I have a thing for doors and doorknobs. In more than a few places we've lived, the front door has been what sealed the deal for me. It's weird, I know. Doors, old ones in particular, can have such character. They speak volumes about old houses and the people who have inhabited them. This door is the entrance to our teeny tiny downstairs bathroom. It's made from old growth Douglas fir, and it had been covered with many, many layers of paint until it was lovingly stripped down to it's beautiful clear grain by a friend and his dad who really appreciate the beauty of old wood.
I had originally intended to paint it, but I've since decided I love its honest, worn quality and all the scars.
I hope I look this good when I'm 101.