Home, sweet home with challenges and memories

My wife and I just bought a house.

It’s actually the third time we’ve done it, but the last two times were about a decade ago, the distant past for the housing industry. This time was different and slightly ridiculous.

It would not be an exaggeration to say that the effort took more than a couple of hundred e-mail and phone contacts. Finally, after we’d promised our firstborn to the bank in case of default and passed a polygraph test we took in the secret compartment of an underground vault, we were able to make the deal happen. It’s a crazy market out there.

But some of the problem, I suppose, isn’t us or the banks or even the market; it’s the house we bought. It was one of those not-so-professional flip jobs that fell apart when the market collapsed, so in addition to the regular loan, we also needed a construction loan. Banks aren’t so interested anymore in funding long-term DIY projects.

Even with the loan hurdles, part of what drew us to this new house was the blank slate. The house had no light fixtures, no floors, no appliances, no counters, no sinks, no toilets. Just drywall, some paint and a bird’s nest in an upstairs bathroom.

We like the process of creation. It’s been stressful this fall, but also exciting.

And the neighbors seem happy to see us, which is understandable, despite the portable toilet currently on the parking strip. The house was on the market for about a thousand days before we bought it, and it was an eyesore for at least that long. There’s not much joy in living next to a derelict property.

Of course, the other part of buying a new house is that we’ll be leaving our current home, which, even though we think we’re making the right decision, is a sadness.

We’re only moving a couple of miles, and every ending is a new beginning, and we’ll keep in touch. But still, we’re leaving a piece of ourselves behind. We bought a house several years ago, and now we’re saying goodbye to a home.

There’s the copper-accented fence my wife and I designed and built after ripping out the chain link and some old concrete. There’s my paint job highlighting the historic lines of the old foursquare design. There’s the pantry doors, all of a slightly different size, that my brother handmade for us one Christmas.

We learned to tile here and are proud of some decent work. We finished the basement and even ripped up and replaced the front porch decking to be able to get a couch down there. We added a bathroom, moved the back porch, built a deck and a patio, and started finishing off the attic.

Two newborns came home with us from the hospital, one to a backyard room design and the other to a beach room design. A faithful dog lived out her final years here, and another dog came to join us. I built my daughter a large playhouse, and then when our son arrived, I hoped he wouldn’t mind the purplish door.

I put together floats with neighbors and dragged them in our Fourth of July kiddie parade. We hosted barbecues and parties. Our kids learned to walk. We made pear wine in our alley with the family next door. We sat on the porch in the lovely summer evenings, eating and drinking and chatting. I camped out with the kids in the yard.

There’s the poetry box, which will hopefully still see some use after we’re gone. There’s the landscaping, which will hopefully still be tended. There’s the living and the history, which can’t ever go away.

We’ve been happy here, involving ourselves in all of the little pieces of life that make a house a home and a neighborhood more than just a collection of streets where we spend our nights.

Hopefully, to this house and neighborhood we’ve loved and enjoyed, the new owners will add and experience some poetry and happiness of their own.

And for us, it’s time to start the serious and joyful work of turning another house into a home.

Kyle Price has liked sharing his thoughts and writing with the local newspaper this year. He is one of six reader columnists whose work has appeared in this space.