AN ACCIDENT
A lot happened the year we adopted Murphy. Al’s mother died in February. We went to her funeral in Cleveland and spent time with Al’s six siblings and their families. In October of that same year, my mother, Nancy, died. She was 92 years old. Nancy lived nine years after my father, Bob, passed away. A few months before her death, she had fallen in her room at the assisted living center where she’d lived for a couple of years. That accident was probably the ultimate cause that ended her long life. She passed in her sleep, thank goodness, but my wonderful sister Jill had just visited her, which still comforts me.
The last time I saw her was three months before her death. She was mostly confined to her room in the assisted living center since walking had become too difficult. We ate lunch in their dining hall and spent time in her room, talking about the past. Everyone in my family knew she was fading, but I hoped she still had more time.
That day, I wanted to learn what it was like for her growing up during the Depression. I knew she and her mother struggled to have enough food. I also longed to know her side of how she and my father met and married. So we sat in her room, and she enjoyed telling me things I’d never heard before. We sang songs that she used to sing to me when I was a child; some were hymns, and some were show tunes from the 50s. We had fun that day, and as I drove the three hours home to Springfield, I was so glad I’d gone. At her memorial, I described my mother’s life during the Depression. The stories she told me about her childhood experiences helped me explain the deep faith she’d gleaned from her mother and her firm resolve as an adult. She raised her five children to be good people and cared for her husband with a fierce love that transcended her life.
*
One morning, I suddenly noticed that my pond liner had developed a large tear from the ultra-violet-light (UVL) of the sun beating down on it for thirteen years. Normally, water was circulated by a pump located in a cavity on the edge of the water. The pump forced the water into an underground pipe that circled the pond, up into the waterfall, and finally out into the pond. Unfortunately, the water found its way through the tear, then underneath the liner. Theoretically, it could’ve pumped most of the water out of the pond in a few hours, then the fish would likely die. We quickly repaired the liner in a make-shift fashion but the patch wouldn’t last long. That tear forced us to reline the 15 x 25-foot pond in March when the weather was cold in Ohio, and so was the pond water. I had about thirty-five large Koi, two dozen sizeable fancy goldfish, and a Grass Carp that Vonda, a friend of mine from Marietta, had given me. At twelve years old, the Grass Carp was about eighteen inches long. He was tame and friendly, ate food from my hand, and was a big attraction for neighborhood children when they came to see the pond.
I had to buy an extra-large fishnet, two massive galvanized steel water troughs that farmers use to water their cattle and horses. Then I had to rush an order for a heavy-duty liner big enough for my pond and safe for fish, which would last at least thirty years. The chore was a monumental task for both Al and me. The real crisis came when we learned that my mother had been admitted to the hospital and that I needed to go down and help her on Monday. Both my brother and sister in West Virginia had watched over her in the hospital for days, but they had jobs, and I didn’t, so it was only fair and right that I helped all of them out.
Al and I had less than two days to accomplish something that I figured would take a week. Once everything was ready, and I had all the materials I needed for the fish rescue, we put on our thickest clothes and high boots, then went outside to the pond. First, we had to lower the water level so I could catch the fish. If I didn’t reduce the water, it would be nearly impossible to catch them, but we’d also be causing them trauma that could kill them. We pumped water from the pond into the two huge water troughs, then I got into the pond and stood in water up to my shins. With the new net in my hand, I began to catch the large Koi, one at a time. Once netted, I handed the net to Al, and he gently lowered it into the trough and tipped it so the fish could swim out into the water. I caught all of them except the Grass Carp, knowing he would be tricky.
I thought maybe it would be best if, once we caught him, I released him in the reservoir east of town. At the lake, he’d have plenty of vegetation to eat and a vast body of water to live in. Still, I feared he’d be caught by the many fishermen there who’d easily see him in the water. We called him Shark because of his length, but he was my baby, and I didn’t want him to end up on the hook of someone who wouldn’t know he was special. So the final decision was to keep him in my pond for the rest of his life. He was so big it was easy to catch and release him in the trough. We put him in the second trough, along with the goldfish. Of course, it began to rain during this ordeal, which made walking difficult. With all the fish removed, we emptied the pond of the remaining water down to the bare liner. Instead of pulling it out, we pushed away the massive boulders surrounding the pond’s edge and put the new liner on top of the old one. That way, two liners would protect the pond from tree roots and UVL for thirty years. Moving the boulders out of the way was a difficult task for us.
When I built the pond, just after moving to Springfield, I hired several men to deliver and then do the rock/boulder placement around the pond's edge. I did the rest of the pond build myself, including all the plumbing and wiring. Now, it was up to just Al and me. We tried to use the wheelbarrow to move the boulders from one place to the other, but with the rain, pushing it around the pond was impossible. That meant we had to lift them by hand, then carry them to the pond's edge to hold the liner in place. It took hours to reposition the boulders and then a couple more for me to hook up the filter system, re-rock the waterfall, and set up the pump at the other end. Finally, using our home’s original cistern built in the 1920s to collect water for use inside the house, we pumped its crystal clear water into the pond and filled it up. With the pump working and the waterfall circulating clean water, we finally caught the fish in the troughs and carefully repositioned them to the newly lined pond. By the end of the day, to say that we both were exhausted was not even close to the truth. All went as planned; the fish were up and eating the next morning, and I hit the road for West Virginia to help my mother in the hospital.
The thing I didn’t realize during all that rock work was that I injured my back. In West Virginia, I was in so much pain that once my other sister Angel arrived from her home in Virginia to take over at our mother’s bedside in the hospital, I had to get home. I truly do not know how I made the three-hour drive home that evening, I was in the worst pain of my life, and feared I’d need surgery to correct the damage that I’d done.
I went to my doctor the morning after I returned home. He gave me pain medicine and sent me to a spine specialist in Springfield. After numerous X-rays and deliberating with other physicians, the spine specialist determined that I had indeed injured my back, herniating five disks. Even if he performed five surgeries, he could not guarantee that the operations would repair the damage. He set up a series of injections in the nerves of my spine to try and alleviate the pain. They failed to help me. I still had a lot of pain from the degenerative disks. I was disappointed but stoic. He tried his best, but the treatment had been useless. Once we moved to Murphy, North Carolina, I went through the same routine with a spine specialist in Gainesville, Georgia, with similar results.
So, in the end, I live with the pain. It was one of those accidents that happen to people who do stupid thing like lifting heavy boulders instead of paying someone stronger and more capable of doing it.
Now, I try my best to live a happy life with a positive attitude regardless of the chronic condition I deal with just about every day.
*
THE HUNT FOR A NEW HOME
We decided to take a vacation in November. After all the stressful things we’d been through over the previous nine months, we wanted to get away for a few days. I’d been keeping an eye on houses for sale in Murphy using various search engines. And after studying them, we chose five we wanted to see with an agent there named Pat, whom a friend had recommended on our last trip. I called Pat in Murphy, introduced myself, and gave her the list of houses. She promised to set up appointments with the owners and would email us later so we’d know the schedule. Pat said we should meet her at the real estate office on Tuesday at 11:00, the first morning of our vacation.
With Murphy dog on board, we drove our Jeep Wrangler 4x4 and headed south on an eight-hour trip. We were now committed to finding a home we’d both like in Murphy, or out in the countryside of Cherokee County, North Carolina. Who knows, maybe we’d see something unique and would want to make an offer on a house before we returned to our Ohio home.
Murphy Brown was eight months old when we visited the town of Murphy for the fourth time. We rented a rustic house not far from the only golf course, with a picturesque view of a valley and a meandering stream running through it. The house was a chalet style that one finds in tourist towns in the mountains, where people rent out their vacation homes or cabins to the many visitors that are attracted to the region. A chalet looks something like a Bavarian house with wingtips on each side, a steeply pitched roofline, many windows on the front, and usually a loft bedroom that overlooks the living room. We liked it immediately because it was private with no nearby homes, and the scenery we saw through the front-facing windows was picturesque.
We brought in Murphy’s crate and set it up in the dining room. After she checked out the first floor of the house, she started to climb the steps to the loft when we heard her growl. Some dogs bark when they are apprehensive, and some dogs growl. Whenever she comes upon a stranger or something that she fears, Murphy growls. It’s not an…I’m gonna attack you growl, it’s more like… I’m scared, so don’t come too close… growl. She was still a puppy, but it’s essential to know this aspect of her personality when visiting our home. First, she growls, then she sniffs, then she goes into a bedroom and sleeps.
We both stopped what we were doing and went over to see what had caused her to be fearful. On the landing was a realistic-looking stuffed brown bear about three feet tall. The bear had glass eyes, brown fur that felt like it came from an animal, a pinkish nose, and his mouth was open with his tongue hanging out. He was meant to be charming and was to a degree, but not to Murphy. If I had to describe how she reacted to the brown bear, it was with pure hate. For the entire time we stayed at the house, Murphy stayed way away from Brown Bear, as we called him. If she followed us to the loft, she’d sprint up the steps, skirt around Brown Bear, then race up to the second floor. Once there, she rarely came down unless one of us was with her. It was funny to us, but Murphy was not amused.
We put our clothes, kitchen stuff, and breakfast food away then decided to go to town and get something to eat for dinner. We’d taken Murphy to the beach at Ocracoke Island for a week that summer, and it worked out fine. So this was the second time we’d had Murphy with us on vacation, where we left her alone in a strange new place and went out of the house for a while. We certainly wouldn’t want to leave her in the car when it was cold outside, so leaving her at the rental home was the best for all involved. She went into the crate with no resistance, as usual, curled up and closed her eyes. It had been a long trip for a puppy, and she must’ve been tired. We picked up a big bag of tacos at a Mexican restaurant in town, then went home to eat them.
She wanted out of the crate the minute we walked into the room. We rarely gave her people food, but she had not eaten all day and had to have been hungry. Since her traumatic first trip in our car driving home from Cincinnati, Murphy would sometimes have an upset stomach when riding in any vehicle for an extended period. Even though we’d brought her food with us, she refused to eat while on the road. Now I could see she was starving. While Al objected, I gave her two crunched-up tacos after taking out the lettuce and tomato. They disappeared in seconds. Then I gave her the dog food she eats every day, and she gobbled that up too.
Once finished, Al took her outside to do her business and returned in half an hour. By then, it was getting dark. Murphy entered the living room, curled up on the floor (facing away from Brown Bear) and fell instantly asleep. We debated whether to put her back in the crate for the night, but for the first time since we’d brought her home from Cincinnati, we let her sleep out of the crate, and hoped she wouldn’t slip up. Sometime during the night, I heard the tags on her collar jingle as she climbed the steps, then jumped up on our bed. It was a king-sized bed, and there was plenty of room for her to sleep between us. Murphy curled herself into a tight ball and fell asleep. All of us slept soundly until seven the next morning; at least that’s what I assumed.
Al was in the bathroom, and Murphy was still on the bed asleep when I went downstairs to turn on the coffee maker. But on the landing, I saw something kind of frightening. Brown Bear was flopped over on his side, his fur looked wet and matted, and his eyes and nose seemed to be missing. Actually, when I leaned closer to examine his face, I realized they weren’t missing, just chewed off. I spotted the glass eyes on the carpet and a piece of the nose on one of the steps.
Holy Mackerel, I thought! During the night, Miss Murphy had apparently wanted to sleep with us on the bed in the loft. I’m guessing here, but she must’ve slipped up the steps, saw Brown Bear and attacked him in the dark. Murphy chewed off his eyes and nose, then licked his fur for good measure. Obviously feeling much safer, she continued up to the loft and our bed. Or, she could’ve decided to get out of our bed, and go down and do away with Brown Bear. Who knows the mind of an eight-month-old part Retriever and part Hound.
What the devil was I going to do with a mutilated Brown Bear, that the homeowners must've loved since he was the focal point of the room? I picked up Brown Bear’s eyes and the piece of his nose and continued downstairs. Still holding them for fear I’d lose them, I turned the coffee on and sighed.
Then I heard Al yell. “What the hell’s happened to Brown Bear? Someone has attacked him, and his face is gone?”
He came into the kitchen to find me laughing so hard I held my stomach. Murphy was right behind him, looking for her bowl and sniffing for food. They both stared at me because I couldn’t stop laughing.
“Hey,” Al said, sounding irritated. “That freaking Brown Bear must’ve cost a hundred bucks. We signed a contract saying we’d pay for any breakage or damage, remember? So what are you going to do about this, Kathy?” I was still laughing, so he added, “I’m serious now. This is gonna cost us a shitload.”
“Well, after we return from seeing the houses this morning with Pat, I’ll pick up a needle, thread, and some glue at the Dollar Store down the road, and sew everything back on!”
I’d put the eyes and piece of the nose on the counter. Al pointed to them and said, “ How are you going to sew these back on Brown Bear, so he doesn’t look disfigured?”
I tipped my head back, made a stern face, and replied, “Just wait and see. I am a good seamstress (a lie), and I can fix Brown Bear so he looks like new!”
Al shook his head, hooked the leash to Murphy and headed outside so she could do her business. Before he closed the door, I heard him say to our puppy, “You really screwed up back there, girl. You should be ashamed of yourself. That bear didn’t do anything to you!”
I cleaned up the kitchen, ate one of the muffins I’d brought, drank a cup of coffee, then went upstairs to change into my house hunting clothes. However, the morning’s chaos would soon become a crisis, and I’d quickly learn what it was like to be so scared that I wanted to cry.
*
When Al returned with Murphy, he walked into the kitchen grumbling and unhooked her from the leash. Murphy hurried over to her bowl and quickly ate her dog food.
“What’s the matter?” I asked. Then I glanced at the kitchen clock. We still had more than two hours before our appointment with Pat.
“I walked her forever, but she didn’t poop. I need to take a shower and get ready. Maybe if you take her out, you’ll have more luck. It’s still cool, so throw on a coat. Boy, it’s pretty out there with the mountain mist and the colorful leaves.” He handed me her leash and went upstairs.
I looked down at Murphy, and a sudden fear swept through me. I went over to one of our bags and scrounged for her Thunder Jacket. I pulled it out and called to her. When she sat beside me, I slipped it over her head and wrapped the flaps around her middle until the velcro stuck tightly to the jacket. A veterinarian designed the Thunder Jacket for dogs who get fearful during activities like puppy class, or if they’re afraid for some reason. Something about the tight jacket against their skin supposedly calms them. It had worked for Murphy in her puppy class, so I put it on her then… just in case something should happen. Soon, I was glad I’d done it.
With my coat on, I hooked Murphy to her leash, and we headed outside. Al was right, the scene before us was stunning. The morning mist drifted over the mountains, and the leaves still held some lovely fall color. The house sat on a hillside, with a road that led down to the stream at the bottom. We headed down the road, but Murphy had to sniff scents at every tuft of grass.
Off in the distance, I heard the sound of a dog howling. I looked down at Murphy, and she’d gone on point with her fur up, which was unusual. “It’s just a dog, baby. Nothing to worry about.”
We continued our walk, but I was not having any luck getting Murphy to do her business. The howling continued, only this time it sounded closer. Totally without warning, Murphy jerked hard at the leash, the collar broke apart at the hasp and fell to the ground. Now free, she took off running as fast as I’d ever seen her run. She raced away along the stream, then disappeared into the woods in the near distance. I heard her barking and barking and ran toward the sound, but I didn’t see her anywhere. Murphy is a sprinter, she has always loved to run. Now it looked to me like she’d run away. I kept calling her name, hoping she’d run back to me. No luck. She was gone. She’d disappeared into the wilderness of a dense forest about fifty feet away.
I walked into the woods and spent about half an hour calling her name. The dog that had been howling earlier was now silent. A sound came from behind me, and I turned to see Al. He looked ready to leave for our appointment. I had no idea how I could tell him Murphy had run off. My worst fear was that someone would take her, thinking she was a stray.
Soon, we both took up the search and walked up the hill to the other side of our rental house. On that left side, there was a large wood deck that ran around to the back. Rails surrounded the deck with steps that led up to it. Al said he’d taken Murphy there earlier that morning. I’d hoped beyond reason that she’d be waiting for us, but there wasn’t a brown dog on the deck. I could feel tears fill my eyes, but I shut them tight, refusing to think the worst had happened to our puppy.
“Honey, she’ll come back. I am positive. We are her family, the only people she’s knows. Let’s call Pat and let her know we’ll be late, and the reason.”
I nodded, and we hurried back inside. Picking up the flip phone, I held it to my ear, but there was no tone. I checked and saw that we had no service. We also had no other way to call her. After explaining to Al about the phone situation, he suggested we go through with the house showings, but not stay long at any of them. Then we could rush back here to see if Murphy had returned. If we liked any of the houses, we could have Pat show them to us again the next day.
It seemed like a good plan, but I wanted to stay at the house in case she should return. After some discussion, I agreed to leave but insisted we make the tours short and sweet.
*
Pat was a slim woman in her fifties with short, light brown hair. She was soft-spoken, seemed to know the real estate business well, and was eager to show us the homes we’d selected. We didn’t tell her about Murphy but did say we wanted to go through the houses quickly the first time. If we were interested, we’d have her show us the ones we liked the next day if that was convenient. She agreed. We left in her BMW, which Al guessed was over twenty years old.
Pat said that the owner of one of the houses had just received an offer; another one was not worth seeing, leaving only three we’d tour that day. The first was a log house on a mountain with three acres. I liked it, Al didn’t. He felt it was too dark, the rooms were small, the house was choppy, and the quality was questionable. The second house we both liked; it was a typical chalet but very small, with almost no storage space, and no place for Al’s workout equipment or my studio. There was a large room above the garage that might work for both our needs, but it was not ideal. I liked the setting. It was in a charming community called The Pines, with similar houses along the roads that wove through the small development. The last home was on the other side of the county and did not look like a cabin, but more like a builder-grade house outside of Springfield. We both liked it okay, but it just wasn’t what we were looking for in our next home. So the ones we asked Pat to show us for a second time were the log home and the chalet.
I tried to be polite and friendly, but inside I could hardly contain the panic racing through me. I needed to return to the house to see if our dog had come back to us, or I’d scream. We said our goodbyes, knowing that we’d return to see the two houses the next morning, and assured Pat we were serious. If these houses didn’t work out, we would eventually buy something in Murphy with her assistance. Touring the three homes only took an hour and a half, thank goodness. My heart was elsewhere, and I had no stomach for house hunting that morning.
The drive back to our rental was tortuous, and my nerves were on edge. When we drove down the gravel road to the house, I felt like throwing up. Al slowed the car, and we both searched the area to see if we could spot her down the road near the stream. Nothing, no Murphy. When he parked at the back of the house, that’s when we heard her bark and bark and bark. We knew that bark well, hurried out of the Jeep, and raced to the deck on the far side of the house.
There was Murphy, jumping up and down, barking like a crazy dog, but happy to see us. I ran up to her, knelt on the deck, and she ran into my arms. She kept licking my face, and it was only then I felt sure she would be ours forever. We were a family, and she’d never leave us again willingly. Finally, I let myself cry. Murphy wasn’t lost after all, and no one had taken her thinking she was a stray. She’d just been checking out this wild place, wondering if this was her new home, or more likely, she followed the scent of the howling dog. It didn’t matter as much why Murphy ran off, what mattered was that she didn’t come when called. From that point on, we would need to train her much better to ensure she’d always come when we called her. No other training was as necessary as that recall.
We might never really know what happened to her, but I didn’t care at that moment. Al patted her head, called her a good dog, and urged her to come along with him into the house. He opened the kitchen door, and Murphy went inside. As soon as we rested for a bit, we were going to take her into town, then buy a heavy-duty collar at an impressive looking mountain pet store we’d spotted on the road into downtown Murphy. I also planned to stop at the Dollar Store and get a needle and thread plus some super glue for Brown Bear’s operation.
*
The next day, after we saw the two homes for a second time, we were not ready to put an offer on either of them. Again, we decided they were both not exactly what we wanted in our new home. The decision to purchase a house in Murphy had to be made based on essential criteria we’d determined together, long before we made this trip. We explained this to our agent, and she seemed disappointed, but realized this choice needed to be right, or later we might be unhappy.
Al and I spent the rest of our vacation hiking with Murphy on the river trail in town, taking trips to area attractions like charming Helen, Georgia, touring mountain museums, and going to a rather lovely art festival in nearby Blue Ridge, Georgia. We had dinner in new-to-us restaurants, and drove past some of the many lakes in the area, wanting to learn what the region might offer us down the road. After our fourth day, we sat in the living room reading, when we heard a scratch, then a bark outside the front door.
Al got up and opened it. Murphy and I were right behind him. Sitting on the stoop outside were three comically looking dogs. One was a small Beagle, one an even smaller Rat Terrier, and the other was a taller mixed breed that we still can’t figure out. All had collars with tags. Al grabbed Murphy’s collar, or she would’ve bolted out the door, then they left to find her leash. While I stood there in front of the dogs, I laughed. It reminded me of the many times when kids had knocked on the door at our house, wanting our son Marc to come out and play.
Once Murphy was on-leash, we went outside and examined our visitors more closely. I held onto Murphy’s leash as Al went up to each one and read what was on their tags. The Rat Terrier’s name was Shy, the Beagle was Hank, and the mixed breed’s name was Dixie. I let Murphy loose, and the four dogs sniffed each other like long lost friends, rumbling in the grass, playing like friendly dogs do when they are in a group. Al and I decided that they all knew each other somehow. Perhaps, just perhaps, when Murphy ran off into the woods, she came upon this ragtag bunch of cutie dogs and hung out with them for a time. And maybe when she tired of her new friends, this motley crew followed her back to our rental home. We had no way of knowing if our supposition was right, but it made sense after seeing them all together. Al and I sat on the front stoop and watched them play for a while longer. Tired of the doggie games, Murphy approached us and whined to go inside.
I think we discovered what had happened on Murphy’s adventure with her new friends, and we were relieved but still determined to do a better job at training her on recall. I sewed the nose back on Brown Bear and glued his eyes back on his face. He didn’t look like new, but if you didn’t get too close, he looked cross-eyed and odd.
*
A MANSION IN THE WILDERNESS
Five months later, in late March of the next year, a notice from Zillow (a search engine for house hunters) popped up in my email. I’d set up an alert so that if any new listing with our criteria (place, price, lot, beds, baths) came on the market in Murphy, I’d receive a notice. When I opened the email, a picture and description appeared on my computer screen. My heart beat wildly as I read the description and tabbed through the forty-some photos of a home for sale outside of Murphy. The first photo showed a rushing river behind a large log cabin. The second thing that registered made me sit up straight. It was not a typical home listed for sale by an agent; instead, it was a bank-owned foreclosure. I’d never even thought about looking at foreclosures, since, like most people, I was intimidated by the steps required to purchase one.
The pictures of the inside charmed me instantly, with its post and beam construction, open floor plan including a beautiful living room with a rock fireplace and a dining room. Between them was a large kitchen with a massive U-shaped countertop filling the space. The house had 3500 square feet, including the lower level, three-quarters of an acre in old-growth trees, and was nine miles from Murphy on a gravel road. There were three large bedrooms, one being the master with two huge walk-in closets and a handsome master bath with an antique claw-foot tub and a shower. There was what looked like an office on the first floor, which would be convenient when I worked on my novel or this memoir. Windows were prominent on all three levels, some were floor to ceiling, and many with views of the Nottely River. The lower level had an unfinished space about the size of the first floor, with a finished bedroom-workout area, a full bathroom, and a perfect place for my studio right in front of a picture window. One photo showed the scene outside that window, and I could see the river twenty yards away. Beyond the river was a pasture with cows, then a distant mountain view. The lot looked neglected, but inside the house appeared pristine. If all that wasn’t good enough, the amazing part of this listing was the bank's price for an opening bid. It was far, far, below the top of our budget!
I know this may be hard to believe, but I knew immediately that this river house was going to be ours. I called Al at work, which I never did unless it was an emergency. After telling him about the fantastic foreclosure in Murphy and the details of the house, he said he was absolutely on board. Al thought I should call Pat right away, so we could learn what to do next. If this was the home of our dreams, as I thought it might be, we needed to move fast. It had been on the market for several years, and it looked like the bank was actively encouraging a quick sale.
From that day on, everything rushed to a dramatic conclusion. To keep someone else from buying it out from under us, we immediately placed a formal offer on the home, without seeing it first. We had ten days to back out of the offer, or we’d be stuck with it. Of course, that meant we needed to rush down to Murphy and check out the house to make sure it was as good as the pictures. While we were there, we’d also need to have a qualified person inspect it from top to bottom. Then a representative from the bank holding the note would evaluate all offers as well as the financial backgrounds of the prospective buyers, and make a decision. If we had the highest bid and an excellent credit score, the bank would notify us that we got the house. Soon after that, we’d need to deposit ten thousand dollars earnest money in an escrow account at that bank, kind of like a deposit on the house. And lastly, we’d need to apply for a mortgage at the lending company of our choice. Pat was more than worth her commission on this deal. She walked us through the process, one step at a time. If it weren’t for her help, we lived too far away, and I don’t think any of this would have happened.
Through Pat, we made a formal offer to the bank holding the note, then left the next morning to see for the first time a house we’d just promised to buy. Pat said if we found issues, didn’t want the house after the inspection or changed our mind, we could rescind the offer and not be out any money. But the clock was ticking, we’d already used two of the ten days that we had to back out. So we threw some clothes together, packed Murphy dog’s food, and hit the road.
On the way to Murphy, neither of us second-guessed what we’d just done. Al and I have never been gamblers, we’ve never been to a casino or gambled online; it was not the way we spent our money. That said, putting an offer on the house we’d only seen on the Internet was a crazy gamble. The deal could go south, our earnest money could be tied up for a while, and we might have to work hard to get it back. There were all sorts of negatives I could have dwelled on regarding this purchase, but I didn’t allow myself the leisure of wallowing in negatives. Al had not expressed a single doubt and was plunging ahead just like me. I didn’t have to wonder why, even though a log home was not in our comfort zone, it was stunning with the beams overhead, floor to ceiling windows and beautiful views. We’d never thought of living in a log home or expressed a desire to have a house on a river, a trout river at that. But I likened that log home in Murphy to the years I’d spent as a kid growing up in West Virginia, camping at state parks, hiking in the mountains, swimming in lakes, and enjoying Nature at its best. I felt that there, in the North Carolina mountains, I would find a peace that had eluded me for some time.
We rented a small cabin for three days from Pat, which was only a few miles from the log home. Murphy behaved well on the way down because Al had walked her for an hour before we left Ohio and she was tired. We got to Murphy later than usual, then went right to the rental house using the address Pat had given us. The house was unlocked, and we brought our things inside. The next morning we had an appointment with Pat to finally see the log home, and we’d get to meet the inspector who’d be going over the house for issues that might doom our deal.
*
After walking the dog the next morning, we grabbed some food at McDonald's, then headed back to see the log house. At the time we didn’t have GPS on the car, just a map of Cherokee County, which showed the road where the home was located. Surprisingly, I wasn’t nervous at all, just excited to see if the pictures on the listing were true to life.
We saw the street sign we’d been looking for, then turned onto a gravel road and drove slowly ahead. Pat had warned us not to take a side road down to an Alpaca Farm, but to stay straight until we made a ninety-degree turn to the left. On the right, we spotted the farm she mentioned, with large barns, outbuildings, and what looked like rental cabins along a noisy creek. We continued straight ahead and began to look for a river. I knew the house was sitting right next to the Nottely River, so when I saw water in front of us, I figured we must be close. After that turn to the left, we saw several small cabins along the tree-lined road which were neat and tidy but mostly obstructed the view on our right. We went about a quarter of a mile further when a tall, handsome log house came into view.
Al slowed the Jeep to a crawl as we formed our first impression. The log house was darker than in the pictures but lovely just the same. The river wasn’t quite as wide or deep, and admittedly not as dramatic as I’d imagined from the description and photos. Al turned the car down the gravel driveway and parked between Pat’s old car and a newer one with a Charlotte plate.
The river drew me immediately, but at the top of some stairs on the right side of the house, the front door opened. Pat stepped out onto a porch and waved to us, as Al and Murphy climbed the steps behind me. On the porch, Pat and I hugged, then Al shook her hand, and of course, Murphy growled. We skipped the pleasantries and hurried inside.
After studying the photos over and over again back at home, I thought I would not be surprised when first seeing the large open space for the first time. But I was stunned, and so was my husband. Al seemed completely speechless.
“Oh, my word,” I said, and slowly let my eyes span the massive room in front of us. “It’s awesome, Pat, a mansion in the wilderness! I can’t believe that this could be our home.”
“Wow,” Al said, and then Murphy pulled him to the right toward a wall of windows.
Over our heads were thick beams and trusses spanning the ceiling, which continued over what had to be the master bedroom up in the loft. Along the entire back of the house was a series of French doors with beveled glass. We walked outside through the French doors and stepped out onto a wide porch that stretched across the entire width. There were wood floor-boards and railings with spindles all stained a warm pine. Looking up, we could see similar thick beams resembling the ones inside, and a deep roofline that hung over the railings. It would be a great place to sit outside protected from the elements, and watch for wildlife under that overhang, I thought. However, what thrilled me was the impressive view of the river, the farmland across the water, and the mountains in the distance. We returned to the inside and checked out the kitchen.
“What do you think, guys?” Pat said. “Wasn’t I right, isn’t it amazing?”
Before putting an offer on the house while we were still in Springfield, we’d asked Pat to go over to the log home. Since we hadn’t seen it in person, we needed her to be our eyes and give us her impression. Pat agreed and said she’d call once she got there. About an hour later, Pat called, even before she went inside. Pat is a gardener like me and was impressed with the trees on the property. She said there were poplar, spruce, holly berry, pine, magnolia, and dozens of ancient dogwoods, plus azaleas and rhododendron. Her first impression was that we should go ahead and put in the offer, but she’d still go inside and check it out. After touring the house, she called again and said if we didn’t buy it, she’d buy it herself. I knew she’d struggled after the real estate turndown during the Great Recession, so she wasn’t serious about buying the house.
“You were right, Pat. This place far exceeds what I’d imagined after looking at the photos,” Al said. “You know what’s so great? It’s the smell. The scent reminds me of fresh cut cedar, and no matter where I walk in here, I can smell that scent.” Pat nodded, pleased.
We met the inspector from Charlotte, and he showed us a list of items he’d be checking that day. It seemed to cover just about everything: all the appliances, the construction of the frame, roof, windows, floors, plumbing, gas connections, electric, etc. I did notice the power was on and wondered about that, but didn’t bring it up. The water was not on, so he couldn’t check the water pressure or the pump in the well.
It seemed clear to us that we needed to get out of the way, so we toured the house with Pat. Murphy dog had been on her best behavior, but she stayed clear of the two people she hadn’t met before, which was fine. The master bedroom and bathroom in the loft were even more impressive than I’d thought, and the lower level was the perfect place for a big family room, a workout room for Al, and an excellent area for my studio. The lower level floors were cement, but the former owners had glued down particle board over the top of that, which was a huge and costly mistake. They had paneled the walls in faux wood made of pressed cardboard, and since the house had been unoccupied for years, the cardboard had buckled in places. I thought it would take fifteen grand to finish the downstairs but would add value to the property if we did it. I guessed that we’d take that on as soon as we could afford it.
All of us went outside the lower level through another set of French doors. We walked back to a handsome dock that looked almost new and jutted out over the Nottely River. Pat, Al and I stood on the dock and enjoyed the peace and quiet. I could not hear any traffic noise from the two-lane highway we’d used to get there. I didn’t hear the sounds of lawnmowers or weed trimmers we’d constantly hear in Ohio, or ambulances and police sirens for that matter.
Pat had done some research and learned this small community had about thirty houses that were spread out over two miles along the road. Most of the homes were set way back off the road, like ours, and blended into the natural environment. To the left, I could see a cabin maybe an acre away from us, and it appeared vacant. On the other side, a slightly bigger house also on about an acre that looked uninhabited. Pat told us that most people who owned cabins in this area were from places like Florida. They spent winters in southern climates. But when the weather became uncomfortably hot, they came up to stay in Murphy and the cooler temperatures in the mountains. They lived in their cabins during the summers and holidays. To me, that meant we’d have most of this road to ourselves much of the year, and the privacy and space we’d never had before. Our property alone would be great for Murphy, she could run to her heart’s content.
There were benches built into the dock, and we sat on them, while Murphy stretched out on the grass, contented enough to close her eyes.
After we all watched the river scene for a bit, Pat asked, “I wonder if you guys are going to let your offer stand on this house, and not cancel it before the ten days were up?”
Al answered for both of us. “Pat, we are going to stand on the offer we gave to the bank, and hope it is the highest bid. If our offer is accepted, we have a lot of things to deal with, like putting our house on the market, and all that entails. Then, I’ll have to submit retirement papers for my government job, which might take months. That said, I think this will be a very positive move for all of us, and unless the inspector finds problems, I think the house is amazing.”
“Good,” Pat said and turned to look at me. We both smiled, happy with his assessment.
I was suddenly overwhelmed and tired at the same time. I wanted to go back to the rental and take a nap, but we needed to hear what the inspector had to say, and soon enough, he joined us on the dock.
“I’ve been inspecting houses like yours for fifteen years,” he said, “and I know you are eager for my report. I will email you a copy, but I can tell you now what I found going over the house.”
He flipped through a notebook and then said, “I have rarely inspected a house that was as well made as yours. This is a sturdy house, insulated from the weather by the thick logs, with top-of-the-line materials and finishes. The roof is metal and less than ten years old, the logs are in excellent shape, but you’ll need to have them power washed, sealed, and stained again soon. I have found no indication of any water getting inside, no sign of any plumbing issues, and your electrical box is 200 amp and still has room to add circuits. There is a bit of white mold on the lower level paneling in the bathroom, but considering it’s been sitting here vacant for years, I am not surprised. You can get someone to come in and kill the mold, it’s an easy job. I’d also run a dehumidifier down in the lower level to get rid of excess moisture if I were you. Other than that, you have one of the best log homes I’ve had the privilege of inspecting, and I recommend that you not worry anymore about its condition. It is in excellent shape. I need to go to my truck and write this all up, and then I’ll give you a copy before I leave.”
Al walked over to him and shook his hand, saying, “Thank you so much. You have relieved our minds about this house, and we’ve decided to let our offer stand, and see what happens. Hopefully, our offer will be accepted.”
After about an hour, Pat locked the house and we all left. Slowly, Al drove the Jeep around the neighborhood to check out the gravel road and the other homes. We’d never lived in such a remote and rough-looking setting and realized our log home was the nicest structure in the neighborhood. Nothing about this small community put us off, and we headed back to the rental.
*
It was about seven in the evening of that same day when we drove back to the log house after having dinner in town. I wanted to see it without anyone but Al and Murphy around. I have a strange thing that happens to me when I stand in front of some houses. I can close my eyes and visualize the place in my mind. When I do that, I get a sense of its heart, if you will. I believe that even inanimate things can give off what I call its soul. That’s what I needed to do with the log house, visualize it and see if I got a good feeling about its essence.
The sun was beginning to set over the mountains across the river to the west. There was a hint of the color rose at the horizon when we pulled into the driveway. Al let Murphy off her leash, thinking she’d stay pretty close to us in a strange place, which she did. Then the three of us stood on the dock and stared down at the raging river racing past it. Earlier it had been a lazy body of water, in no hurry to get where it was going. Now, it was a wild mountain river that nearly filled the banks and raced downstream at a wild pace. We marveled at the change and found it enchanting. I later learned that the Nottely River is a TVA waterway, and they control the flow from the Nottely Dam upriver from our house, which was about five miles south of our road and into Georgia. That would explain the dramatic change in the river we’d seen from morning to evening. I’d also checked with the county, and the Nottely had never flooded in the long history of the river’s existence, which was good since we wouldn’t need flood insurance.
Just then we heard the sounds of geese and looked up. There was a large flock of Canada Geese flying in a V-formation overhead. They flew close to the river, swooped back up, and then slowly flew down river, honking as they went. Smiling, I shook my head at the vision. Here was my soul, this is where I was meant to be, next to this mighty river with geese flying overhead, cows in the pasture beyond, and mist swirling around the distant mountains to the west. It was a magical moment, and later, my husband agreed. Murphy dog had stretched out on the dock and was sleeping like she was already comfortable. I didn’t have to close my eyes. This was going to be our home. I knew in my heart that we were meant to be there.
The three of us headed toward our Jeep when at the last minute I turned back to look at the sunset. The horizon had turned a deep shade of scarlet.
*
TO MOVE OR NOT TO MOVE
We cut our trip short and left early the next morning. Eager to return home, we needed to figure out what the heck we were going to do if the bank did take our offer. Both of us had been working over the winter, fixing and painting things inside our home, with the idea we might be putting it on the market. But we had a few projects yet to do as soon as it was warm enough to paint outside. We needed to scrape the old paint off and then repaint our l920’s garage, which was not in great shape because of its age. A few years earlier, we’d added a new roof, eighteen new insulated windows, had stone installed over the exterior of the old chimney, a new blacktop driveway put down… for a total of thirty-eight grand. It was all paid for by the second mortgage we took out after the robbery. That second mortgage was a problem when it came to pricing the house. Back when we bought it, the market was at its highest, and we ended up overpaying for what it was worth. Now, the market was still coming back from the Great Recession, and houses in Springfield were not selling at all. In fact, the market there was one of the worst in the state. Like much of Ohio, people were not moving into the region because businesses, factories, and commerce had left in droves, leaving cities stalled in the past without jobs for the future.
While assessing the repairs left to do, we had real estate companies in the area come in and give us their listing price, hopefully, based on the improvements we’d done in the last few years. What we discovered was that our house was worth less than we bought it for twelve years earlier. None of the improvements helped to increase the price; in fact, the second mortgage meant that once we paid the realtor’s fee and closing costs, we’d have to bring additional money to the final closing to pay what we still owed on our mortgages. That was not acceptable to us.
I researched other ways to sell a house rather than going through a real estate company. I found an article online about a new business that helped homeowners sell their own homes. At the time it was called OhioBroker. The property owner paid them a relatively modest fee for their services. Then the owners could upload the house description to their website along with 35 photos. We had to select cities where we wanted it listed, along with choosing national real estate sites. The cities we chose were Springfield, Dayton, Columbus, Cedarville, Yellow Springs, as well as Zillow, Trulia, and Realtor.com. If it all worked out and we sold it through OhioBroker, we’d save thousands in real estate fees. Al said to go ahead, what did we have to lose. As soon as we knew the log house was ours, I was ready to upload everything. Then I got a call from Pat.
“Kathy, I have some news. There is one other offer on the log house. The bank will not disclose the name of the buyer, or what price they put down as their bid. The bank is now asking that you and Al, as well as the other buyer, give them your very best offer. Obviously, the highest bid will get the house. Once I submit it for you, we’ll know in a couple of days. If you really want it, you’d better consider raising it. So, what do you think is your… very best offer?”
I was not expecting this, so I asked, “Can I call you back in about an hour. Al’s due home from work by then. I am pretty sure we’ll come up with a higher bid, but we won’t know if that will beat out the other buyer if they also raise theirs.” She agreed, then said the increased bid had to be into the bank by ten the next morning, or the other buyer would get the house by default. I promised to let her know by five-thirty or as soon as Al walked in the door.
An hour later, Al called her back. “Pat, we talked about it and decided we want to up our offer by fifteen thousand and one dollars. We’ll hope for the best, and appreciate all you are doing. If we get it, great. If not, we’ll keep looking. How’s that, do you think it’s enough?”
“I have no idea, but if I had to guess, it sounds like a respectable increase on your original bid,” Pat said. “I’ll submit it this evening, and call them first thing tomorrow to make sure they received the offer, then let you know as soon as they inform me of their decision. Tell Kathy I am keeping my fingers crossed for you guys… until I hear from them.”
At four the next afternoon, which was a Wednesday, Pat called.
“Guess what? Pat asked, sounding giddy.
“We got the house, right?” I asked, then held my breath for her answer.
“Yep, you got it! Congratulations! The bank ended up changing the amount you raised your first offer…by fifteen thousand dollars even, removing the one dollar you added for good luck. We’ll never know what the other buyer offered, but it doesn’t matter. Now, you’ll need to send the foreclosure officer that ten thousand dollars earnest money tomorrow morning, which is Thursday. As soon as they get the cashier’s check, I’ll let you know so you won’t worry. Before you go, I’ll give you the exact name that should go on the check, and the address to mail it. And be smart, send it priority…next day delivery.”
“Good, I have my pen and paper ready. But is that it, then? Can we start the application process at the bank in Murphy for the mortgage on the log house?”
Pat replied, “Yes, you’ll need to call them… but wait until you hear from me that the foreclosure officer received your earnest money. From what you’ve told me about your finances, you shouldn’t have any problem getting a mortgage on that house.”
After she gave me the name and address of where to send the check, we ended the call. I took Murphy on a walk around the neighborhood so that I could clear my head. I knew that none of this would have happened if it hadn’t been for my parents. They saved their money for decades, invested it, hoping after they were gone their five children would have funds to provide them some security, pay for their children’s education, or like us, put some of it down as a payment on the rest of our days. After Dad died, my mother scrimped and saved so that when she passed, we’d all receive an even greater inheritance. It wasn’t for the first time, but I said a silent thank you to both of them for their incredible generosity.
Al and I never had much extra money to put aside. We lived from check to check at times. Most of the profits from my art business went to pay for our son’s two degrees. It had only been in the last few years that Al even thought about retiring, and what that would mean to us financially. We were not wealthy people by any means, but in retirement, we’d live comfortably with excellent health insurance, and now with a very reasonable mortgage payment.
I almost wished I still drank beer that evening, since Al and I went out to dinner to celebrate. I had my usual club soda with lime, and Al hoisted a couple of beers. A new adventure was upon us, and I intended to do my best not to get anxious about selling our house (good luck with that). Al is rarely rattled and was cool about it all, except that he’d need to submit his retirement papers immediately since it could take months before he’d be able to leave his job. All those things we’d accomplish with care and our undivided attention. For that one evening, we didn’t worry about anything, we celebrated our future life in the mountains of North Carolina.
*
We took a couple of weeks to complete fix-up jobs on our house, then in May, we uploaded the description and photos to the Ohio Broker website. Our listing appeared almost instantly on Zillow, Trulia, Realtor.com and area MLS throughout the region we were targeting. The house looked better than it had in decades, I thought. I had granite installed in the small kitchen, along with all new appliances and fixtures in the kitchen and baths, had the area rugs cleaned, and designer linens on the beds. I started packing my basement studio, so that not only was I cleaning everything down there, most of my supplies and materials were ready to move. I pumped out all the old water from the pond, then used the cistern to fill it up with clean, sparkling water. I weeded all the flower beds, mowed the grass, and we touched up the paint on the house and garage. There was nothing left but to show the house to prospective buyers.
I had forced myself not to think about my fish and the pond. It was just too painful. I knew in my heart they could not go with us, the eight-hour drive to North Carolina would most likely kill them. I couldn’t keep them alive that long. The wild nature of our new property was not conducive to a fish pond. Critters of all sorts would fish out a pond, including the many Heron I spotted just downriver from our house. No, they had a perfect home in Ohio, and that’s where they were going to stay. I was counting on finding a buyer who wouldn’t take issue with a pond in the backyard. We’d already sold two homes with ponds without any problems. I just trusted we could do it again, hoping the buyers would love the fish, the pond and the gardens.
My worst fear had to do with where we lived. The primary reason I listed it myself, other than cost, was that by targeting people outside the area, maybe I’d find someone moving here who’d enjoy the nice neighboorhood and historic home. We had two successful open houses, and soon showed the home at least two times a week. Most seemed to be local folks wanting to live in historic Ridgewood, but afraid they’d not be able to sell their own house to be able to move. Then I had two different showings to people outside the area, moving nearby for new jobs. Both buyers looked promising. I waited for them to return and see the house again.
The bank in Murphy had approved our loan, we signed the papers online, and it was a done deal. That was the easiest home purchase we’d ever experienced to date. Al and I wanted to go down to Murphy for a week, open the house, get the water going, and enjoy our new home. We bought a blow-up-bed online that had the best reviews, and as soon as it arrived, we packed the car, got a cat sitter again, and with the dog onboard, headed south to Murphy. I’d sent an email to OhioBroker saying we’d be away for a week, but if she needed to contact us, to use our cellphone number. Then we left town.
*
We had a great time staying in the log house with Murphy, chilling out, hiking the neighborhood, and checking the details of the house we’d not had time to look at more closely when the inspector was there. We counted two instant water heaters, which we knew nothing about, one upstairs in the bedroom for the shower and bath, one at the kitchen sink for quick hot water, then a top-of-the line regular one on the lower level for everything else. We noted that the floors were all 12” heart pine, and ran the width of the house. The walls over the logs on the inside were shiplap made from red pine. A heady scent filled the rooms with the aroma of pine since all the closets had cedar paneling inside. The house had built-in fiber optics for internet, which surprised us. With each discovery, it became apparent that we’d been incredibly lucky to have found and then bought this home for the price that we did. The lower level needed new flooring and new walls, and we wanted to start that soon. After we sold the Ohio house, we’d have a better idea of how much we’d have left for improvements. Turning the lower level into finished square footage would add value. But what we truly needed was that second living space and an area for my studio.
The sleeping arrangements were not ideal. The blow-up bed was supposed to be a queen but instead was only full-size. In the middle of the night, the air leaked out, and those on the bed ended up sleeping mostly on the floor. We did go to Walmart in Murphy and bought two metal and vinyl folding chairs that sort of looked like recliners to use on the back deck, but which came in handy at night. Al and Murphy dog slept in the bed on the floor, and I slept in one of the reclining chairs in the living room. We had no television, no landline, no internet, no contact with the outside world except for our flip phone. It was heaven on earth, or so Al claimed.
From Springfield, I had called the local Sears store in Murphy and ordered a refrigerator, microwave, coffee maker, and dehumidifier, then asked that they deliver them to the log house the second day of our week there. That way, we’d have coffee, a place to keep perishables cold, and a quick way to cook while at the house. We went shopping for a new sofa and side chair for our charming living room and found what we needed in town. They delivered it on our third day there. So it was all working out pretty nicely, except we still needed to sell our Ohio home. My secret fear was it would take a long time to do that, and we’d be driving back and forth between them trying to keep both houses going at the same time.
Murphy dog loved the house. The floors looked new, smelled of pine, and were shiny, so she stretched out every chance she got and lolled around like the queen of the place. I figured Katy would love it too. She’d become more of an inside cat, and our two girls got along well enough. There was one thing that kept me on edge while we were staying at the log house. As a person who does not like loose ends ever, I needed to live in one house, preferably the log one.
*
Al and I were sitting in the loungers on the porch overlooking the river. It was Thursday afternoon around five when we got a call from the owner of OhioBroker.
“Hello,” I said.
She introduced herself, then said, “I have a couple who want to see your house. Their agent called me needing to get in touch with you. After I heard your message on the house phone, I called this number. I’ll give you the agent’s number, and you should call right away. Her buyers are in a hurry to get something soon, so I thought it was important to call.”
“Oh my word…yes, of course, we’ll call their agent immediately. Thank you so much for getting in touch with us. We are now sitting on the porch of our new log home in Murphy, North Carolina, but haven’t forgotten the most important thing right now is to sell our house in Ohio.”
I told Al what she’d said, but he was eager to hear more from the buyer’s agent. So I called her after we discussed what we might need to do if the buyers were really in a hurry to see our home.
The agent answered on the first ring. “Hello?”
“My name is Kathryn, and my husband Al and I are sitting on the porch of the home we just purchased in North Carolina. We are here on vacation for a week. I just received a call from our broker in Ohio. She said we needed to call you about a couple wanting to see our house in Springfield that’s for sale.”
“Yes, thank you for calling. I do have a couple that moved to this area for jobs. Right now they live in an apartment, but their lease is up in June. They want to buy a house soon, so they won’t have to stay in the apartment for another year. They saw your listing on the MLS, and want to see your home. Is there any way they could see it tomorrow morning?”
“It’s an eight-hour drive from here back to Springfield, so I do not see how we could physically do that. But we’ll leave early tomorrow, and should get home in the late afternoon sometime. If they could see the house on Sunday, that would be so much better for us. Do you think that would be possible for your buyers…to see the house Sunday?”
“Yes, I do think we can work that out. I’ll call you again in a few minutes, once I see if Sunday is good for them. I know you are on vacation and hate that you have to cut it short, but my buyers are under a time crunch and serious about your house. I think it’d be important for you to return and show it to them on Sunday. If that’s okay, I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”
I said it was fine, and looked forward to her call. Once she clicked off, I told Al the details. He’d already figured out most of it from my side of the conversation. If the buyers agreed to the time and date, we would need to get up before dawn and leave for Ohio. We hoped that ending our vacation early would be worth all the trouble. Then their agent called to tell us that her buyers would see our house at 1:00 pm on Sunday.
*
We hurried home the next morning but had to turn off the water heater and well pump in the log house first. Since we were unfamiliar with wells, we didn’t want anything to happen while we were gone. With the electric circuits shut off to both of them, they couldn’t be damaged, and water would not run unchecked and flood the house.
It rained most of the way, but Al put the Jeep in cruise control so we’d arrive home early enough to get ready for the showing. Sunday morning, Al mowed the lawn out front, while I made sure the rear gardens were at their best. By 1:00 pm, Al had taken Murphy on a long walk just before the buyer’s appointment, while I made sure everything shined.
Through the windows on the side door, I saw the buyers walking down the street toward our house. Another woman was beside them, and I assumed she was their agent and the person I’d spoken to on the phone. I welcomed them, showed everyone in, and then tried to stay out of their way. They were much taller, younger than us and looked like they were into exercise and being fit. From what I heard them say, they had lived in a lot of different places before this move to Western Ohio. Both knew what they wanted, were focused on the details of the house, and didn’t have any questions for me until the end of their tour. They wanted to know about heating and cooling costs, how difficult was it to take care of the fish and pond, and other typical things buyers had asked who were looking for a house. I answered honestly, of course, and after saying goodbye, they left. I had no idea whether they were serious buyers or just shoppers. I’d had a good bit of experience with both.
Al and Murphy returned, and just as he started to ask me about the showing, the phone rang. It was their agent, and she said her buyers needed to see the house one more time. Would the next day at 6:30 in the evening be acceptable? I said yes, and began to hope this might work out. The agent continued, asking that we not be present when they were there, which was excellent. Once they finished checking things that they thought were problematic, she’d call and ask us to return. Finally, she told me their concerns. The buyers had large antique furniture and were not sure they’d be able to get them into an old house since the doors might not be wide enough. I reassured her that we had antique furniture, too and that the front door was quite a bit larger than standard doors. I knew this to be accurate, because I’d tried to find a screen door to fit it, and the opening was too large for standard sized doors.
Al had to work that day, so I cleared out all of our smaller furniture in the entryway and up to the second floor. That way nothing obstructed the passageway, and they’d be able to see it was possible to bring large furniture into the house from the front door. Finally, I straightened, vacuumed again, and the house was ready by the time Al came home. At the last minute, I remembered to take the cellphone, thank goodness. We left the house unlocked and hurried Murphy into the Jeep. Al took us to the reservoir, his favorite place to walk her, and we sat on picnic tables and talked about what we hoped would happen. About an hour later, the agent called. She asked if we’d return home so she could speak to us.
As soon as we got inside, Al put Murphy in her crate, and we joined the agent in our dining room, one of the prettiest spaces in our home. She said the buyers wanted to put an offer on our house, then told us the amount. It was one thousand dollars less than we paid for it twelve years earlier. I was disappointed, I’d hoped for a number closer to the listing price, but Al is always the pragmatic one of us in matters like this. He asked if it was okay if he checked something in our office, and then we’d have an answer. While he was away, I made small talk but was undoubtedly anxious. Theirs was the only offer we had on the table, and it may be the only offer we’d get. I’d heard somewhere that your first offer is always the best, so I knew we were in a pickle. If we countered, they might turn us down and kill any deal. If we accepted the offer, we’d not have enough money to finish the lower level in the log house.
Up in our office, Al checked numbers he’d worked on previously regarding a possible sale price, and felt it would all end up fine for us. So we accepted their offer without countering. It was time to move on with our lives. Maybe I wasn't being fair to Springfield, but with all that had happened, I knew the best thing for all of us was to leave. However, other critical reasons made me confident regarding this decision, but I’ll tell you about that another time.
So began the convoluted process of selling a house. We had to have it inspected, and I was worried because some of the electrical wirings in the house were original but safe. There were a few bumps along the way, but in the end, it all worked out to everyone’s satisfaction. We received an appraised value for the house that was much higher than the sale price, which was great, and there was only one problem left for us to handle. When the buyers made their offer, they had one stipulation. We would need to be out of the house in less than two weeks. I honestly did not know how we’d do it all in that short amount of time. Al had to work right up to the day before we moved, so the packing, the moving company, setting up utilities at the log house, and the steps to finalize the sale were all in my lap. Whenever I doubt my capabilities now, I remember that I took care of that move with the skills of a mental giant!
My final crisis had to do with the Koi. The people who’d bought our house said they were not gardeners, knew nothing about raising fish, much less how to take care of a complicated pond and filter system. I wrote a detailed multi-page explanation about how to do everything from cleaning out the filter, what and how to feed the fish, and the various aspects of being a fishmaster. However, there was no one I knew that they could turn to if they had problems.
Then one morning, I was walking Murphy down a nearby street. We came upon a charming older house with a small pond and waterfall nestled in the front yard. A man and woman were working on the plants around their walkway. I introduced myself and Murphy, saying we lived a block away and that I had a pond as well. They looked to be in their late twenties; he was a pharmacist, and she was a teacher. They loved Koi and had built their pond to raise the colorful fish, so I invited them over to see my operation.
They spent an hour asking questions, checking out my system, and feeding my Koi. I told them my problem: that we’d just sold the house but couldn’t take the fish with us. I needed someone close that the new owners could turn to if they had problems with the fish or the pond. They didn’t hesitate and offered to assist them. In exchange for their kindness, I gave them three of my smaller Koi. It was a huge relief, and I took their names and phone number to add it to the material I’d put together for the buyers.
It tore my heart out to leave my fish. I still miss them, even though it has been years since we left Ohio. But I chose to do what was right for them, not for me. It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.
*
Check back again in about two weeks for the next post in the Guardians of the Road Blog. Kathryn Lehotsky, wildlife artist.
コメント