Kirkland built itself late and quickly, and that shows up in every repair call we take here. Only about 22 percent of the city's homes were finished before 1970, while 42 percent went up between 1970 and 1989 — a heavier concentration in those two decades than any other east King County city carries. So the floors we are asked to fix in Kirkland are mostly not century-old fir. They are red oak strip and parquet in ranch houses and split-entries, plus whatever a second or third owner laid over the original carpet in 1996 or 2014. The work is less about rescuing irreplaceable old-growth wood and more about matching a mass-produced floor convincingly.
The older quarter of the city sits where you would expect. Market and Norkirk hold Kirkland's largest collection of Craftsman houses and vernacular cottages, most built between the First World War and about 1930, and those are the addresses where we still pull vertical-grain fir. A scattering of survivors from the same years stands farther out in Rose Hill, Juanita and Finn Hill, originally on orchard and berry-farm lots. Then there is the wartime layer: more than 1,600 dwelling units went up in Kirkland in 1942 and 1943 for Lake Washington Shipyard workers, whose numbers jumped from 250 in 1939 to over 8,000. Whatever remains of that stock has been refloored at least twice, and what is under the top layer is usually a surprise to everyone.
The real building did not start until the Evergreen Point Bridge opened in 1963 and put Kirkland inside an easy commute. Finn Hill alone added 444 houses between 1961 and 1965; South Juanita added 235 and North Rose Hill 231. Nearly all of them are ranches and split-entries — low, wood-framed, attached garage, a picture window at the front. They share a habit too: an oak or parquet entry that has taken sixty years of shoes, and one room on the low side where the wood has moved. Bridle Trails, on its large lots beside the state park, tends to hold more original wood than anywhere else in Kirkland, which is exactly where board-for-board matching earns its keep.
The other half of our Kirkland work is not solid wood at all. Downtown along Moss Bay, thousands of condominiums and apartments have gone in since the 1990s, and Totem Lake and Kingsgate have kept stacking townhomes and apartment blocks since the city annexed Finn Hill, North Juanita and Kingsgate in 2011. Those units are engineered hardwood or LVP over concrete. They do not rot, but they gap at the seams, cup at the joint edges and lift wherever a floating floor gets pinned or cooked by south-facing glass. With several thousand jobs at Google's downtown campus and at EvergreenHealth up by Totem Lake, a large share of these homes turn over as rentals, so dented planks, chair-leg gouges and dog scratches arrive on a two-year cycle instead of a twenty-year one. In a building, the loading dock, the elevator pad and the HOA noise window matter as much as the floor, and we plan around all three.
Then there is the water. Kirkland takes close to forty inches of rain a year, November being the worst of it, and the front of the city is a lake — Marina Park, Houghton Beach, Juanita Beach, Carillon Point. Sliders onto decks, dogs coming back up from the shoreline, and eight damp months through the same doorway are why the boards just inside a Kirkland entry and along the deck threshold are almost always the worst boards in the house. We take a moisture reading underneath before quoting anything, because covering wood that is still damp is how a repair fails the following winter.