This Old House

As I write this, I can hear the quiet sound of a stream of water flowing through my basement. It is designed to do this. More or less. My house was built in 1865 before the days of sump wells with electric pumps to empty them. It had little more than a hand dug cellar then. With walls made of the rocks dug up in the excavation mortared together. They weep around the base and the water flows into a shallow trench built into the concrete slab. Which empty into a drain that goes to the ditch somewhere in the front of the house. But right now, there is a lot of water. More than during the floods of the summer of '23. Which I admit can be stressful. But is part of the price of owning an old house.

Some of my favorite things to post on X are listings for properties for sale around my state. Homes that are unique opportunities for people of vision to build equity and live the country life. Most of them are humble dwellings which will need some work. Which is why they are affordable. But from the replies you would think I had gestured to a hole in the ground and told them to climb in. "Middle of nowhere" and "complete teardown" are predictable retorts from the same people who fall all over themselves for the faux decay of the urban coffeehouse or post industrial loft space. The impression of history, distressed materials, and studied carelessness. A curated consumer experience which is demands nothing of them. But it is a very different thing to love something which is actually old. And to fight like hell to keep it from falling apart. When you are not able to throw money at every little problem.

My home is in good shape for its age. Someone built an addition in 1901, and things have been updated over the years. It will need to be sided in the next few years. A roof not long after that. But if you saw the original fireplace and pine floors in my dining room you would understand my love. When natural light shines across the ceiling or wall you can see the lathe through the plaster. Like the bones of the house showing through its skin. Giving the impression of a once great beauty grown gaunt with age. New cracks appearing like crow's feet at the corners of her eyes. If you focused on these things they would give rise to contempt. Resentment at the maintenance that might make you want something newer. Instead of seeing the beautiful whole and feeling gratitude for it.

It was sheer providence we ended up here. I bought it sight unseen. In 2021 we made the decision to move from a metropolitan area of the Midwest with 700,000 people to a rural New England town. But the housing market was insane. I started looking but was outbid on every offer. Even the one I made on this house. All the houses went well above asking. I accepted that we would have to rent for a while and keep looking. Then the deal fell through when the other buyers could not make the financing work, and the sellers asked to use my offer as a backup. Which is how we ended up here. Looking back things sort of fell together because I hardly had a plan. I am grateful every day for this house and this town.

You see it a lot around here. People get older and cannot keep up with a place anymore. Then by the time they die the home is in significant disrepair. The heirs do not want to mess with it so they sell if for whatever they can get for it rather than keeping it in the family. But it is an act of humility to take a thing which is given to you and make the best of it. Instead of starting over with each new generation. If I see potential in something which others do not it is from watching my parents buy what they could afford then make it into what they wanted all my life. The mistake young people make is thinking that to start a family they need to be able to provide the standard of living their parents did for them around the time they left home. When all they need to do is provide what they had when they were born. So, I keep posting in the hope that some of them understand that.