There's a reason I haven't been around much lately. Well, actually there are several. But mainly, it's because we've been house hunting.
You see, hubby has always wanted a woodworking shop. A big one. We're talking a major, stand-alone structure, with a log milling machine on the side. However, we live in a suburban development, where the homeowners association gibbers and drools if you stack your firewood in the wrong spot. It's been a great place to raise kids, but the kids are grown now. And we've suddenly reached the realization that at our age, it's now or never.
Personally, I'm OK with never. Twenty years ago, I would have killed for a place in the country. I'd look at old farmhouses on lots of land, and I'd dream about where my pottery shed would go; how the gardens would look; a little stand by the roadside filled with vegetables and flowers in French tin holders, with an honor box for the money. There would be a wooded section, cool and deep, and maybe a little pond. I'd fill the place with antiques and quilts, and there would be an attic room for writing. Now I look at these places and I think, Who the hell is going to mow all that?
So we're in compromise mode. I need a manageable house within easy driving distance of work and shopping. He needs acreage outside city limits. So far, everything we can afford is too far out, too expensive, or needs too much work. Which brings us to this little gem in the photo.
Isn't it pretty? It was built in 1900, and all the original wide-plank pine floors and woodwork are still there, never painted. It's in great shape for its age and has lots of quirks and charm. There are ten acres of land, a huge bank barn (we think it was for dairy cows), the original chicken coop and a couple of newer outbuildings. It's only fifteen minutes from where we are now. And it's in our price range.
On the other hand, the kitchen and eating area are very small, there's only one bathroom, and you have to climb a scary set of very narrow, steep stairs to get to the two upstairs bedrooms. Being in there feels like being home, but it also feels like being in a museum, which is both cool and weird. And while the kids are grown, they are not gone. Hubby and I could manage there quite well, but all four of us would never fit.
Still, I keep coming back to it. It would have suited my old dreams so well, and it would accommodate hubby's new ones. I don't know. I just don't know.
What do you think?