We bought a 102-year-old farmhouse. We closed on Friday, September 1. Much like the day one must catch the Hogwarts Express.
To backtrack a little, the husband and I began looking at houses with a realtor in May. 4 houses. That is all we looked at. Unfortunately, I am one of those irritating high maintenance people. (A fact that should shock no one.) No houses came even close to what we wanted. In town, too close to other houses, no yard, no character, already under contract within days of being listed, no garage, we would have to haul water, obscenely expensive for something that hasn’t been updated since 1985, etc.
As the weeks went by I checked for new listings every day. By the time July hit you could watch prices rise from week to week, and that is no joke. Suddenly we were priced out of all but a handful of (awful) houses.
Toward the end of July, spur of the moment on a Saturday morning, the husband called up a realtor and set up an appointment to look at an old house about twenty miles away. I thought it would go horribly, as the house cost more than we wanted to spend and surely would be horrible inside, as they all were.
Ahem. 30 days later, here we are.
She’s not perfect. If you wear roller skates in the kitchen you’ll zoom right into the living room; the floors are not exactly level. You don’t need coffee to wake up in the morning, you just need to walk down the (OH MY LORD ARE THEY STEEP) stairs. But there are cottonwoods and lilacs and room for chickens and a garden.
There also is no internet. It looks like we’ll have to get satellite internet, which is probably going to take several weeks.
So bear with me. I have no internet, no furniture, and no dinner plates. But I’ll get there eventually.
See you later, at some point.