A Place Called Home

We have been looking at houses. Everyday a couple of them pop up on my screen that are in our price range and have enough bedrooms. They boast of gas log fireplaces and tile in wet areas and convenient subdivisions But mostly, they leave me cold. They have as much real beauty and craftsmanship as the items in Walmart's Razorback souvenier aisle.

"Wouldn't you like to live in a nice new house?" people ask me.
The answer is a blunt, "NO."

I didn't grow up in an old house. My parents built it when I was five and I distinctly remember the clean, good smell of new lumber and how afraid I was of the deep hole that began for the basement. It's a pleasant house, and with Mom's creativity inside and Dad's sweat outside, they've made a lovely home over the course of nearly 30 years.

My parents bought me a rosebush when I graduated from college. I loved it. At the time we lived on Staten Island and I had toiled as much in bringing beauty to that parsonage as Robb had bringing truth to the congregation. Long ago, Dr. Greer (of Cornerstone University) had grown up in that house. His father, an old Scotsman, was an avid gardener and filled the space with growing things. All that remained 25 years later were some blooming trees and a huge honesuckle bush. My rosebush was so happy. It bloomed the first year.

And then we moved and I greedily tried to take it with me. It died, of course.

It must be the Irish in me...which isn't very much as far as I know. But movies like "Far and Away" and "Gone With the Wind" and the book "A Tree Grows in Brooklyn" resonate deeply with me. I desperately want a piece of land to own and manage and be a part of. When you move a lot like we have, you have to pull up roots and start over. I hate to be transplanted.

Living in an old house in a tangible connection with something that has been there long before you. It reflects the work of people that were there, living their lives, dreaming their dreams, raising their families, doing their jobs, long before I ever came to this place. It's a way of being grafted into something that has roots already. Not to mention the fact that they really don't make houses the way they used to.

On Sunday, we were driving around, checking out house-listings I had collected. We drove by a place I had noticed before which was obviously vacant and had signs out front. When we followed the drive to the back, we saw that the doors were off the place. We called the realtor on the sign (okay, we went inside first, if you must know) and he said, "Well, the house is worthless. You can have it to move it. I'm just selling the land and it is $200,000.00."

The house is NOT worthless. It is a charming cape cod, with red shingles. Hardwood floors throughout and the original 6 over 6 windows, which are like huge baby eyes looking out from the house's face. The kitchen has those old white cupboards that I have had in two other houses before. The counters are red...cherry red. A massive living room has been added to the front, making a huge gathering place with a warm fireplace. It sits squarely. The ridgepole is straight as a rod with no sagging. It has three bedrooms, a two car garage, two bathrooms, an eat in kitchen, and tongue and groove real-wood panelling that has been painted white.

All three houses on this property where we stay right now have been moved onto it. It could be done.

So I was up last night thinking about it in the middle of the night. I tend to love things that other people didn't want. Houses, A certain little girl we all adore, ebay junque. The fact that that house will just be demolished and I could have it for free... if I could move it... is killing me.

Those of you who understand my feelings of wanting to be connected to the past know what I am talking about. Those of you who don't, well, you don't. I doubt I can make you understand. I hardly understand this personality quirk myself. All I know is, I don't want to pay a mortgage every month for a house I don't even like if I can possibly find one that I do. I've never been picky about what I eat, what I wear, furniture, what area of the country we live in...but darn it, this matters a lot to me.