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The Dojo: How We Turned a Leaning Greenhouse into the Heart of the Home

June 27, 202613 min read

Everyone who saw the leaning greenhouse asked if we were going to tear it down. Instead, we made it the heart of the home.

By Christina, Lemonade Homes - The 1953 Ranch

When we bought this 1953 ranch house, no one wanted to live here but me. The house held fifty years of the previous owner's belongings and the wear of renters who had worn down every room. My boys didn't set foot inside until I was already in escrow, and when they finally saw it, they didn't share my vision. But I loved the bones of this home - and the very first thing I saw when I walked through the front door was a falling-down glass greenhouse on the north side.

It should have been a deal-breaker. Instead, it became the reason I wanted the house.

A place of the way

The Japanese translation is “place of the way” - traditionally the room where martial arts, meditation, and disciplined practice come together. My husband, Zander, has studied many styles of martial arts over the years and dreamed for decades of a space to refine and teach his own style. This is that space: 1,200 square feet of hardwood for sparring and ground work, with an indoor-outdoor weight room that opens completely to the outdoors.

In practice, the dojo does three things at once - it's a training floor, meditation area, and an open space for almost any activity you can dream up:

The training floor - hardwood for sparring, with room to roll out mats for jiu-jitsu, meditation, yoga, and bag work.
The interior (the old greenhouse, reimagined) - a bathroom-and-changing area for street clothes to gi, free weights, and a wooden dummy (a mook jong).
The honeysuckle striking station - a heavy bag and speed bag built into a planter wrapped in native honeysuckle.
The hydration hallway - a long corridor leading to a filtered-water sink.
The connection - six custom, sliding glass doors that open the dojo onto the deck.

Dojo interior with Cumaru hardwood flooring and glass ceiling — 1,200 square feet of Cumaru hardwood, wrapping the old greenhouse and opening to the hills.

A vision, sketched

A fully functional kitchen of my own would have been a nice place to start in this whole-house restoration, but the existing kitchen is at least functional. What I wanted first was something else entirely. I wanted Zander to have the space we'd talked about for years - long before we had children - a place where he could finally train students, and where the boys could get outside, train, and let off steam.

That first walk-through, the dilapidated greenhouse stopped me in my tracks. It took me straight back to a vision I'd been carrying for years - a room with a glass ceiling. It had been posted on my vision board since 2017. But even farther back than that, Zander and I used to talk about his own dojo. We envisioned it outside, as if it were in a small village in Japan. In this overgrown space, I saw a real fighting space for him, and the greenhouse would become a part of it. All the details hadn't fully clicked, but I knew this should be Zander's space. I brought the idea to him, and he was all in.

Design concept sketch showing dojo layout with training area and torii gate — The original concept sketch - bag area, sun shade, fighting space, and lighting. You can even see the torii taking shape.

“Are you going to tear it down?”

Almost everyone we showed the greenhouse to asked the same question. And honestly, it was fair.

The previous owners had added this greenhouse onto the home sometime in the 1980s. It was framed in 4x4s, glass, and heavy wood beams. The floor was wood chips and stepping stones, and you walked down three steps to enter it, which made it the lowest point in the entire side yard - a real problem for drainage. The roof leaked, and those leaks had let termites into part of the header beam. The glass ceiling and beams were so heavy the whole structure had begun to lean. Nothing was square.

Inside, there was an old bathroom with a floor-to-ceiling window right in front of the toilet. Raccoons and bunnies let themselves in regularly. And we hauled out a broken spa before we could even see what we were working with.

Dilapidated greenhouse structure leaning from the exterior — The sad little greenhouse everyone told us to tear down - from the yard.

Interior of greenhouse showing dirt floor, old equipment, and structural bones — Inside: dirt floor, old swamp cooler, and the bones we'd build from.

Mountain view seen through dirty greenhouse glass panes — The mountains, waiting behind grimy glass.

Raising the floor, taming the water

One of the biggest moves was bringing the greenhouse floor up to meet the level of the house, so you can walk straight out of our home and step right into the dojo - no more steps down. This was a big deal, and we did it when we built the 1,200 SF of deck, which runs both inside the dojo and out onto the open-air space. Underneath, everything is pitched to drains and lined with landscape cloth, so the lowest point in the yard finally sheds water the way it should.

The decking is Cumaru, a Brazilian hardwood - and with so much beautiful warm wood, staining the old greenhouse black felt like exactly the right contrast. Conejo Hardwoods in Westlake Village helped us with all the decking, paneling, and trim.

Deck framing with joists level to the house and stacked Cumaru hardwood lumber — Framing the deck out level with the house - the Cumaru stacked and waiting on the left.

Copper gutter installed overhead with sliding glass doors under construction — The copper gutter overhead is installed while the sliding doors are being constructed.

Now, I have to tell you about the chickie girls. Building a deck with backyard chickens is a battle - and I lost. Every. Single. Day.

I wasn't worried about them being in the way. I was worried about them. There was metal everywhere - the gate lattice, the supports for the heavy bag and the speed bag - and I had visions of my girls pecking at the shiny metal shavings. So we tried to keep them out. Oh, we tried. But the chickie girls always found a way in. Somehow. Every time.

And then came spring of 2024. My redbud was thriving, tucked into the happiest, fluffiest dichondra you ever saw. It was perfect. The chickens ate all of it. Every last leaf - and then kicked dirt across the whole deck just to make their point. The deck, I'll remind you, that is very much off-limits.

I have photo evidence it was them, the hungry little thieves. And honestly? I wouldn't trade those troublemakers for anything. (They've since earned their own series - coming soon on my Insta, The Chickie Girls.)

Chicken on deck with destroyed plants and garden damage — The Chickie Girls are drawn to the dojo, probably because they know it's off limits. Myrtle gets caught! The dichondra is gone, but the tracks tell the tale.

Nine choices that made the room

A dojo could have been a plain box with a good floor. These are the decisions that gave it soul - each one tying the Japanese inspiration back to the ranch it grew out of.

01 - The Honeysuckle Striking Station

We built the heavy bag and speed bag right into the garden planter, wrapped in native honeysuckle - so striking practice happens against living, fragrant green rather than a bare wall. A purely functional fixture became part of the landscape.

Striking station with heavy bag and speed bag viewed through copper sink window with mountain backdrop — The striking station, framed through the copper sink window - heavy bag and speed bag out on the deck.

02 - Blackened Cedar, Inspired by Shou Sugi Ban

The greenhouse was clad in diagonal cedar siding that felt dated. Drawing on the Japanese elements behind the whole project, we stained it black - a nod to shou sugi ban (yakisugi), the traditional practice of charring cedar to finish and preserve it. The deep black instantly refreshed the space and grounded it in the dojo's aesthetic.

Moody dojo exterior with blackened cedar siding, pond under construction, and installed glass door — The pond is taking shape, and one glass door has finally been installed.

03 - The Grand Gate, a Subtle Torii

To close the gap between the striking station and the gear closet, we built a grand gate: a tall, ranch-style H form that doubles as a subtle nod to a Japanese torii, the gateway that traditionally marks passage into a sacred space. It's wood-framed with black aluminum lattice, built as saloon-style doors. The moment you pass through, you've left the everyday behind.

Torii-inspired gate with hanging lantern at dusk, marking entry to the dojo — The gate at dusk - the hanging lantern centered under the H-beam, a sliver of moon above.

04 - Texture and Enclosure

We loved the black greenhouse so much we carried it onto the old fence boards too. Along the main run - about 70 feet beside the deck - we unrolled bamboo reeds. The thin reeds play against the 6-inch decking and the 12-inch fence boards, adding a finer texture the space had been missing. To enclose everything, we built a big waterproof closet for Zander's mats, gloves, and fight gear.

Black fence boards with warm Cumaru hardwood deck overlooking the mountains — Black fence boards, warm Cumaru, and the hills - the contrast that runs through the whole space.

05 - The Operable Glass Wall and Paneling

Six 8-foot doors - Cumaru-framed glass on a track - let the whole wall sandwich together and slide open, dissolving the line between the indoor dojo and the deck. Inside, the long hallway to the hydration sink is finished in light wood paneling.

Light wood paneling installation along the hydration hallway — The light-wood paneling going in along the hydration hallway.

06 - The Glass Ceiling, Reborn

And here is the part I love most. That glass ceiling - the same heavy glass that had the old greenhouse leaning - is still glass, now fitted with brand-new windows. So in this room you can look out, and you can look up, and see the sky. On a clear day there are mountain views. And it's just as special when it rains.

Interior view of renovated dojo with glass ceiling showing sky — The heavy glass that was sinking the structure is now the very thing that lets you watch the sky and the rain.

07 - Softening the Wood and Glass with Nature

With so much wood and glass, I wanted to bring in nature to soften it all. Zander wanted it minimal, to keep the space clean - so we found a balance. Beyond the honeysuckle, we planted a redbud, which covers itself in pink blooms in early spring before its heart-shaped leaves come in. Beside it sits a small pond with a slate-rock water feature. The neighbor's magnolia spills over the fence, and a tall tree from our front yard sways in the wind - borrowed scenery, the Japanese idea of shakkei, framing the space in green and movement.

Neighbor's magnolia tree and mountain backdrop framing the dojo space — Borrowed scenery: the neighbor's magnolia and the mountains beyond, framing the space for free.

08 - Copper and Lantern Light

The finishing materials carry the most feeling. A copper rain gutter runs along the exterior to keep rain off the deck - and it's already taken a soft green patina in places, so it reads old and weathered, like something from a Japanese village. Inside, the sink cabinet has a hammered copper sink and faucet to match. The lighting is mostly black iron: two lantern-style sconces with a rice-paper glow behind a grid in the weights area, a matching hanging lantern centered in the torii gate, and a single black saucer light over the sink.

Night view of dojo with uplighting on redbud tree, lantern lights, and warm Cumaru deck — And at night, the whole space glows - uplit redbud, lantern light, warm Cumaru.

09 - The Powder Room: A Mountain in Mist

Even the bathroom got the full treatment. A hand-painted misty-mountain mural wraps the wall - a quiet echo of the real hills you see through the dojo's glass - paired with a hammered metal faucet, a terrazzo backsplash, a concrete vanity, and an organic-edged mirror under a soft pendant. It's the dojo's whole spirit, distilled into one small room.

Powder room with hand-painted mountain mural — The powder room mural - mist and mountains, the dojo's view brought indoors.

Where we started, where we landed

When this home was built in 1953, the architects already knew the wind. It moves north to south, through the house and out into the dojo, and on a warm evening the whole space breathes. The sky here never disappoints - cloud formations, then the sun going down behind the mountains, a different spectacle every night. We've lit it for dusk: landscape lights washing down the black fence, a spotlight for the redbud, the waterfall glowing as it falls into the pond. Going out for a workout as the light fades, into that warm glow with the water running under the traffic noise, is the most calming thing I know. This is the part I pictured for years, and somehow it's better than the picture.

Christina relaxing on the dojo deck — What it's all for: a quiet moment on the deck.

Sunset sky over dojo with bamboo fence and mountain backdrop — And the skies it gave us back.

Flipping the dojo, lesson by lesson

Trust the texture, even when everyone doubts it. I didn't want to pay for a new wood fence - I wanted bamboo reeds for the texture, those varying thin reeds in colors that coordinate with the Cumaru but read differently enough to create interest. Zander thought they'd look cheap. My neighbor said the same. I sealed the rolls so they'd hold up against the sun and weather, and ran them anyway. They're now one of my favorite things in the whole space.
Push for the nature. It's not decoration, it's the feeling. Zander is practical and utilitarian; left to him, the design elements come out and the space stays clean. I had to push for a little softness. That small waterfall falling into the pond is the proof - it's beautiful to look at, and it quietly drowns out the neighborhood traffic. The thing he'd have cut is the thing that makes the room calm.
Live in the space before you finish it. We started using the deck the day it went down, construction still happening all around us. That's how the best details arrived - I walked past the blank wall on the way to the water station enough times to realize it needed paneling and a recessed cubby for shelves. You can't always design that from a drawing. Some decisions only show up once you're standing in it.
Use the awkward angles - hide a closet in them. The yard wasn't square to the deck, which is usually a headache. Instead we turned it into a secret closet built right into the fence - brushes, brooms, pond supplies, anything we want out of sight. No one knows it's there. When the geometry won't cooperate, look for what it lets you hide.
Honor what the original builders understood. The 1953 architects sited this house to the wind - north to south, straight through. We didn't fight it; we opened the dojo to it. The reward is a space that stays comfortable on its own, and a front-row seat to the sky every single evening.
Stay on the right side of the line between inspired and themed. I wondered if the torii gate would be too grand. There was a line I didn't want to cross: Japanese-inspired, flowing naturally out of our California ranch - never a theme park. That restraint is the whole game. Let the references whisper, keep it grounded in the house you actually have, and it reads as soul instead of costume.

Christina standing at the torii gate with lantern — Christina, at the gate she built.

I'm Christina of Lemonade Homes - I turn neglected houses into spaces that feel like a deep breath, inside and out. If you have a space that needs vision, or a property worth reimagining, I'd love to hear about it.