In the beginning

In the beginning, there was an obscure for-sale ad stumbled across on equinesite.com's real estate section. Not having any intention of house shopping, why was I even there? Bored, I suppose. Nonetheless, there I found myself. Staring at an ad stating something to the effect of "gutted colonial on 60+ acres". Accompanied by a price I thought had to be wrong. They meant to put a 1 comma in front of that, didn't they??? Hmmm...I'll just email to get the scoop. What the heck, right?

Blink, and I am pulling in to the driveway on a gray afternoon in late May 2008, thunderstorm threatening. First glimpse: white vinyl siding, sun-faded black shutters. Sign at the front door declares Private Property. Sidelight windows on both sides of the front door, broken panes stuffed with insulation and black plastic. Gorgeous leaded glass fanlight above. Front steps crumbling, from what I can see of them through the long grass. Enormous rhododendron, in full fuschia bloom, obscures one front window. After brief introductions with the realtor outside, we negotiate the broken asphalt walkway and mount the rickety steps to the side door.

Tour the house, equipped with flashlights heavy enough to use as clubs in case the boogeyman appears. There are few things in life creepier than an empty, unfamiliar, gutted-to-the-studs, built-before-the-civil-war house during a thunderstorm. Especially the cavernous, windowless fieldstone basement. Successfully avoid breaking legs on holes in floor, loose boards, etc. At least one dead, decomposed bird per room. Bird turd covers the wide pine floorboards. Broken windows in what has to have been the kitchen, an ell off the main house that connects through to the (mercifully) new three-car garage. Water flows down around one chimney as the rain catches up with the thunder. More water pours into the basement where the bulkhead should be. There is only one conclusion to be drawn here, so I promptly draw it: this house needs me.

Thunder past, we traipse out along a dirt road of sorts to scope out the land. Several pits were dug at some point in the not-too-distant past, and are now full of standing water. Nice mosquito breeding operation they have going here. Lovely stone walls, though, and other than the pits, not too un-level. It's too lushly overgrown to go very far back, though, and it's still drizzling, so we turn around and walk back to the house. Approaching from the back, there are piles of debris in the back yard, apparently from the demolition. Nothing has been mowed in years. Before leaving, we carefully check for ticks, and thankfully manage to find them before they bite.

Drive away thinking: yikes. What a project, yet what potential! I'm going to make this happen.