I wish I would have saved the little thumbnail pic that came with the listing of this house. Sitting in the van, across the street from this house, alternately looking from the listing in my lap to the actual house across the street, trying to figure out where we made a wrong turn. Cause this couldn't possibly be the place, because this... this was straight out of a Norman Rockwell painting.
It was fall, sometime in October. The leaves were changing, there was a chill in the air and that general festive feeling of anticipation that fall always brings. The white farmhouse across the street had painted shutters and a front porch with white columns on brick pillars, a big red brick chimney on one side. The yard was loaded with trees...the leaves of the maples were positively gold and they were falling like snow. There was an older man in the yard raking these golden leaves into piles. Smoke billowed out of the chimney and the smell of wood fire was in the air. Surreal.
The man notices us sitting in our minivan gaping, and immediately drops his rake and comes striding towards us. One of us undoubtedly said 'oh shit let's get out of here, quick', but the man was already at the window, smiling and knocking and asking if we'd like to come and see the house. Whaaaa? Really?! He was friendly and inviting to the point where I started to feel suspicious. I know it's lame, but it must be some sort of conditioned response. That's my only explanation.
The man ushers in the back door, calling for his wife. I am immediately struck by the charm and originality of this old house, the back porch, the laundry room with one of those white farmhouse sinks, flowers painted on the cabinets, and the smell of apple pie in the air. Sunny, cozy, wonderful. This cute little grey-haired woman appears in the doorway with an apron and oven mitts on and tells us to come on in, she just has to take a pie out of the oven and it will just take a minute, and would we like some cider?
A pie? Cider? For real? Who are these people?!
The couple gave us a tour and told us all about the house and their family and the area, and charming, charming, charming, blah blah blah. Since the house turned out to be over a hundred years old, I (sort of) jokingly asked the woman if they had a resident ghost. She quickly turned around to me, smile fading, and responded with 'Maybe. Why do you ask?'. Whoa, ok. Just making conversation, ma'am.
We spent at least an hour with these kind people, drinking their cider and breathing their pie-scented air. There was a big garden out back, a chicken coop, raspberry bushes and apple and pear trees. I started thinking about a compost pile and canning vegetables, backyard chickens and organic eggs. It was so idyllic, just absolutely picture perfect. The antique furniture, hardwood floors, wood burning stove complete with shaggy dog laying in front. The acre of land, underground spring and gigantic ancient trees. The wallpaper and paint techniques and throw rugs and lacy curtains. It was a Victorian farmhouse and it was perfect. We wanted it. The house and everything about it...we were in love. Me, who insisted that anything across the state line was a waste of time and a joke...yep, I was sold.
As soon as we got in the car we started talking about it. There was a feeling the house had, and we both felt it immediately. The house wanted us, too. When we left there we continued looking around the area, pulling up in front of different houses I had listings for and I would immediately compare them in my head to this place. There was never any comparison, none of the other houses could hold a candle to this one.
On the way home we talked about everything we had seen, and Steve mentioned my question about ghosts, and the woman's reaction. We both kind of WTF'd for a few minutes, then, with eyes all big and round, he very seriously suggested 'maybe they were the ghosts'. Good lord. We just spent an hour in the Twilight Zone.
And with that, we went home and started to formulate a plan.
It was fall, sometime in October. The leaves were changing, there was a chill in the air and that general festive feeling of anticipation that fall always brings. The white farmhouse across the street had painted shutters and a front porch with white columns on brick pillars, a big red brick chimney on one side. The yard was loaded with trees...the leaves of the maples were positively gold and they were falling like snow. There was an older man in the yard raking these golden leaves into piles. Smoke billowed out of the chimney and the smell of wood fire was in the air. Surreal.
The man notices us sitting in our minivan gaping, and immediately drops his rake and comes striding towards us. One of us undoubtedly said 'oh shit let's get out of here, quick', but the man was already at the window, smiling and knocking and asking if we'd like to come and see the house. Whaaaa? Really?! He was friendly and inviting to the point where I started to feel suspicious. I know it's lame, but it must be some sort of conditioned response. That's my only explanation.
The man ushers in the back door, calling for his wife. I am immediately struck by the charm and originality of this old house, the back porch, the laundry room with one of those white farmhouse sinks, flowers painted on the cabinets, and the smell of apple pie in the air. Sunny, cozy, wonderful. This cute little grey-haired woman appears in the doorway with an apron and oven mitts on and tells us to come on in, she just has to take a pie out of the oven and it will just take a minute, and would we like some cider?
A pie? Cider? For real? Who are these people?!
The couple gave us a tour and told us all about the house and their family and the area, and charming, charming, charming, blah blah blah. Since the house turned out to be over a hundred years old, I (sort of) jokingly asked the woman if they had a resident ghost. She quickly turned around to me, smile fading, and responded with 'Maybe. Why do you ask?'. Whoa, ok. Just making conversation, ma'am.
We spent at least an hour with these kind people, drinking their cider and breathing their pie-scented air. There was a big garden out back, a chicken coop, raspberry bushes and apple and pear trees. I started thinking about a compost pile and canning vegetables, backyard chickens and organic eggs. It was so idyllic, just absolutely picture perfect. The antique furniture, hardwood floors, wood burning stove complete with shaggy dog laying in front. The acre of land, underground spring and gigantic ancient trees. The wallpaper and paint techniques and throw rugs and lacy curtains. It was a Victorian farmhouse and it was perfect. We wanted it. The house and everything about it...we were in love. Me, who insisted that anything across the state line was a waste of time and a joke...yep, I was sold. As soon as we got in the car we started talking about it. There was a feeling the house had, and we both felt it immediately. The house wanted us, too. When we left there we continued looking around the area, pulling up in front of different houses I had listings for and I would immediately compare them in my head to this place. There was never any comparison, none of the other houses could hold a candle to this one.
On the way home we talked about everything we had seen, and Steve mentioned my question about ghosts, and the woman's reaction. We both kind of WTF'd for a few minutes, then, with eyes all big and round, he very seriously suggested 'maybe they were the ghosts'. Good lord. We just spent an hour in the Twilight Zone.
And with that, we went home and started to formulate a plan.
bring on the plan....I wanna know more!
ReplyDeleteMust you stop there?!?
ReplyDeleteI'm now thinking of moving, next door to you.
Ha, thanks guys! I'm glad nobody minds this isn't green at all. I will get to work!
ReplyDeleteI want to live in your house!! :)
ReplyDelete