If some homes are born, this one had to be coaxed back to life. The Catskills have always been good at that trick: the region mixes big wilderness, deep historical memory, and a long tradition of artists, hikers, and weekend escape artists looking for a little more air in their lungs. New York State describes the Catskills as one of the East’s largest and most complex natural areas, while the official tourism sites lean into the same appeal: mountain views, winding valleys, farm-to-table stops, and the kind of getaway atmosphere that makes people suddenly remember they love wood smoke and old porches.
That setting matters, because Jersey Ice Cream Co. does not design houses the way a tech company designs onboarding screens. Tara Mangini and Percy Bright founded the firm in 2010 and describe their work as craftsmanship-driven, timeless, and better-than-before. Their own site emphasizes an organic process, deep immersion in the home, unique finishes, and creative freedom. In other words: no sterile white-box drama, no furniture showroom stiffness, and absolutely no apology for a little personality.
Why this Catskills project became the one people kept talking about
The home at the center of this story, often identified as Minwawa in Hayfield near Tannersville, had the kind of bones designers dream about and normal people nervously call “a lot of work.” Architectural Digest described it as raw, rough, rugged, and more than a century old, sitting inside an old artist community founded in 1887 by Candace Wheeler and Francis Thurber. That backdrop gave the renovation something most projects can only fake: a real sense of lineage.
Remodelista’s earlier “Rehab Diary” coverage shows why the transformation landed so strongly. The house had awkward layout issues, but after about eight weeks of work, the space moved from cluttered and tired to much more functional and beautiful. The appeal was not that Jersey Ice Cream Co. erased the past; the appeal was that they treated the past like an asset instead of a liability. That is a rare instinct, and it is exactly why this project still circulates through design conversations years later.
The Jersey Ice Cream Co. method: rescue, don’t erase
Jersey Ice Cream Co.’s best rooms rarely scream for attention. They whisper, then somehow win the argument. Their signature often starts with plaster, texture, and color that looks gathered rather than chosen from a spreadsheet. Domino noted that the duo has made a name for themselves with plaster walls in homes and hotels, mixing custom colors for each job and drawing ideas from different periods of history and architecture. Apartment Therapy later highlighted how a Jersey Ice Cream Co. plaster treatment can feel both worn and current at the same time.
That balance is the whole magic trick. A lot of renovations chase “fresh” like it is a perfume sample. Jersey Ice Cream Co. chases depth. The finish matters, but so does the emotional temperature of the room. Their work often feels as if it has already had a life, which is a clever way to make a new intervention feel emotionally inevitable. That is especially useful in an old house, where anything too polished can make the original architecture look shy.
What actually changed inside the house
1) The walls stopped acting like blank paper
One of the firm’s most recognizable moves is surface treatment. In the Catskills house, the visual language leans toward historic wallpaper, custom finishes, and plaster that gives each room a soft, lived-in glow. Architectural Digest reported that Mangini and Bright reupholstered inherited furnishings with modern fabrics and introduced graphic historic wallpapers, while also using finishes to bring the walls to life. That is a pretty good summary of the Jersey Ice Cream Co. philosophy: if a room has a memory, let it keep one.
Apartment Therapy has also pointed to the way Jersey Ice Cream Co. handles color in kitchens, from saturated blues to darker cottage tones. One example highlighted a Jersey Ice Cream Co. kitchen with a brighter marine blue cabinet color, while another praised a cottage kitchen with a vintage-style freestanding sink, butcherblock counters, and cabinetry and wall paneling in a deep gray. Those are not trendy choices in the disposable sense; they are grounding choices.
2) The old pieces were treated like cast members, not props
Historic houses usually fail when they are treated like museum exhibits or demolition sites. This one succeeds because the designers used what was already there and made it feel intentional. AD described the old furnishings as inherited, aged, and deserving of a second act, while the design team used modern fabrics to bring them back into the room with dignity. That approach keeps a house from becoming a theme park version of itself.
Jersey Ice Cream Co. has a track record of making ordinary things feel charmingly inevitable. Domino wrote about a SoHo kitchen where a structural column could have been a nuisance, but instead became part of an open-shelving composition that ran through the pole instead of hiding it. That same instinct is visible here: don’t flatten the oddity; feature it. In an old Catskills house, that attitude saves you from spending a fortune trying to “fix” what actually gives the home character.
3) The porch and the in-between spaces got real attention
Rehab stories are often judged by kitchens and bathrooms, but the rooms that change how a home feels are frequently the transitional spaces. Gardenista highlighted a 7-foot-wide screened porch rehab by Jersey Ice Cream Co. in which the designers rearranged vintage wicker and rattan furniture so the room felt both wider and more balanced. That is the kind of move that makes a home feel like a place to linger instead of just pass through.
Porches, halls, and side rooms are where old houses reveal their true personalities. When those areas are treated with the same care as the showpiece rooms, the whole house relaxes. Suddenly the house is not merely “updated.” It is inhabitable. And that distinction is everything in a historic renovation.
Why the result feels bigger than a makeover
The easiest way to oversell a rehab is to act as though paint and optimism can solve structural history. The better approach, and the one Jersey Ice Cream Co. tends to take, is to respect the house as a document. The Catskills property had traces of the old family, the artist colony, the dust, the albums, the trophies, and the decades of use that had simply piled up. AD noted that the team cleaned, refined, and modernized the interiors so the home would feel comfortable without losing its toe in the present. That is what makes the result feel so convincing.
Remodelista’s original coverage and follow-up updates underline that this was not a quick cosmetic refresh. The house needed problem solving, layout correction, and an eye for proportion. The payoff was not just prettier rooms. It was a more functional home that still looked like itself. That is the sweet spot every renovation chases and very few hit.
What this project teaches about good design
First, historic character is not a decorative finish; it is a design resource. When the architecture already carries a story, the best renovation is usually the one that keeps that story audible. The Catskills property worked because the designers listened before they edited.
Second, texture beats spectacle. Jersey Ice Cream Co. keeps proving that plaster, fabric, wood grain, and worn surfaces can do more emotional work than a room packed with expensive objects. Apartment Therapy’s coverage of their plaster work and paint choices shows how a few disciplined material decisions can make a home feel rooted, even when the rest of the space is quietly modern.
Third, the most memorable rooms usually contain one thing that should not have worked but somehow does. A column becomes shelving. A screened porch becomes wider through furniture placement. A family heirloom becomes the best thing in the room once it is reupholstered. That is the difference between decorating and editing a life into a house.
Experiences related to the rehab diary
Anyone who has spent time in an old house knows the emotional sequence. First comes the thrill: the staircase, the beams, the sunlight, the fact that the place has a pulse. Then comes the panic: the crooked trim, the mystery plumbing, the realization that charm has a maintenance budget. Jersey Ice Cream Co.’s Catskills project reads like the version of that experience where patience wins. The house was not saved by a single dramatic decision. It was saved by hundreds of calm ones.
There is also a very specific feeling that comes with living through a renovation: the temptation to make every problem look like a feature, followed by the more mature realization that some problems just need solving. The best rehab work does both. It corrects the practical issues, but it refuses to sand off every trace of time. That is why the Jersey Ice Cream Co. approach feels so human. It lets a house keep its accent, even while it learns new grammar.
People who love these projects usually love them for the same reason they love a well-worn cookbook or a favorite jacket: the object feels better because it has been used, not in spite of it. The Catskills house seems to belong to that category. You can imagine muddy boots in the entry, coffee on the porch, a stack of books on a side table, and a room that looks better at dusk than it did at noon. That is not accidental styling. That is atmosphere built through restraint.
The lived-in quality matters because it changes how people behave in a space. In over-designed homes, guests hover. In homes like this, they settle. They set down a mug without fear. They open the window. They linger. That is the hidden win in a project like this one: the rooms invite normal life, and normal life is what makes a house feel worth all the trouble in the first place.
There is another lesson too, especially for anyone tempted to over-renovate. The most durable style decisions often look quiet on day one and better on day one thousand. Plaster ages with grace. Wood warms up. Wicker and rattan soften the edges of a room. Historic finishes keep giving long after trendy surfaces start asking for a redo. The Catskills house works because its beauty is not dependent on being new. It is dependent on being cared for.
Why the Catskills story still resonates
In the end, the “miracle” here is not that an old house became pretty. Plenty of houses become pretty. The miracle is that the renovation preserved the emotional weight of the place while making it easier to live in. Jersey Ice Cream Co. understood that the home’s real value was never just in its square footage or its finishes. It was in its ability to hold memory, host people, and keep its sense of place intact.
The Catskills give the story its setting, but the design gives it staying power. This is one of those rare projects where history, practicality, and mood all agreed to get along. The result is a house that feels collected rather than constructed, and that is usually the sign of a renovation done by people who understand that homes are not trophies. They are working stories.
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