.

Basements often evolve.

That's fine.

But before making one prettier, I want to understand:

moisture,

egress,

mechanical systems,

electrical,

plumbing,

structure,

and what we're actually allowed to do.

Then we can talk about trim.

THE SALT LAKE GARAGE

Also its own species.

Especially detached garages on older properties.

People complain that they're too small while simultaneously storing:

seven totes,

three bicycles,

a lawn mower,

Christmas,

camping equipment,

tools,

paint,

tires,

one chair nobody wants,

and seventeen pieces of wood labeled:

“Might need this.”

on the floor.

Look up.

Walls.

Ceiling height.

Corners.

Vertical space.

Before deciding you need a bigger garage, let's make the garage you own function like one.

THE SALT LAKE FENCE

This thing has been through it.

Sun.

Snow.

Irrigation.

Wind.

Freeze.

Heat.

Dogs.

Children.

Neighbors.

One vine somebody thought would look cute.

And somehow homeowners are shocked when a fence eventually leans.

The important thing is figuring out what's actually failing.

Boards?

Easy.

Rail?

Maybe.

One post?

Interesting.

Eight posts?

Different conversation.

A fence that looks old doesn't necessarily need replacement.

A fence that can't remain upright is making a stronger argument.

THE WEST-FACING DOOR

You want to learn about Utah sun?

Own a west-facing exterior door.

Exterior materials can take a beating depending on exposure.

Paint fades.

Finishes deteriorate.

Wood moves.

Weatherstripping ages.

Doors start behaving differently.

This is why I don't like universal maintenance advice.

Two identical doors installed on opposite sides of the same Salt Lake house may age differently.

Exposure matters.

Your house is not experiencing weather evenly.

THE SPRINKLER V. FENCE WAR

I see you.

Your sprinkler hits the fence.

Every morning.

For fifteen minutes.

All summer.

Then we wonder why the bottom of the fence looks terrible.

Adjust the sprinkler.

Please.

Utah irrigation systems are supposed to water landscaping.

Not:

fences,

decks,

siding,

garage doors,

or the neighbor's Camry.

Sometimes the cheapest wood repair is preventing the wood from needing repair.

WHY DO SO MANY SALT LAKE HOUSES HAVE WEIRD LITTLE SPACES?

Because houses evolve.

A doorway gets closed.

A furnace moves.

A closet gets added.

A kitchen changes.

The basement gets finished.

A chimney creates an obstruction.

An addition meets the original house.

Suddenly you've got:

a 19-inch alcove,

a three-foot dead wall,

a strange hallway corner,

or a closet shaped like Utah.

This is exactly where custom carpentry gets useful.

Normal furniture expects normal geometry.

I do not.

DON'T FLIP THE PERSONALITY OUT OF YOUR HOUSE

This is my biggest complaint about some renovations.

Every house becomes:

white walls,

gray floor,

black hardware,

white shaker cabinets,

same light fixtures,

same bathroom,

same everything.

Perfect.

We've successfully made a 1924 bungalow, a 1953 rambler and a 1987 split-level look like they were all constructed inside the same Home Depot.

Your house already has an identity.

Find it.

You don't need to preserve every ugly thing because it's old.

But keep the good stuff.

Repair:

interesting doors,

original woodwork,

useful built-ins,

good hardwood,

period details,

and architectural quirks worth saving.

Then modernize the things that actually make the house difficult to live in.

That's a renovation philosophy I can get behind.

THE BEST SALT LAKE HOUSE ISN'T THE BIGGEST ONE

A well-designed small house can be excellent.

Especially when you've got:

good storage,

functional rooms,

useful outdoor space,

a garage that actually works,

well-maintained doors and windows,

and details that make the house feel intentional.

That's why I like carpentry in smaller homes.

You can make space perform better.

A built-in doesn't add square footage.

But it can make existing square footage substantially more useful.

A storage bench doesn't enlarge the entry.

It makes the entry stop sucking.

That's real improvement.

WHAT I'M LOOKING FOR WHEN I WALK INTO YOUR HOUSE

I'm not immediately thinking:

What can I sell this person?

I'm looking at:

Where does stuff accumulate?

What doesn't work?

What have you developed a workaround for?

What's original?

What's been changed?

What's worth preserving?

What looks unfinished?

Where is space being wasted?

What's deteriorating?

What's annoying you?

And—very importantly—

what shouldn't I touch?

Because sometimes the best handyman advice is:

Call an electrician.

Call a plumber.

Call an HVAC technician.

Call a general contractor.

Get that evaluated first.

Then call me back when we're ready to make the door stop hitting the floor.

THIS IS THE SALT LAKE HOUSE

That's what this part of the Digital Vault is about.

Not dream houses.

Not celebrity houses.

Not $6 million Park City compounds with seventeen bathrooms and a dedicated room for skis.

Your house.

The 1948 brick rambler.

The 1920s bungalow.

The 1970s split-level.

The Rose Park starter home.

The Sugar House cottage.

The Murray basement.

The Fairpark garage.

The Glendale backyard.

The Millcreek fence.

The house you're slowly fixing while living in it.

Those houses deserve good work too.

Actually—

those are my favorite ones.

GOT A SALT LAKE HOUSE?

Tell me:

where it is,

when it was built,

and

what's driving you crazy.

Even better, send pictures.

I'll tell you what I'd look at first.

Doors.

Trim.

Storage.

Built-ins.

Fence.

Gate.

Deck.

Garage.

Cabinets.

Wood repair.

The weird alcove nobody has known what to do with since 1957.

Especially that.

Call or text Bradley:
(801) 644-3329

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