Why I Share More Than Just Design

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The Lantern and Oak

Stories of Home. Timeless Living.

The Journal of Melissa LaRosa Interiors

Every home has a story. This is where we come to tell them.

Because home has always been about more than how a room looks.

There is something I’ve been wanting to explain a little more fully.

If you’ve followed Melissa LaRosa Interiors for a while, you may have noticed that lately I’m sharing more than interiors.

There are recipes.

Gardens.

Historic homes and the stories behind them.

Southern traditions. Places worth visiting. Seasonal moments. A beautifully set table. An old front porch. A meal that reminds us of home.

And yes, there is still plenty of design.

At first glance, those things may seem unrelated. But to me, they have never felt separate at all.

They are all part of the same story.

Home.

I’ve Never Believed a Beautiful Home Ends With the Furniture

As an interior designer, I spend a great deal of time thinking about rooms—how they function, how they flow, what materials belong there, what should be preserved and what should change.

But the longer I do this work, the more convinced I become that the most memorable homes aren't necessarily the most perfectly designed ones.

They're the ones that feel like someone lives there.

The kitchen where everyone somehow ends up standing even though there are plenty of chairs.

The dining table that has hosted birthdays, holidays and ordinary Tuesday-night dinners.

The porch where someone sits with coffee before the rest of the house wakes up.

The garden planted years ago that comes back every spring.

The old staircase worn slightly in the center from generations of footsteps.

Those things matter to me just as much as the paint color on the walls.

Maybe more.

Because design gives us the setting.

Life gives it meaning.

Why Historic Homes Have Changed the Way I Look at Design

My growing love for historic homes has made this even clearer to me.

Walk into an old house and you immediately realize you aren't simply looking at architecture.

You're looking at evidence of people's lives.

A deep windowsill where someone may have sat to read.

A dining room designed long before open-concept living.

A front porch built when visiting with neighbors was simply part of the rhythm of the day.

Original millwork created by someone who expected it to remain for generations.

These houses remind us that homes were never intended to be disposable.

They were meant to hold stories.

And as I continue learning more about historic architecture and preservation, I find myself thinking differently about my own work as a designer.

I don't only want to ask:

How can we make this room beautiful?

I also want to ask:

What belongs here?

What should we protect?

How will this family actually live here?

And what might still be here long after we're gone?

That is a very different way of thinking about design.

The Garden Is Part of the Home, Too

Then there are gardens.

I've always loved the idea that the experience of home doesn't stop at the back door.

The hydrangeas beside an old porch.

An herb garden close enough to the kitchen that you can step outside while you're cooking.

A climbing rose that's been allowed to become a little unruly.

A huge oak tree that has shaded the same house for decades.

Historically, gardens weren't simply decorative. They were useful, social and deeply connected to everyday life.

And I think we've lost a little of that connection.

So when I share gardens here, I'm not suddenly becoming a gardening account.

I'm exploring another room of the home—one without walls.

And Yes, There Will Be Recipes

This one might seem like the biggest departure from interior design.

But is it really?

We design kitchens because people will cook in them.

We choose dining tables because people will gather around them.

We select dishes, linens, lighting and chairs because eventually someone we love will sit down there.

Food is one of the oldest ways human beings have created a sense of home.

Recipes get passed between generations. Certain smells can take us back to childhood before we've even realized what's happening. Families have dishes they make every Christmas, every Sunday or every summer when the peaches are finally good.

That's why recipes belong in The Lantern & Oak.

Not because I'm trying to become a food blogger.

Because good food brings people home to the table.

And isn't that one of the reasons we create beautiful homes in the first place?

I Want to Talk About the Way We Live

That's really what The Lantern & Oak is becoming.

It's not a departure from Melissa LaRosa Interiors.

It's an extension of it.

I want this to be a place where we can appreciate a beautiful room—but also talk about the old house it belongs to.

Where we can study architecture and preservation, but also notice the garden outside the window.

Where we can talk about beautiful kitchens and then actually make something in them.

Where travel isn't simply about where we went, but the old inn, historic neighborhood, garden or tradition we discovered while we were there.

Where the changing seasons give us a reason to notice our homes differently.

And where living beautifully doesn't mean living perfectly.

It means living meaningfully.

A Different Kind of Design Story

There will always be interiors here.

I love design far too much for there not to be.

But I want to tell a bigger story about it.

I want to explore why certain houses stay with us.

Why old homes make us curious about the people who came before us.

Why a porch can make strangers feel like neighbors.

Why gardens, recipes and traditions become part of a family's identity.

Why the smallest rituals often become the things our children remember.

And why creating a beautiful home isn't really about creating something impressive.

It's about creating a place where life can happen beautifully.

That's what I'm trying to build with The Lantern & Oak.

A collection of stories about home in the fullest sense of the word.

The architecture.

The interiors.

The gardens.

The food.

The traditions.

The people.

And all those ordinary little moments that, one day, we realize weren't ordinary at all.

Because ultimately, I don't believe the best homes are the ones that simply photograph beautifully.

I believe they're the ones that give us something worth remembering.

May your home always be a place where stories are gathered, seasons are celebrated and the porch light is left on a little longer.

— Melissa