For four years our front door was the color of weak coffee. It came with the house, a solid wood door on a 1958 brick ranch, and the brown had faded in the afternoon sun to something closer to cardboard. I never really looked at it. Then last month a neighbor pulled into our driveway by mistake, thinking we were the house two doors down, and I realized our place had no face at all. On Saturday we gave it one.
Choosing a color with a six-year-old
I brought home five paint swatches from the hardware store and taped them to the door. Lila voted for the red, then the yellow, then the red again. Ben said he liked whichever one I liked, which is both a kind answer and no help. I stood at the curb in the evening and squinted at each one against the brick.
Our brick is the old orange-red common to houses of that era around here, with white mortar and black shutters. Red disappeared against it. Yellow fought it. The one that looked right from the street was a deep, slightly gray green, the kind of color you'd find on an old garden gate. Lila agreed after I pointed out that it was the same color as the frog in her favorite book. Decision made.
What it took
This is one of the cheapest projects we've done on the house:
- One quart of exterior paint in a satin finish: $26
- One quart of exterior bonding primer: $19
- A sanding sponge, a small foam roller kit and an angled brush: $14
- Painter's tape and a drop cloth: already in the shed
Just under $60, and we used less than half of each quart. The rest is labeled in the shed for touch-ups.
How we did it
Waiting for the right morning
Early September here is still summer in every way that matters. It was in the low nineties most of last week, and the humidity hovers around the point where nothing dries. I read the can carefully, and it said the paint wanted mild temperatures and not too much moisture in the air. We waited for a front to come through, and Saturday morning it did: 68 degrees at seven, a dry breeze, and a high only in the mid-eighties. I started before breakfast.
The steps
- Take off what comes off. Ben removed the knob, the deadbolt plate and the brass kick plate and put the screws in a labeled sandwich bag. Anything that doesn't come off, like the hinges, got taped.
- Clean it properly. Four years of pollen, road dust and Lila's fingerprints. I scrubbed it with warm water and a little dish soap, rinsed it, and let it dry for half an hour.
- Scuff, don't strip. The old paint was sound, just faded, so I went over the whole door with a sanding sponge to dull the surface and give the primer something to grip. Then I wiped off the dust with a damp rag.
- Prime. One thin coat. Our door has six raised panels, so I did the recessed edges of each panel first with the brush, then the panels, then the rails across, then the stiles up and down. Following that order kept the brush marks going the same direction as the wood.
- Two coats of color. Same order, thin coats, about three hours apart. The first coat looked patchy and alarming. The second looked like a door.
We painted it in place, propped open on its hinges, which meant the house was open to the porch most of the day. Ben hung an old bedsheet across the doorway to keep out bugs and keep Pepper from investigating. Our beagle is old and curious and very much the type to lean on wet paint.
What went wrong
I painted the top edge of the door and forgot, and it stuck a little to the weatherstripping when we closed it that night. A gentle tug and a quick touch-up the next morning fixed it. Next time, I'd leave the edges for last and give them a full day before closing the door. I also dripped green on the brick step, which came off with a damp rag while it was fresh. Keep that rag handy.
The difference it made
When Ben put the hardware back on Sunday afternoon, I walked out to the curb again. It's hard to overstate how much one door changes a plain brick house. It looks cared for now, a little old-fashioned in the best way, like the house knows who lives in it.
Lila has started saying "the green door" when she gives friends directions, which is the best review I could ask for. A neighbor walking her dog stopped to say she liked it. And the mail carrier, who I'd swear never looked up from his bag before, waved at it. Or at me. I'm choosing to believe it was the door.
