The story of our first house cannot be told in one post. In fact, our first home is a book in itself. I will start at the beginning.
We were young, too young almost, fiercely stubborn, and just a little bit stupid. After honeymooning in Maine, we looked at this rugged wilderness land as something to be cajoled and ultimately concurred. My mind swam with scenes of ski lodges, warm fires, and New England history. We were naive.
Our first appointment with a realtor was in January of 1998 in New Hampshire. We left New York with an excitement that the affects of caffeine cannot mimic and headed straight into the worst ice-storm of that New England decade. Between us, FringeMan and I have enough self-motivation to do some pretty stupid things. I’m not sure what we expected, but it was not an empty realtor’s office.
Our spirits only slightly dampened, we decided to forge a path in the ice that led to Maine. Maine winters can be much like an embittered woman deprived of chocolate, and Mainers are some of the most rugged people I have ever met. They are more pig-headed than FringeMan and I combined and to them, weather is a fact of life, like the sun rises and sets each day.
Maine did not disappoint. We stumbled into the hands of the most competent realtor I have ever met and although we did not take his advice, we will be forever grateful to him. Most first-time home-buyers start with a price-point and we were no exception; however, ours was a reverse price-point. We asked if we could start at $10 thousand dollars and see what was available. To his credit, our realtor didn’t blink an eye, didn’t spit his gulp of coffee into our laps, and didn’t questions our sanity. He doubted, but consulted the ever wise, all knowing computer anyway.
What we found were a few shacks that rivaled the dwellings of your average New York City homeless person’s, an abandoned ice-fishing ‘cabin’, and a few mobile homes whose parts seemed to have walked away years ago. When we reached the $40 and $50 thousand dollar mark, we were afloat in choices, but I had to look no further.
By this point, we had long left our seats and were hanging over the realtor’s shoulders. When a house popped up on the screen, it was love at first site. Being freshly wed, I knew love when I saw it. Grabbing FringeMan’s arm, I exclaimed with a longing that should be reserved for the marriage bed, “That’s my dream house!”
As a seasoned realtor filled with life’s experiences, he cautioned against too much excitement. Armed with a map, several MLS listings, and passion, we set out in search of our dream.
This house was everything we had hoped and oh, SO MUCH more.