When Life Hands You an Extra House
Sometimes a run down ranch is the last thing you need…
We wanted the land. My husband and I had saved money for years to purchase some land where we could build a cabin. Not a lodge, not a farmhouse, but a proper cabin in the woods, with a large fireplace fit with stacked stone all the way to the peak of the ceiling. That place has large swathes of woods interspersed with fields, and we’re lucky enough to have three ponds and a small cemetery, too.
The two barns that came with the land were in dire need of repair, but we only had enough for a cabin; so we focused on building a cozy three bedroom cabin on a dead end road in the middle of nowhere. We do have wi-fi, though it’s kind of slow, and there’s no DoorDash, but after years of living in a major city we dreamed of having a place away from it all. We like all our neighbors, too, which is a blessing. I usually run into them while I’m on the street taking a walk, since the driveway to our place is fairly long and tucked out of sight.
When our quiet neighbors, whose lot line is sixty yards away from our front door, put their house and land up for sale we weren’t sure what to do. Images of ATV’s zipping past our sleepy place full of beautiful silence made us think. Hard. We decided to buy the land. It’s gorgeous, with a dock running out into the pond; and the hills sweep down to a creek that runs past the thicket of walnut trees. But it came with a house that wasn’t cared for very well.
Most people would be thrilled, but when we decided to make our farm a bigger place we didn’t want that house. We rented it out to a man who was supposed to do a few jobs and mow the yards in lieu of rent, but after he moved in four relatives (which was against our rental agreement), we had to get him out of there. Never mind all we paid to have the bed bugs exterminated. I wanted to demolish that little run-down ranch that sat right on the road.
But wait! When we piled our whole family into the cabin we built just eight years ago, we didn’t picture our kids married with children. They are, and so we are a jumble of humanity in one small space. When I mentioned that they could perhaps stay up in the house on the road, I was surprised by their excitement! They wanted to sleep up there, have coffee and maybe late night snacks in the kitchen. My children needed a break from me?! Really? I thought I was a bundle of fun, but they handle noise and chaos more deftly than I, so we decided to fix the fixer-up up.
We’re renovating our third house now. After living through one, I vowed to never dwell in a house that was being redone. When we scooped up our dream home it needed updating, so I lived in one bedroom that had it’s own attached bathroom. The night we moved into this house I cried after I thought my husband had fallen asleep, because I had to have chosen the world’s worst movers. Seriously. They damaged so much furniture, they broke some irreplaceable antiques, and they tried to hide the rain-damaged Stickley dining room table.
The movers never packed up the bathrooms, so I had to do that, and they left a treadmill in the basement. Thank God for our children, because we had to be out that night. They helped, and when I went back to clean the house, my daughters were right there with me scrubbing and scouring. That night I sat on the sofa in the upstairs family room, and when I looked at the mess around me I gave in and cried. I’ve moved at least twelve times in my life, so you know it was bad if this was the move that broke me.
I cried, and my husband came out and said it would all be okay. He left for work every day, while I hid away from the noise. I even tried sleeping-in by using two white noise machines and a fan. Tried.
The man in the master bath lived there (it felt that way) for two solid months. The floor was sloped, and he had to fix it. He took his job seriously, and I thought I’d be asking him to join us for Thanksgiving dinner until one day he magically finished! The painters, carpenters, flooring people, tile people, electricians, and guys who I’m wasn’t quite sure what they were doing lived with me all day long for months. I knew the kind of donuts they liked. They wondered if I was a third shift worker, because of my night-owlish ways. And then one day months later they left me.
I had made it. Yes, the piano leg was wonky, the dresser from my grandma still needs to be refinished, and I had a man come and fix the rips the movers had made in the leather chairs. How does anyone wreck six chairs like that? But in the silence, that blessed quiet, I vowed to never go through this ever again. Never. And now here we go. I won’t have to hide out in a bedroom this time, but I can foresee long days at the cabin. Except my husband wants to put an addition onto that now, so that more then five people fit into the living room to accommodate our growing family. That would be renovation number four, but I don’t like to count anymore. I’ll embrace the noise and dirt. (My husband is laughing as he reads this.)
I think I’ll have lots of time to fix the edits on my book, because I’ll be tucked away in my bedroom in the middle of nowhere. But I refuse to cry over anything this time. I’m learning. Except where am I going to find the donuts to hand out as treats this time? They’ll be cutting into the concrete while I’m baking brownies. I can see it already. I can hear it too. But when all is said and done, life at this stage brings a different beauty than the ones when I laughed and lived fifteen feet away from my neighbors. Now? Silence is high on the list. Blissful, peaceful silence. I think I’ll get that by next February. If I’m lucky.
Author’s Note: I am blessed beyond imaging. Seriously. We never thought we would actually have a little piece of paradise in the country. I thought you might see the humor in saying, “Never!” which almost always means “Yes, most certainly.”
