My new (historic) home has two stairways. The front stairs are dramatic. The back stairs, which descend from the maid’s quarters into the kitchen, could easily be replaced with a zip-line or a fireman’s pole.
I love this house for reasons too plentiful to recount, including, or perhaps particularly, the treacherous staircase. There are no railings and the steps are so steep and narrow, it’s easiest to ascend them on all fours and descending them quickly requires steadying yourself with flat palms against the walls.
The steps have been painted the most lovely blue imaginable.
If I had to choose a favorite place in this house, the attic would win. The treacherous staircase, though, is where I seem to spend a lot of time, not just going up and down, but thinking.