Genny, the realtor, asked if we minded stopping to look at a place in the nearby village. It was on the way. She knew we were looking for a place in the country with a few acres of land, but thought she’d show us this place that she’d just listed. I agreed reluctantly.
The place looked nice enough from the street. A white, two porched, late 19th century house situated on the uphill side of Main Street on a 1/5 of an acre corner lot. I stopped to let Genny and Diane out to go in the house via the rear /side entry. I parked the car. As I was getting out of the car, I overheard Diane exclaim; I love it! This is the house I want! I thought, “that doesn’t sound good.”
I entered a room which I supposed to be a kitchen of sorts. A gas stove was immediately to my right. The walls were unadorned plaster, except where it had fallen off, leaving the bare exposed lath. The ground was visible through the spaces between the floor planks. The sink was a filthy mess. The place looked like it was currently occupied and that the residents had just stepped out… a year ago and never returned. The house she loved and wanted looked like a lot of work to me, an endless money pit, so to speak!
Oh yes, we bought it, thirty one years ago.