Posted on 04/18/2018 7:08:10 PM PDT by Skooz
In September 2001, I bought the lot, covered in trees and so thick with brush you couldn’t walk through it. I cleared the land myself. We built the house in 2002, moving in on Labor Day. The columns on the front porch were my ex-wife’s excellent idea.
My father died four days after we moved in and I never got to show it to him.
My oldest daughter, age 11 when we moved here, entered adolescence and then womanhood in this home. I met her nervous first dates on that porch.
When my youngest daughter was born, I carried her through that door two days later. Her first steps were in the living room; she read her first words in the kitchen. She spoke her first words, I think, in her bedroom. That’s it behind the middle dormer.
We have played, oh, about 3 million hours of board games on her carpet.
The Best Dog Ever is buried in the back yard, under a branch that somehow sprouts flowers every winter.
I’ve spent numberless hours making this house a home; laying the flooring, installing fixtures, chopping down trees, planting trees, clearing brush, building a fence, painting, painting, painting. I spent two winters crawling under it, installing insulation. My blood is in this place.
Three hurricanes have pounded that roof. I went through three chainsaws cutting down trees. In May 2009, by myself, I built a deck in the back. It’s 16‘ X 24’ and I think it’s pretty nice.
I lived almost 1/3 of my life here, longer than I have lived anywhere else. The best days and worst days of my life I spent here; from days of rapturous, transcendent blissful happiness to days of crippling, heart-wrenching, despair – these walls have seen it all.
I lived here married, lived here through a divorce, lived here as a newly liberated newly single man. Here, hope has gone full circle: The sun rose, set, took its sweet time traversing the other side of the globe, then rose again – right on time – brighter than ever.
I’ve been trying to sell this place for years. The reasons we built here (proximity to my ex-wife’s job and eldest daughter’s school) have long ago run their course. Neither live here anymore.
But, now that I’m moving, my mind is filled with reasons to miss the old place. To underscore that refrain, the most amazing wisteria explosion on earth, which covers the vacant lot next door every March, just came into full bloom yesterday. I always open the windows and let the fragrance waft through the house. There is nothing like it. Nothing.
I’ve prayed for a new house and God answered right on time. I’m grateful. But, a large part of my heart will always be within these walls, wandering the huge back yard, crawling around the attic.
It’s a high maintenance house and I lack the time to provide the attention it needs. My new home is much more practical. I suppose it’s something like going from a turbulent, passionate affair to something more stable and comfortable.
It’s time to move. I’m looking forward to it.
Wonderful story, my FRiend, thanks for sharing ... ever thought about doing fiction writing?
Many of your references agree with mine.
We bought our lake property in ‘97. Built a new house in ‘02.
Is it time to move on ?
My age says no...
Comfort, simplicity and routine have their place. Good luck.
Very nice story.
You bought the lot 3 months after joining free republic. You lived here longer ; )
Beautiful home, why sell?
That was a good read.
That was beautiful. I hope you have wonderful memories in your new home, and I hope the new owners of this home will love it and cherish it as much as you do.
What a beautiful house. I always thought females had a hard time letting go......I guess not. Memories are precious but making new ones ain’t so bad. Good luck Skooz!
Thanks for a wonderful story. God speed.
Always a bittersweet experience moving from your home and leaving memories behind but then there's always the promise of a new beginning. Good luck in your new home and you might want to drive by the "old house" from time to time.
Lower the price...
+++++
“I’ve been trying to sell this place for years.”
Similar to the the story of our house in Roseville. We watched it being built. We planted the trees that have now reached maturity. I was born and lived my whole life in California. Got to get out while we can.
My parents passed away over twenty years ago and I still cannot bear to the sell the house they helped built in 1946.
Fortunately, the house is near North Dakota State University
and we have had good tenants for that period of time-graduate students with families.
Unfortunately, I live and work in Maine almost 1700 miles away.
Wonderful home, wonderful memories. May you take some of the joy with you to your new digs.
That was moving and beautifully written.
I wonder...and this is just a suggestion...if you shouldn’t write it down and leave it for the next owners.
They might be nice people who would appreciate it, or they may be the opposite. But if they are people of substance, perhaps your letter will stay with the house (or rather, the home). And maybe they will add their own when they leave.
You can always visit the outside.
Your father saw the house because he built the home.
I can see why you’re reluctant to leave. The walls will never forget. The stories they could tell.
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