Walk up to 919 10th Avenue North on a Sunday morning and the parking lot is already full by nine. Coffee is being poured under the portico of a hundred-year-old brick church. Somebody is selling sourdough out of a folding table. A tray of cinnamon rolls, sold under the name Holy Buns, disappears within the first hour. None of this was supposed to happen here. For twenty years, this building was locked, moldering, and off-limits. The reason it's open now, and open in this specific low-key, cash-in-a-coffee-can way, traces back to a city council vote that failed.
If that February 2025 vote had gone the other way, the building at the corner of 10th Avenue and 9th Street would be something else entirely: a 180-person event venue with a seven-unit bed and breakfast, booked by reservation, staffed, and largely invisible to anyone who wasn't a paying guest. The council said no. What exists instead is something residents can walk into for free almost any Sunday. That's the story worth understanding if you live in Euclid St. Paul's, because the building's current life as a public gathering spot is a direct consequence of the ambitious version getting blocked.
The Vote That Killed The Venue And Opened The Doors
The church, built in 1926 as the Church of Christ and known to longtime residents as the Euclid Mansion, had been empty since 2005. It picked up a historic designation from the city in 2004, which meant it couldn't simply be torn down, but historic status doesn't come with a restoration budget. Noam and Irene Krasniansky bought it in August 2023 for $1.1 million, using proceeds from the sale of their Los Angeles home, and set out to turn it into a venue called The Treehouse: a 180-guest event space with seven overnight rooms.
To make the math work, they needed a special exception from the city for parking and assembly use. They lined up more than 100 off-site parking spaces through letters of intent with nearby businesses and arranged for a private shuttle service, Star Trolley, to move guests between those lots and the church. Neighbors who'd watched previous adaptive-reuse proposals for this exact building stall out over traffic and noise raised the same concerns again. The Community Planning and Preservation Commission rejected the plan in November 2024. The Krasnianskys appealed to city council in February 2025. Councilmember Lisset Hanewicz pointed out that the parking letters of intent weren't legally binding and could evaporate at any time. The council split 4-4, and a tie is a loss for the appellant. The venue plan was dead.
Most people in that situation walk away from a money pit like this one. Instead, the Krasnianskys converted the project into something smaller and, as it turns out, more accessible to the neighborhood around it: a registered nonprofit that could legally host informal gatherings and small functions without triggering the same zoning fight. They started with outdoor farmers markets in the parking lot, then moved indoors once electrical work allowed it, reopening the sanctuary to the public on July 27, 2025, for the first time since 2005.
What Actually Happens Inside Now
The building is now called the Treehouse Sanctuary, and on a given Sunday it functions as three things layered on top of each other: a farmers market, a counter-service café, and a spiritual gathering space open to any faith or none. The main hall, the same room that once held weekly services, now seats people drinking locally roasted coffee under stained glass. Vendors rotate through selling produce, honey, sourdough, jam, and handmade goods. One early market drew roughly 450 people; the Krasnianskys have said they expect around 44 vendors for a typical indoor date.
If you're planning a Sunday and want to see it for yourself, here's what to expect:
- Where: 919 10th Avenue North, inside the historic Euclid Methodist Church building
- When: Sundays, roughly 9:00 a.m. to 1:30 p.m., a schedule that's held through spring 2026
- Cost: free to attend, with vendor fees and donations funding the restoration
- What's there: rotating local vendors, a counter-service café serving coffee and Holy Buns cinnamon rolls, and open access to the main sanctuary hall
The vendor fees aren't incidental. According to the Krasnianskys, every dollar collected from a vendor at the market goes directly back into structural repairs. That's a different funding model than the original event-venue plan, which depended on wedding bookings and nightly room rates. The market model is slower and smaller, but it doesn't require a special exception from the city, and it puts the building's recovery on public display every week instead of behind a rental contract.
The Restoration Math Hasn't Closed Yet
Roughly $300,000 has already gone into stabilizing the structure, and the Krasnianskys have said they need at least another $100,000 for immediate repairs, including a new roof and windows. The interior still carries damage from black mold and collapsed sections that predate their ownership, and Hurricanes Helene and Milton added new problems on top of the old ones. None of this money is coming from a bank loan or a developer's balance sheet. It's coming from Sunday vendor fees, café sales, and small-batch cinnamon rolls.
That's a slower path to a finished building than a fully booked event calendar would have provided, but it's also the reason the building is currently something you can walk into on a random Sunday without a reservation. The venue plan that got voted down would have made the church profitable faster. The version that survived makes it available to the neighborhood now, unfinished roof and all.
What's Coming Before Thanksgiving
The church opened its doors for the first time on Thanksgiving Day in 1926. The Krasnianskys have said they're aiming for a full grand reopening on the building's 100th birthday this year, meaning Thanksgiving Day 2026, a little under three months from now. The first wedding under the new nonprofit structure was held in September 2025, a quiet proof of concept that the space could host something beyond a farmers market without reopening the zoning fight. Whether the centennial celebration matches the scale the Krasnianskys originally imagined for The Treehouse remains to be seen, but the target date gives residents something concrete to watch for this fall.
That countdown overlaps with the neighborhood's own regular autumn rhythm. The Euclid St. Paul's Neighborhood Association runs its own calendar of gatherings throughout the year, including its Haunted Hike each October, a family-friendly event with food trucks, a bake sale, and local vendors along the neighborhood's brick streets. Between the association's own fall lineup and a hundred-year-old church racing to finish repairs before its own birthday, this is a season with two separate reasons to be out walking the neighborhood rather than driving past it.
The Building Is A Barometer, Not Just A Landmark
None of this changes what the historic homes on 13th and 14th Avenue look like or what Left Bank Bistro pours on a Friday night. But it says something about how this neighborhood negotiates change. A commercial operator wanted to turn a landmark into a business with shuttle buses and overnight guests, and the neighborhood, through its elected council, said the tradeoff wasn't worth it. What grew back in its place is smaller, slower, and open to anyone who shows up with cash for a coffee. That's not a consolation prize. It's a different answer to the same question: what is this building for, and who gets to use it.
If you're weighing a move into Euclid St. Paul's, or you already live here and want a clearer read on how this neighborhood makes decisions about its own landmarks, Silver + Welch Collective knows this pocket of St. Petersburg block by block. Schedule a free consultation whenever you're ready to talk specifics.
