A year of adventure
My word for 2019 is adventure.
I don't know what that looks like yet, which is kind of the point. Maybe not wilderness adventure? Definitely renovation adventure, big risk-taking adventure, and new experiences adventure. We're pretty good at playing it safe and that's going to shift. A few months ago, with our feet firmly planted where we were, we somehow stumbled on an opportunity to make a change. We chose adventure.
Many of you know my husband Kevin has a side gig, a recording studio out in the country on a friend's family property. For 10+ years he's loved being out there, always coming home and telling me how beautiful it is. We dreamed about "maybe someday having land," whatever that means.
Then a couple of weeks before Thanksgiving last year, he came home with a twinkle in his eye and said, "The property next door is for sale. There's a little blue house we could fix up." We went to see it... you know, just to see it. And we loved it. And we couldn't stop thinking about it. We wrote the letter, negotiated a little, and they accepted.
Then here we are in November, we stumbled on this beautiful property with a little blue house. It was next door to Kevin's studio. A beautiful children's camp is next door. The sellers accepted our lowball offer. The stars were aligning. And all of a sudden there was call for courage. This house called us in. Like being a new parent, we felt like we needed to rise to the occasion even though it was beyond our current capabilities-- beyond what we could even imagine doing. Would we need a tractor?! I think we'd need a tractor. And 100 YouTube videos about tractors later, we are going to need a tractor.
And inside, oh the potential. Quirky layout and historic details plus a whole lot of elbow grease. It's a renovator's dream, except we aren't renovators.
So there it was: the call for courage. And I realized that was my word all along. Just waiting for me at the end of the year when I would be ready, accomplished, and poised for adventure.
In November and December I'd wake up more mornings than I care to admit sick to my stomach, what are we doing? Can we do this? Why do I feel this in the pit of my stomach? Oh, maybe that's fear, maybe this is what courage feels like. Kevin and I stayed up late many nights talking about the costs, the tradeoffs, the uncertainties, and what really we want for our family in this next chapter. But we couldn't imagine walking away. We'd immediately start looking for the exact same thing and never find it. We stuck with it. Mountains of potential and deep oceans of doubt.
It's a charming, awkward old house and there are 15.81 acres that comes with it. Open pasture, riverside wetlands, and wooded trails. The center of the house dates back to the 1800s and stands on stacked stone, unmortared and ancient. Old chimneys and dilapidated sheds and 3... now 4 (more on that later)... different well sites for water. We don't have a tractor and we have no idea what we are doing. It's our first renovation. But it's ours and we are so excited.
During due diligence, we had thousands of dollars' worth of inspections on the house. Everyone who came wanted to stay and start working on it. Even the termite guy was mapping out the crawlspace for us and drawing the original timbers. The structural engineer was fascinated by the old construction techniques. The home inspector was... critical. We had the water tested, found the asbestos, and engaged a designer to help us reimagine the space. We did everything we could to go in eyes wide open. There were tons of things that should have been dealbreakers. But the sellers were supportive and we still didn't want to walk away.
When closing day arrived, I was nervous. Normally sellers don't come to closing, but G & E came. They came eagerly and anxiously, saying "we wouldn't have missed it." They had practically memorized our letter. They knew us. And we knew them. They were everything I wanted them to be. They invested 40 years in this beautiful property and were passing the torch to us to continue their legacy. We promised to be good stewards and good neighbors.
G & E shared stories and charming details about the property. Incredible stuff: The front room was also original but detached with a breezeway "dog trot" between the structures. It may have been a doctor's office once! The old chimney was once surrounded by a building ("the old store") that fell in the 90s. (They left pictures for us on the kitchen counter.) The bricks 2/3 of the way up have the date "1854" enscribed on them in white on the back. Two decades ago the riverbank had been excavated when the bridge was widened and archaelogists discovered artifacts from Native American trade paths to Hillsborough. They told us how to find the unmarked graveyard on the far edge of the property in the woods. On the grassy corner there is volunteer milkweed that attracts hundreds of monarch butterflies at the right time of year. There's extra bird seed in the shed and we'll have more birds than we know what to do with. 3 original exterior doors, solid wood with peeling paint, are also resting in the shed. It might have scared away some, but we are enchanted. I am mezmerized by the history and possibility of this place.
Closing day was truly special. I felt so affirmed knowing that this wonderful couple had already put their hearts and souls into this place. It was real. The magic I had imagined was real. And the potential I envision can also be real in our good hands. If I can keep an open mind and strong spirit. If I can choose imagination over fear.
What are we doing? Can we do it? Are we ready? I don't really know. But we are inspired and humbled and we are learning. We have a million ideas for this place and they are all challenging and rejuvenating, calling us in over and over. It's like oxygen to the bloodstream.
On January 11, we became the newest owners of the little blue house by the Little River. The adventure is ours now.
I don't know what that looks like yet, which is kind of the point. Maybe not wilderness adventure? Definitely renovation adventure, big risk-taking adventure, and new experiences adventure. We're pretty good at playing it safe and that's going to shift. A few months ago, with our feet firmly planted where we were, we somehow stumbled on an opportunity to make a change. We chose adventure.
Many of you know my husband Kevin has a side gig, a recording studio out in the country on a friend's family property. For 10+ years he's loved being out there, always coming home and telling me how beautiful it is. We dreamed about "maybe someday having land," whatever that means.
Then a couple of weeks before Thanksgiving last year, he came home with a twinkle in his eye and said, "The property next door is for sale. There's a little blue house we could fix up." We went to see it... you know, just to see it. And we loved it. And we couldn't stop thinking about it. We wrote the letter, negotiated a little, and they accepted.
Here's the really crazy thing. Last year my word was courage. And while I was fully committed to some ambitious goals for that season, I doubted my word. All year long I thought, "I chose the wrong word. This isn't courage. This is diligence, persistence, hard work, but not courage."
Then here we are in November, we stumbled on this beautiful property with a little blue house. It was next door to Kevin's studio. A beautiful children's camp is next door. The sellers accepted our lowball offer. The stars were aligning. And all of a sudden there was call for courage. This house called us in. Like being a new parent, we felt like we needed to rise to the occasion even though it was beyond our current capabilities-- beyond what we could even imagine doing. Would we need a tractor?! I think we'd need a tractor. And 100 YouTube videos about tractors later, we are going to need a tractor.
And inside, oh the potential. Quirky layout and historic details plus a whole lot of elbow grease. It's a renovator's dream, except we aren't renovators.
So there it was: the call for courage. And I realized that was my word all along. Just waiting for me at the end of the year when I would be ready, accomplished, and poised for adventure.
In November and December I'd wake up more mornings than I care to admit sick to my stomach, what are we doing? Can we do this? Why do I feel this in the pit of my stomach? Oh, maybe that's fear, maybe this is what courage feels like. Kevin and I stayed up late many nights talking about the costs, the tradeoffs, the uncertainties, and what really we want for our family in this next chapter. But we couldn't imagine walking away. We'd immediately start looking for the exact same thing and never find it. We stuck with it. Mountains of potential and deep oceans of doubt.
It's a charming, awkward old house and there are 15.81 acres that comes with it. Open pasture, riverside wetlands, and wooded trails. The center of the house dates back to the 1800s and stands on stacked stone, unmortared and ancient. Old chimneys and dilapidated sheds and 3... now 4 (more on that later)... different well sites for water. We don't have a tractor and we have no idea what we are doing. It's our first renovation. But it's ours and we are so excited.
During due diligence, we had thousands of dollars' worth of inspections on the house. Everyone who came wanted to stay and start working on it. Even the termite guy was mapping out the crawlspace for us and drawing the original timbers. The structural engineer was fascinated by the old construction techniques. The home inspector was... critical. We had the water tested, found the asbestos, and engaged a designer to help us reimagine the space. We did everything we could to go in eyes wide open. There were tons of things that should have been dealbreakers. But the sellers were supportive and we still didn't want to walk away.
When closing day arrived, I was nervous. Normally sellers don't come to closing, but G & E came. They came eagerly and anxiously, saying "we wouldn't have missed it." They had practically memorized our letter. They knew us. And we knew them. They were everything I wanted them to be. They invested 40 years in this beautiful property and were passing the torch to us to continue their legacy. We promised to be good stewards and good neighbors.
G & E shared stories and charming details about the property. Incredible stuff: The front room was also original but detached with a breezeway "dog trot" between the structures. It may have been a doctor's office once! The old chimney was once surrounded by a building ("the old store") that fell in the 90s. (They left pictures for us on the kitchen counter.) The bricks 2/3 of the way up have the date "1854" enscribed on them in white on the back. Two decades ago the riverbank had been excavated when the bridge was widened and archaelogists discovered artifacts from Native American trade paths to Hillsborough. They told us how to find the unmarked graveyard on the far edge of the property in the woods. On the grassy corner there is volunteer milkweed that attracts hundreds of monarch butterflies at the right time of year. There's extra bird seed in the shed and we'll have more birds than we know what to do with. 3 original exterior doors, solid wood with peeling paint, are also resting in the shed. It might have scared away some, but we are enchanted. I am mezmerized by the history and possibility of this place.
Closing day was truly special. I felt so affirmed knowing that this wonderful couple had already put their hearts and souls into this place. It was real. The magic I had imagined was real. And the potential I envision can also be real in our good hands. If I can keep an open mind and strong spirit. If I can choose imagination over fear.
What are we doing? Can we do it? Are we ready? I don't really know. But we are inspired and humbled and we are learning. We have a million ideas for this place and they are all challenging and rejuvenating, calling us in over and over. It's like oxygen to the bloodstream.
On January 11, we became the newest owners of the little blue house by the Little River. The adventure is ours now.