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.
Beautiful home. You made it so!
I know how you feel. I wept when we received word of a good offer on a home we were ready to move on from several years ago. These were not tears of joy although rationally they should have been. Early on, I sometimes drove “home” to the old house by mistake! For months I’d go a little out of my way just to drive by. (Why did they replace my front porch light with that ugly one?)
I love our new house, we’re very happy here, but it was difficult to emotionally detach. But one does. It gets easier. One forgets. New wysteria will bloom.
Thanks for writing. Lovely piece.
Your home has a magical feeling about it - well loved and cared for... Thanks for sharing your story with us.
houses hold lots of memories..
good luck to you...
threads like these are why FR is such a wonderful place....with wonderful freepers...
Talented writer. I’m feeling your shoes while reading, and that a very personal connection. Thank you.
Thank you for your kind words, Postman.
I didn’t think I would touch anyone else with my words. I wish I could write more.
Skooz - you’ll be all right.
My family is a generations long line of farmers and ranchers tied to the land. I was the one who can barely grow rhubarb and blackberries. Who can’t do that?
Since I couldn’t be tied to the land, I chose a martial path and was very successful. My blood and sweat dripped on practically every place I’ve ever been. Invested, they would say.
But here I am. Wherever I am. Same as you.
Kit
Thank you for sharing that with us.
God is our witness. He remembers ... just right. We lose nothing important when we move on even though it often feels like it to us humans.
All is well.
A beautiful story that brings tears. I can smell the flowers and hear the board game going on in the middle bedroom.
We are about to do the same, but with a few different details. We will be selling the house that we had built before the kids were even born. We will be relocating out of state after 35 years at the same address. It is a tough thing to do. But alas it is time to move forward.
It is only small solace but remember that this world is only a test. The possessions that we gather to ourselves will eventually no longer be ours. It is the memories that we carry with us. And it sounds like you have great ones.
Do not pine for the past, rather, remember the good and take that with you as you journey forward.
Thank you for the story with parts we can all relate to in our own lives. This may sound somewhat morbid but you may want to consider disinterring “The Best Dog Ever” and taking him/her to your new place for reburial. Your faithful canine companion was likely constantly by your side and would still, in a sense, like to have you near.
Saving this for the great vanity and all following comments.
May the Lord bless your new house and make it home filled with His love .
Yes, I love that porch. I'll miss it. I spent years of mornings there, sipping coffee and watching the squirrels stir to life as the sun rose.
Oh, and vacant lot? Isn’t that where the homeless and their poop and needles congregate?
Not exactly. :) It's where the rabbits hop and the wisteria grows and is home to a large rat snake, who keeps a check on the rabbit population as well as eliminating any threat of copperheads, which are otherwise abundant in these parts.
Divorce. Also, I've tired of the long commute to work, to my parents' home, to pick up my daughter when it's time for her to be with me.
It's on the far edge of the city and far from most any place I need to be on a daily basis.
Touched a few spots in my own heart - getting ready to sell the place we’ve been in since ‘92 and built so many memories in (I spent 2 years remodeling/rebuilding after Katrina)- too much property to take care of and I want to be forever rid of riding mowers/heavy duty edgers/chainsaws, etc., in my old age....
This is very odd to me. None of the places I grew up in—or owned—are more attractive to me than the modest house where I live now. (And nearly everyone here speaks English).
Close. Louisiana.
“I wept when we received word of a good offer on a home we were ready to move on from ...”
I also wept when we sold our last house to move on. I still am weeping a couple times a week, having moved to The Slough Of Despond. When I read Skooz’ story, I cried.
That or put it in the listing.
Have owned two homes that I loved very much and had to move on from them. Now we are relocating (I hope) to a new home in a new state. Probably for the last time (I hope). Good luck in your new home.
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