Growing up, I don’t think we had anything other than our subfloor. Of course, my parents could confirm this. We lived in an old farmhouse with wide floor planks that my mother spent hours sanding smooth and varnishing at least once in my memory.
Wednesday night, the Husband ripped up the hardwood to reveal a weird patterned fabric and vinyl, then pulled that up to expose the pale subfloor beneath. It instantly reminded me of my childhood home, with its knots, gaps, and imperfections.