In November 1996, at 3:30 a.m., a small Sarasota bungalow was moved under the cover of darkness. Sold for $1 and spared demolition, it was driven from Prospect Street along U.S. 41, Ringling Boulevard and South Osprey Avenue before being lowered onto an empty lot in Laurel Park.

Nearly three decades and multiple homeowners later, the house at 300 S. Osprey Ave. still honors its original character. And when Michelle and Paul van Deventer purchased the property in 2020, they weren’t just buying square footage—they were stepping into the world of restoring old homes.

“We walked in and thought, ‘This is the cutest house of all time,’” Michelle says. For her, it was the living room that sealed the deal: the original fireplace, the built-in bookcase, the proportions that felt intimate rather than cramped.

Paul was less certain at first. “When Michelle showed it to me, I said, ‘We’re not doing this,’” he says.

The couple had just left a larger home on Siesta Key and were looking to downsize. This bungalow, charming as it was, needed work on everything. But Laurel Park offered what they wanted—the ability to walk downtown, neighbors they liked, a life less dependent on cars. And the house, for all its wear, had a solid shell.

“It was full of great opportunities,” says interior designer Jessica Bush, founder of Formed Home, who had already worked with the couple on several projects. Previous updates from the 1990s had modernized parts of the house, but not in a way that honored its origins. “You could see the potential, but everything had to be touched,” she says. “We wanted to make it look like it had always been there.”

That meant restraint as much as renovation. The original plaster walls in the living room were preserved, with a picture rail system used to hang art since nails couldn’t pierce the rock-hard plaster. The fireplace—crowned with a carved sunburst medallion—was repainted, its hearth replaced with soapstone, and its mantle capped in marble.

In the foyer, worn ceramic tile gave way to a small-scale, black-and-white stone checkerboard. Three-quarter beadboard wraps the lower walls; wallpaper climbs above and continues onto the ceiling; a simple globe fixture hangs overhead. “Beadboard protects the walls,” Bush says. “Wallpaper and crown molding set the tone for the home.”

The kitchen became the heart of the transformation. “It has all these details that make my heart happy,” Bush says.

Cream inset cabinetry built by Magnolia Cabinet Co. is fitted with exposed antique brass hinges and cabinet feet. Seeded-glass uppers sit above dark perimeter counters, while a marble-topped island rests on turned legs and casters. A reproduction farmhouse sink centers the window.

Then there’s the blue. When Michelle first saw the robin's egg blue retro range and refrigerator, she was smitten. “That’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen,” she says. Paul’s initial response was immediate: “No way.”

But Bush knew they could take the risk. The cabinetry, tile and brass hardware were calibrated around that choice. A few weeks later, Paul pivoted. Now, he says, “I love it.”

Bush’s broader philosophy resists sterility. “People are making homes look like hotels,” she says. “I wish they would see them as an extension of themselves. Add colors, layers and bring in life.” In the van Deventers’ bathroom, that life appears in grasscloth-printed wisteria wallpaper, basketweave and penny tile, a marble-topped vanity sourced and modified after an extended search, and vintage-style push-button switches.

Not all of the work is visible. The house was lifted and set on a new foundation. Electrical, plumbing and HVAC systems were replaced. An attic fan—a remnant from before air conditioning—was removed, restored and reinstalled. “In the autumn, you open the windows and run the fan, and it cools the house down by four or five degrees,” Paul says.

But historic renovations rarely unfold cleanly. “You don’t know what you’re
going to find when you open things up,” Paul says. The 2024 hurricane season delayed progress. The couple added rafter straps for storm security, which required revised permitting. Through it all, they leaned on general contractor Brandon Graber. “If you don’t have a general contractor you trust implicitly, you can’t do this,” Paul says.

The finished house feels neither staged nor nostalgic. Narrow-plank floors match the original scale. Five-panel doors are fitted with porcelain knobs. The re-planed wood front door was built from salvaged beams. The screened porch is distinctly Florida.

“It’s like a little dollhouse,” Michelle says. “I love every single room.”

Nearly a century after it was first built and almost 30 years after it rolled through downtown in the dark, the bungalow has carefully returned to itself.