Life as a house

By the time you’ve finished reading this column, one-third of you will think I’m crazy, another one-third will think I’m on to something, while the remaining one-third (I hope) will grab their significant other and consider what this means for them in more ways than one.
I can assure you I’ve never been more sure of something in all my life (aside from Pete, of course).
Opportunity has a way of making us change our minds. And change is good.
This time, change is more than just good.
First of all, I really try to not hold back on living well, and for me that can be done in a million different ways besides eating a green garden salad every day, buying something beautiful to wear that only one other person will ever see, kicking back with a cold beer on any given day that ends in “y,” or forging ahead with some fantastic larger-than-life home improvement plan.
Where I reside today does, without a doubt, fit right in with my living well philosophy. And I’ve worked very hard to make it that way.
Peter and I fell in love with our house about 30 seconds after we saw it because we knew the possibilities. Ever since we bought it, we’ve plugged away to create something I know for sure was worth every sore muscle.
And it’s not headline news that I have a stubborn female nature and an ingrained sense of organization. But late last summer, “Mrs. Know-It-All” let go of the reins and let Pete’s imagination take over.
With a whole lot more creativity than I gave him credit for, he built himself—and us—a one-of-a-kind shed/haven that I’m still convinced can be seen from outer space.
But then, Pete’s creative side is one of his best features.
And outside, there’s the symphony of peeping frogs, the sandhill cranes, the mallards, and Canada geese who remind me that the eco-system in my neck of the woods is very healthy, too.
We’ve pushed ahead and accomplished more than we’d ever dreamed of with this place of ours and we’ve made sure to enjoy it, dance with it, and take it all in.
I never owned a home until I was 39, and the first one I had I thought was the “cat’s meow.” Then work opportunities convinced us to sell, pull up stakes, and move to British Columbia.
That fantastic life in the mountains lasted all of 10 months and home we came to Fort Frances, hauling our pride in a gunnysack behind the moving van.
It took me a long time to get over the fact that we’d sold such a great home in exchange for what I thought was the best decision we’d ever make.
Time however—and more importantly—new opportunities healed that “owee,” too, and on we went to discover a home like no other.
When I was a child, I daydreamed often that one day—perhaps—I would buy my grandparents’ farm—a place synonymous with childhood and all the years that have come after it. I grew up and moved on in my own life, but I never forgot about that dream.
Where I live today will be in my heart forever, but neither it nor my first home can hold a candle to where I’m headed.
We’re buying the farm, folks, and this neck of the woods is for sale.

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