Some people dream of owning a Tudor home. Others a Georgian or a postmodern retreat. But it’s beyond most people’s imaginations to envision the home of their dreams being a former gas station, a stagecoach stop or deconsecrated church. Yet, around the country, tens of thousands are nesting in reincarnated homes with storied histories their owners love to share.

Some homes are a once-in-a-lifetime real estate find but that would be understating the odds for Pablo and Beverly Solomon. Their two-story ranch, built with two-feet thick limestone walls to protect against harsh Texas summer sun—as well as Comanches attacks—dates back a few lifetimes.

“Our house was witness to some very interesting episodes of Texas history,” Pablo Solomon says. The builder, Moses Hughes, was a Texas Ranger and a scout for Robert E. Lee prior to the Civil War when Lee was in this area fighting the Comanches.

“When my wife, Beverly, and I purchased the property 20 years ago, everyone thought we were crazy,” Solomon recalls. While friends and family recognized the beauty of a Texas Hill Country ranch with a spring-fed creek and centuries-old oak trees, they scratched their heads at the negatives. And, says Solomon, “the cons were numerous and obvious. “Termites, wood ants, wood rot, bad plumbing and scant electrical power.”

The couple saw beyond the flaws. They signed the contract of sale ten minutes after touring the property.

For the first two years, the Solomons did nothing but work on the house. “There was so little electric power that at night I could only run one electric tool and one light.” Without air conditioning, they’d cool off in their creek or horse trough. The experience, he says, taught them both about the many adaptations to the environment “the early pioneers learned from the Native Peoples.”

Solomon, an artist and sculptor, says the historic home has impacted their design approach “in a wonderful way.” The stone walls make dramatic settings for his art as well for as the extensive art, antiques and artifacts collection they’ve accumulated over the years.

Like the Solomons, many homeowners are often mindful of the roles they play as temporary stewards of a structure that gets passed down to history. A priority is carrying out alterations of these ageless beauties without compromising the authenticity of the architecture.

Interior Designer Sarah Barnhard, of Los Angeles-based Sarah Barnard Design, has been transforming historic homes in southern California. She says there are often a number of challenges she faces and tough decisions homeowners must make when taking on the responsibility of an antique property. “The first one starts with the condition of the home in which you found it.” Is it relatively intact? Or are there issues related to safety and stability? “Once you resolve structural issues, then you can move on to an examination of the floor plan, which are often awkward and ill-suited to contemporary lifestyles and aesthetics,” she says. Owners must decide whether to keep historic details and elements or make compromises in an effort to boost efficiency, lower maintenance requirements and enhance durability.

The monthly walks attract a core of regulars that includes church and mediation groups, families and co-workers. In the summer, tourists add to the roles. It’s a special time to be here. The sun setting through the church’s stained glass windows sheds an ethereal light.

Song’s development, now known as Motor Row Lofts, consists of three buildings that retain their original wood timbers, mosaic flooring, exposed bricks and soaring ceiling heights. These days, oversized windows allow sunshine to pour into the units. A century ago, these same windows prominently showcased brand new automobiles.

“In Chicago, since the great fire, it’s pretty rare to find great existing structures. However, the city is rich in history,” Song says. But she adds, “It’s not about just holding onto the past. It’s about taking the past to build the future. These buildings have gone ignored and now seeing them restored to their full glory is amazing. I get to be a small part of that building’s history.”

The feeling of being part of something historic is the common thread that binds homeowners, each period home so distinctive, each in its own way. There’s the residence outside Wichita, Kansas, that was first a school, then a radio station. The Westchester, New York, home that started out as a Dutch mill. When the homeowners bought it, they discovered hay between the plank floors in the master bedroom.

An orthodox synagogue in Miami Beach is now a private dwelling called The Temple House. What was once the B & O Railroad Grain Terminal, the world’s fastest grain elevator, located in Baltimore, Maryland, is being transformed into a luxury residential development called Silo Point. And in Traverse City, Michigan, the one-time Northern Michigan Asylum, a complex built in the late 1880s, has been rescued from the wrecking ball and reincarnated into The Village at Grand Traverse. Its eight-foot windows, wide corridors and thick brick walls have become architectural jewels of the coveted new residential units.

Ah, if only these walls could talk.

Michael Sand, a realtor with Chobee Hoy Associates Real Estate in Brookline, Mass., specializes in adaptive reuse of space, the process of taking old, obsolete structures that have outlived their original purposes and breathing new life into them. Adaptive reuse is prevalent in commercial ventures where, say, factories have become museums, gas stations have become restaurants and even churches have become nightclubs. It’s a growing trend in the residential sector, championed by historic preservationists. Sand, for instance, has lived in a one-time factory, gas station, slaves’ quarters and bank and has clients who live in equally unusual quarters like churches, libraries and firehouses.

“The trend of reclaiming historic and industrial sites for residential use is growing in those areas of the country where manufacturing has disappeared, but vacant well-built structures endure, often in locations where roads and rails convene,” Sand says. The movement first began as northern industries moved south, then abroad to newer, more efficient production facilities and less-expensive labor markets.

“From my personal perspective, I love living in these spaces because they afford an opportunity to utilize remarkable special features one can’t find in normal domiciles, often brick surfaces, wide doorways, industrial-strength hardware and adjacent parking.” The flip side? Industrial neighborhoods are often in areas where essential services like banks, bookstores and groceries lag behind. “If you’re the pioneer, there is often a lot of speculation or risk about how long it will be before the neighborhood catches up,” Sand says.

That doesn’t daunt him. “These are among the town’s oldest and best-built structures to be found. They preserve the unique character of a place. They are a perfect example of recycling.”

Converting industrial space to residential use was unknown in downtown Tucson, Arizona, until a group of visionaries spotted an old ice and cold storage building for sale and had a notion of reconfiguring the space into condominium lofts.

The building, situated next to the tracks, was built in 1923 to service the “fruit express” railroad. Trains would stop at the building to load ice onto the fruit cars. Randi Dorman is one of the developers, along with husband and architect Rob Paulus and partners Warren Michaels and Phil Lipman.

“Within a day or two of looking at the property, Rob sketched out what the building could be--the first loft project in Tucson. Fourteen days later we owned it.”

Dorman says, “Everyone thought we were nuts, that we were going to lose everything.” The industrial neighborhood had been struggling with revitalization for a while. “But the building had gorgeous bones. It had great brick and concrete and steel.” According to Dorman, most of the partners in the venture hailed from cities like New York, Chicago and Boston and knew that loft conversions could be successful. The time was right for Tucson, they agreed. They bought the building in May 2002 and three years later the first owners moved into the 61-unit condo complex.

In his design, Paulus juxtaposed the old brick, concrete and original trusses with the new. He also reused a lot of the materials. Miles of refrigerant piping was refashioned into fencing around the pool and as bike racks. Wood that once lined the inside of the walls was used as fencing for the front courtyards and as a handicap ramp. Three original compressors were placed outside the building as sculptural elements. “We also had fun locating two large hot-riveted steel tanks as markers for the main entryway,” explains Paulus. “These tanks were originally used as water purifiers for the ice making process.” Even knobs from the old machinery were repurposed as handles on the courtyard gates.

Dorman says developing the property was a very personal endeavor, not just for her and her partners but for the community. “During construction, a number of people whose grandfathers or fathers worked in the ice factory came by to show us old photographs. It was touching and remarkable. This place has an authenticity lacking from new developments.”

The couple lives in a 2,200-square-foot unit marked by 23-foot ceilings, original wood ceilings, exposed brick and concrete on the exterior walls and gorgeous steel trusses that “fly through the wall of the bedroom and bathroom.”

Looking back, Dorman says she feels lucky at the way things fell into place. “It wasn’t an obvious win. Knowing how to look at real estate now, I don’t know we would have moved forward with it. I’m glad that we knew enough to make it happen and not too much to make us wary.”

In the San Francisco suburb of Danville, California, designer Shannon Kirby tackled a 150-year-old Carpenter Gothic home, built by local craftsmen in the gothic farmhouse style. Though the home had been through prior renovations, Kirby had her work cut out for her in making the 19th century home livable for a family of five. For one thing, the original closets were a very impractical 12-inches deep. “We had to shift walls and be very creative to maximize the closet space. The landmark commission would not allow any additional footprint so we had to work with the original building perimeter,” which was 2,500-square-feet. Moldings, trim and doors were matched to the original details; other period architectural elements were found at local salvage yards. Bathrooms were added, bedrooms were reconfigured and the staircase was relocated, using as many of he original parts as possible.

“I love bringing these structures back to life in the 21st century.  It’s a joy to combine the old with the new and know they will last another 100 years.”

“Everybody can appreciate the magic of a historic home,” says designer Sarah Barnhard. “They give back to their homeowners in their many surprises over the years, in the secrets they unleash.”

Barnhard says when her own parents removed paint off the siding of their 1912 Arts and Crafts home, they found the name of the young boy who once lived there carved into the shingles, a finding made extra special because that boy went onto become an Olympic athlete. At the restoration of an antebellum town home in Manhattan, restorers found newspapers from the 1800s, flags with thirteen stars and tax filings made in quill pen.

“There’s something to be said about preserving history and having a little of piece of it for yourself to savor,” Bernhard says.