THE FINALLY FARMHOUSE THAT WASN’T . . . When one adventure ends, another begins

Real estate listing

Today Renaissance Man and I became the new owners of this 1908 small-town Victorian. I sure didn’t see this coming . . .

Dear old house,

What a surprise you are! We weren’t supposed to be together—or so I never dreamed. You sit pretty in the small town I moved out of when we sold our last big, beautiful old house and moved to the country.

By now we thought we’d have built and started enjoying our smaller, new-to-look-old farmhouse — but Life happened . . . and happened . . . and happened again. Two years almost to the day after saying goodbye to our old house and living in a fifth wheel onsite at the farm—ready to build “any day now” — our Finally Farmhouse dream is dead. I don’t understand why.

Maybe there’s nothing to understand . . .

Oh, there are reasons — and it’s the right choice to walk away — but we’re heartbroken. From where you’ve sat in town since 1908, you’ve never seen a valley view like the one 10 minutes down the road. It’s stunningly gorgeous, and I’m really going to miss it.

But it’s time to move on, to not dwell on the past but to walk toward whatever “new thing” is happening.

Since I wasn’t looking for a new thing, I certainly wasn’t looking for you! And yet here we are; your owners have moved away, and Renaissance Man and I need a place to live. Maybe it’s a match made in heaven. Please forgive me for not fully embracing that yet. I’m still grieving over the farmhouse that wasn’t. But I’m grateful for you. Very grateful—and very surprised.

I know it’s not a good idea to compare “family”, but I can’t help it. You see, I had a wonderful relationship with my first old house, and I’m hopeful you and I can enjoy our journey together, too, but I’m still mentally processing the differences between the two of you.

My first old house was built in 1907, constructed of beautiful red brick with a wrap-around porch on her Victorian exterior—and gorgeous wAvY old glass in her windows. Inside, she had early Craftsman features (built-ins, plate rail, double pocket door) high-quality heart pine floors, and a to-die-for coffered ceiling. Of course, she was a derelict mess when we met, so the depth of our relationship was the result of months of intimate time spent discerning her needs and bringing back her elegant spirit.

We were only her third owners, and I knew the stories of the previous two families. We bonded — big time!

You, however, are a mystery.

I know very little (yet) about your previous owners or how many there have been. I do know, though, that you too are a century-old Victorian with a wrap-around porch. Hopefully there’s original clapboard under your vinyl siding. I do love your original front door with glass upper and the twist-it-to-ring doorbell. Inside? Well, I’m not familiar enough with you yet.

First impression is that you are big, easily habitable—and potentially beautiful. You just need some magic worked on you! You have wallpaper (with borders . . .  so many borders!) from your last renovation in the early 1980s, horrendous bathrooms, and a kitchen that doesn’t suit us at all. Some of the “improvements” made to you could have been better thought-out, and some of the finish choices . . . well, let’s just say, “I can’t wait for demo day!” (It’s been a favorite of mine long before Chip and Joanna Gaines made it a thing!)

Fortunately, you have original interior doors, baseboards, and door trim. I’m sorry you don’t have crown molding anywhere, but perhaps we can remedy that someday. You do, however, have original fireplaces. Eight fireplaces. EIGHT! with seven mantels. They’re all still coal-burning, but hopefully in the future we’ll retrofit at least one or two with gas logs.

But the decorating possibilities? Virtually limitless!

I’m gonna need more Christmas stockings, don’t you think?

Honestly, ol’ gal, I’m a little intimidated by you. Not by the design work or even your seemingly endless space, but by the fact that we’re even together. I thought we were downsizing! Funny . . .  if 24 months in a 300 square foot trailer isn’t downsizing, I don’t know what is!

But it seems downsizing is more than a physical thing. When we moved out of our last old house, we got rid of everything we no longer used or loved. We stored everything we thought we might use in our next house. We tried to sell a few antiques and miscellaneous pieces, but they didn’t sell—and now we’re glad because you have plenty of space for them!

So we did the physical downsizing thing . . . but we tackled the mental part, too. Even though we’ll be moving our belongings into your 3700+ square feet, we have no intention of bringing in things we don’t use or things we aren’t willing to share—or do without if need be.

We’re committed to holding everything loosely.

We proved we don’t “need” all we have, but we’re sure grateful to, once again, look forward to countertop space, the ability to do laundry at home, a bath tub.

So bear with me as I get to know you. I need to sit with you for awhile. To look out your windows. To become familiar with your sounds. To soak in your details. I should warn you, though: In some rooms, you’ll get to know ME immediately because, well, there’s no amount of time that would make me fall in love with your present state. Let’s just be honest with each other and shake things up a bit from the git-go, okay?

Even so, there’s a part of me that realizes I’m approaching you timidly. I promise I’ll warm up eventually, but right now I’m still getting used to the idea of being your new owner. Still getting used to living back in town. Still accepting that you’re not my beloved Finally Farmhouse.

Deep breath . . .

But it’s going to be fine. Better than fine. I’m going to embrace you with all the gusto and energy I can. I’ve already claimed @smalltownvictorian on Instagram so I can share your renovation story. I hope my blog readers will enjoy following along!

I also hope it’s okay with you, but after 108 years of being tied to high-fallutin’ Victorian style, I suspect you may be ready to let your hair down a little and relax. I promise to respect your great bones, but, just so you know, I’m not going to be a purist when it comes to decorating your spaces. We’re going to mix things up.

Together we’re going to create a warm, welcoming, comfortable family home where life and love and hospitality are present. It may take awhile, but hopefully by the time you’re “finished”, we’ll both be prettier, kinder, more mature versions of ourselves.

Gratefully living in hope,

Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing!

Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?

I am making a way in the desert and streams in the wasteland.

Isaiah 43:18-19

Related posts:

Is there a farmhouse in my future—finally? Our Finally Farmhouse — FINALLY! THE ILLUSIVE FARMHOUSE: The adventure continues WILL WE EVER BREAK GROUND ON OUR FINALLY FARMHOUSE? Switching gears {yet again} . . . but still moving forward