The
house was undeniably cute. A cottage-like white farmhouse with a wrap around porch I mean, who
can say no to a wrap around porch? It’s like kicking a puppy. It was far from
perfect, which also appealed to me. Perfect, new, mint condition things
needed upkeep and constant attendance, something I no longer had the time nor the patience
for. The house was more shabby chic
than anything, with weathered wood trim and stone planters half hidden by lush
weeds and wildflowers. It had five
bedrooms, which was ideal because there were five of us. It was less than half a mile to the downtown, something I had stressed to the realtor
was of the utmost importance (even though I only walk into town about twice a
month and only in good weather). And it was in my price range (low). But even
so, it was just too much house for me. Along with the rambling house and porch, there was a garage, two wood sheds, a
chicken coop, and a greenhouse. And I mean a honest-to-God-real-green-house – not
one of those plastic-stretched-over-metal-hoops-jobs. What would I do with a greenhouse?
And then there was the yard. I loved the idea of gardens. Vegetables planted
in tidy rows, hedges of roses, banks of tiger lilies, flowerbeds
running over in color and perfume. But the reality? I didn’t have time for any
of that. I'm a working woman and single mother of four. I don't have time to
play in the dirt. I have serious-grown-up-work-to-do. I was specifically looking for
something that was low maintenance. I was not looking for the long, hilly driveway that I knew
would be a hassle in the dead of a Maine winter. Nor the four different sloping
roof lines that would be need to be raked free of snow and ice after every storm. Or the upper garden that was so buried by brambles it looked
like an English maze had imploded. No, this house was just way more than I was looking for. But to be polite to my very nice realtor lady, I agreed to go look at it, one rainy April afternoon.
Despite all of the
work I knew it was going to require, the money it was going suck up
that could be spent on cars, vacations, or the kids college fund, despite it all, I knew the
minute I stepped into the yard, I was home. And this is my story of how I got
here and what happens next.
