Part One of the That 90s Ranch Entryway Series
If you’ve ever driven through the countryside outside of Springfield, Missouri, you’ve probably noticed something charming and slightly puzzling about the homes built here in the 1990s. When this part of the Ozarks was just beginning to boom — when young families were buying small plots of two or three acres, digging their own wells, installing septics, and dreaming up floor plans without the help of an architect — they built homes that worked for them. Practical. Personal. And occasionally, a little quirky by conventional standards.
My 90s ranch is no exception.
From the outside, my entryway looks a little odd. The front door faces west, flanked by a sidelite that throws off any sense of symmetry. There’s a storm door that reflects everything and photographs nothing well.
Step inside though, and suddenly it all makes perfect sense.
The foyer opens up beautifully. A navy blue accent wall anchors the space with confidence. A Persian rug in rich reds and blues grounds the hardwood floors. A vintage coat rack stands sentinel by the front door, and the light fixture overhead casts a warm, welcoming glow. It’s a real home, lived in and loved, full of personality that no cookie-cutter floor plan could have predicted. The tray ceiling does not sit in the center of the room which drive me bonkers, and the windows are crazy narrow which was seems to be customary at the time of construction.
This is the story of so many homes built in this corner of Missouri during that era. The builders — our parents, our neighbors, ourselves — were practical people solving practical problems on their own terms. If the lot sloped a certain way, the door went where it made sense. If the family needed a side entrance for muddy boots and grocery runs, that door got built where it worked, not where a designer might have placed it for curb appeal.
I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately as I’ve been working to improve the photography for my Etsy shop, RonnieKayDesign, where I sell handmade floral wreaths. Good wreath photography requires a good door. And good door photography, it turns out, requires thinking creatively about what you actually have — and what you can coax it into becoming.
So that overlooked 32-inch side door coming off of the garage? Oof! The one that faces south and catches the most gorgeous afternoon light you’ve ever seen bouncing off warm Missouri brick? That’s my project now.
Over the next few posts I’m going to share how I’m transforming this quirky little side entrance — painting, styling, and staging it — into both a functional entryway and a photography backdrop I’m actually proud of. No professional contractor. No big budget. Just a woman, her paint brushes, and a deep appreciation for the perfectly imperfect homes that this corner of the Ozarks built for itself.
Because sometimes the quirkiest parts of your home turn out to be the most interesting.
Stay tuned for Part Two, where I tackle the paint and show you the before and after of the side door transformation.
That 90's Ranch 