Tucked between brick buildings in Boston’s historic North End—where the streets are tight and the stories tighter—stands a home that looks like it got caught mid-squeeze. Just 10 feet wide at its widest point, narrowing to barely over six feet in others, the Skinny House isn’t just small. It’s a statement. Locals call it the Spite House. And like any good legend, it begins with a feud. The story goes that two brothers inherited land after the Civil War. One went off to fight

Some homes are designed. Others are imagined—and then sculpted into being. Tucked into the tree-lined calm of suburban Bethesda, on a quiet corner that seems like any other, sits a house that refuses to blend in. It bubbles up from the earth like a dream half-remembered, all smooth curves and strange beauty. People call it the Mushroom House. Or the Smurf House. Or, simply, that  house. But whatever you call it, you won’t forget it. This is not a home that followed blueprint

Hovering above the Iowa prairie, at the edge of ordinary and imagined, sits a home that looks less like it was built—and more like it landed. On a quiet stretch of land in Urbandale, framed by cornfields and sky, rises a circular, steel-and-concrete marvel: the private home of LeMar Koethe. Part midwestern farmhouse, part futuristic dreamscape, this isn’t the kind of place you stumble upon. It’s the kind of place you remember. Koethe didn’t set out to build a spaceship. He se

Tucked quietly along Santa Fe’s narrow De Vargas Street stands a modest adobe structure with a bold claim: “The Oldest House in the United States.” Weathered wooden beams jut from its earthen walls, and its crooked charm immediately hints at centuries of endurance. The home sits within the Barrio de Analco Historic District, one of the oldest neighborhoods in Santa Fe. Analco—meaning “the other side of the river” in Nahuatl—was settled in the early 1600s, when Tlaxcalan India

Nestled along the James River in Charles City, Virginia, Shirley Plantation is more than just a historic house—it is a living piece of American history. Established in 1613 and continuously owned by the Hill family since 1638, Shirley is widely regarded as the oldest active plantation in the United States, a remarkable continuity of family, land, and legacy stretching over 400 years. The mansion that visitors recognize today was built in 1723, a grand example of Georgian arch

High above the winding roads of Hazard, Kentucky—where the Appalachian hills roll soft and green—there’s a house that doesn’t quite sit. It perches. Shaped like a giant goose, complete with beak, wings, and weather-worn feathers, the Mother Goose House is one of those rare places that feels pulled from the pages of a storybook—and planted, improbably, in the real world. To call it a house feels like missing the point. It’s more than shelter. It’s more than a roadside attracti