We’ve already had our first guest spend the night, and yet the guest room has gone unoccupied.  Arianna stays upstairs with us.  She calls the office her “office-bedroom” and makes herself quite at home.  I’m an over-protective grandmom, and she can’t stay in the first floor guest room all alone until she’s at least 30.

So, that still begs the question — who will be the first guest to stay in the guest room?  When we lived in New Jersey, we called the guest room “Rahel’s Room” when Chris’ niece came to stay for awhile.  Then it became “Remo’s Room,” when his nephew came to visit.  Maybe this room will become “Eric’s Room” if we can convince that nephew to come visit.

When we found this house we weren’t even sure what to do with this space.  Should it be the living room?  It looked too disgusting to even envision that.  In fact, with stained brown carpet (at least we thought it was brown), a hole in the wall for a non-existent stove pipe, and botched up HVAC duct work — it was apparently too disgusting to even take a picture of it (I’ve looked back through our old pictures, and there isn’t even one “decent” picture of the mess.)  Then we decided to build the addition on the back of the house, and that became the living room area — connected to the kitchen by the large archway, making it convenient to entertain — because everyone always ends up in the kitchen anyway.  We decided this awkward space, at the opposite end of the house, would work best as a guest room and a downstairs bathroom.

I think it made the transition better than expected (as did this entire house).  The bathroom is beautiful and when I finally get done unpacking and have some time to do nothing, I’m going to take a bubble bath in the claw-foot slipper tub.  The guest room is cozy (yes, that is a code word in real estate for “tiny”), but it’s adorable, it’s just the right place for our antiques and we can’t wait to welcome our first guests.

At the start of this project, when I was still very naïve, I thought we could just replace a few floorboards on the porch — a project that probably even Chris could handle.  Then we noticed that the porch wasn’t exactly attached to the house and was precariously ready to fall into the front yard.  Then John told us he had a vision for the front porch that was “just what this house needed.”  He talked of Mortise and Tenon construction, no nails or screws and wooden pegs.  He talked about mahogany floor boards and hemlock beams.  Chris thought it sounded wonderful.  I thought it sounded expensive.  We went through rounds of designs, talked about other types of lumber and agonized over whether to spend that much money on a front porch!

But a front porch is a first impression — and it’s where we will sit for a cup of coffee early in the morning — or a drink at the end of the day, so we figured it might as well be beautiful.  All we needed was a set of rocking chairs to make it complete.  And one day we came home to two large boxes on the front porch (Thank You Len!)!!

So, watch out Ma and Pa Kettle — we’ve moved in and we have the rocking chairs to prove it!

When we first stamped out the dimensions for this room in the snow, and later laid miscellaneous branches around the frozen ground to get a perspective of the size of the space, we had not envisioned an “alpine room.”  What is an alpine room, one might ask.  I’m not really sure, except that it evokes images of Heidi (Arianna’s favorite book) — a sloping roof, steep mountains (well — a steep hill), and two tiny windows that flank a chimney.   All we need now are flower boxes overflowing with spring flowers — but that will have to wait ’till spring.

During the course of construction — it looked big — when we just had branches marking where the walls should be.  Then it looked small when they poured the cement footers.  Then it looked big when it started to take shape.  Then it looked small when the walls started to go up.  Then it looked big when the dry wall went up.  Then it looked small as the fireplace was completed and the trim went in.  So small, in fact, that we were shopping for a smaller alternative to our sofa and loveseat.  And then we decided to just wait.  Wait and see what it was really going to feel like when we moved the furniture in.  Not only does it fit, but it feels like home.  We have the pictures hung, the TV connected and the fireplace is ready to go — if we can stop unpacking long enough to strike a match.

So here it is – from “gut it” to glory. All those agonizing decisions about the style of cabinetry, the type of counter top and the choice of appliances – the result is stunning (if I do say so, myself)!  In fact, I’m almost speechless.

I wanted white farmhouse cabinets – since we’re on a farm and because they remind me of my Dad’s parents’ kitchen. We wanted a black counter top, initially envisioning something more polished, but when we saw this “leathered” Ocean Black granite, it seemed the perfect choice – dramatic, but not shiny.  Shiny just wouldn’t work in this rustic space anyway.  And we wanted stainless steel appliances.  Of course, we started at one end of the spectrum, and ended up at the other end – with Viking (mostly because I liked the French door oven, and you can’t mix Viking with GE – right?).  Miraculously, it all came together.

The first time I saw the cabinets installed, I thought I had fallen down Alice’s rabbit hole. The ceiling is low (very low), and my kitchen wall cabinets in our previous house were made to fit 9 foot ceilings, but somehow, those two thoughts hadn’t really connected in my head.  These wall cabinets looked so tiny that I rushed right out to buy a shoe-horn to wedge my dishes into the space.  Moving in was a bit challenging, but everything found a place – even if that place is Goodwill, for the stuff that didn’t exactly find a place.  And that was part of the plan anyway – downsizing.

Opening up the fireplace was one of the best decisions we made. It makes this house.  It’s the perfect backdrop for Thanksgiving Dinner at the farm table. Of all the rooms in this house, this one went from being a dungeon to being dramatic.  Take a look….

Yes!  We’ve moved in.  Friday was our first night .  The mattress was on the floor, we had a couple of chairs and one TV — but we were home.

And we were so excited to start moving in, that I forgot to take pictures… except of our welcoming committee.  They came to see what all the commotion was in the neighborhood.

Moving is never easy.   And this REALLY hasn’t been easy.  We are downsizing.  The entire size of this house is 1800 square feet.  It’s configured differently, it has lower ceilings and smaller rooms.  It has a lack of closets.  Things moved in and then out again, and in some cases, in again (and in one case — out again).  At this point, the furniture is in and the guest room is ready.  The Master Bedroom needs a bit of work in the closet (there are still some unpacked boxes).  The kitchen — well, not everything went where we expected it would go (and thank goodness for extra shelves in the laundry room for the “overflow”), but Chris has cooked two REAL dinners here already.  The family room just needs some pictures hung.  And then there is the office.  The ceiling is low (80″), my shelves don’t fit, the desk doesn’t fit, the sofa barely fit.  It will need some work,   That’s a project for another day.

Can’t wait to share my before/after pictures… soon.

Back to unpacking!

An odd topic for a blog, to be sure.

Our toilets just got installed. I don’t know if they flush yet. The electric isn’t connected, the well needs electric to pump water, and we need water to flush toilets. But just having them in place is hopeful.

When we first started coming out to this property, I was thankful for the Turkey Hill convenience store less than two miles away. The “facilities” left a lot to be desired, but it was better than nothing – which is exactly what we had – nothing.

Then construction started and a Port-a-Potty appeared in the front yard. They come pump it out weekly (thank goodness). While I’m not fond of Port-a-Potties, it too is better than nothing, and more convenient that driving two miles for facilities that probably aren’t as clean as my green plastic “outhouse.” Even Arianna has become accustomed to using “Grandmom’s Outhouse” when she visits.

Last weekend I went with Becky and Arianna to Linville Orchards for the Apple Festival. We had an enjoyable day at the petting zoo, picking a pumpkin and getting apple cider donuts. When it was time to leave, we asked Arianna if she needed a bathroom before heading home. There was a lengthy queue to get into the actual bathroom building, so we suggested one of the Port-a-Potties. I was surprised that she didn’t know what that was, given the presence of our very own front yard Port-a-Potty. And then Becky explained it to her… while we were standing shoulder to shoulder in a very long line of other pumpkin-pickers…“You know, it’s like the outhouse in Grandmom’s front yard,” she said.

I decided to wait to get back to my very own Port-a-Potty rather than stand in line with people chuckling.

And maybe by next week, we can flush.

This house comes with decisions.  Not just the first decision of whether to do this or not, but other decisions.  Big decisions like Viking vs. GE appliances; medium decisions like carpet choices; and little decisions like door latches.  Everything is a decision.

I love watching HGTV.  People on those shows decide what they want done and then walk away.  They see it again for the “big reveal,” and — Voila — it’s exactly what they wanted.  This hasn’t been quite so easy.

Back in February we went to the appliance showroom in the middle of a snowstorm and picked out our appliances, changed our minds in the middle of March, looked for other alternatives in the middle of April, postponed making decisions in the middle of May and finally in June — committed to what is about to be installed in the middle of October.  I’m not even sure I remember what it is — except that I liked it in the middle of June.

We’ve chosen tile, flooring, cabinet door styles, cabinet colors, counter tops, siding colors, porch decking wood, shingles, trim colors,  a tin roof, faucets, towel bars, a back splash and more trim colors.  I’ve bugged friends (thank you Susan) — and family (thank you Dianne) relentlessly for their opinions.  We’ve debated, argued, agreed, disagreed, decided and undecided more times than I can count.

But the end result is — it’s the end.  Whether we made all the right decisions or not — I don’t know.  We’re down to the final two week count-down.  Baring any unforeseen problems, we’ll move in two weeks from now — and then we’ll live with those decisions for a very long time.

Are you ready for the final reveal?

This house had the remnants of a lot of odd heating options.  One of the first things I noticed about the property when I did my first “drive-by” was that there was a gaping hole – or lack of stones in the foundation of the house on one corner.  That should have been enough to convince any sane person to say forget it.  But, in as much as the house was still standing, I figured it could be patched.  It did kind of nag at me though – why was there a hole in the house.  As it turned out, it was where the old coal chute had been, and also explained why there were the remnants of round vent pipes embedded in the walls, as if waiting for another pot belly stove to be “plugged in.”

There was a boarded-up and cement-blocked old fireplace in the kitchen – the wall painted white with some old bead-board trim around the edges.

And then there were floor vents and duct work that had been hobbled together as part of the project to flip this house.  Some of the vents were connected to nothing, ducts went nowhere and the whole mess of it was demolished.

So out of all these heating options – we were left with nothing but a clean slate.  The builder is installing a three-zone heating and cooling system with well hidden duct work that doesn’t interfere with the character of the house.  So I expect that we will be comfortable – but comfortable and aesthetics are two different things.

I wanted to open the fireplace in the kitchen, but after further inspection, it appeared that the original chimney had been removed, the new roof built over top, and the chimney capped off inside the attic.  With the fireplace covered in cement blocks, it was difficult to make an easy determination about the condition of the 163-year-old structure and John, our builder, advised against it – given the scope of the entire project – which seemed quite overwhelming.

Besides, a brand new fireplace would be easier to manage, could be easily built in the new addition and wouldn’t yield any unexpected surprises.  We agreed.

But then we disagreed.  Chris wanted a wood burning fireplace.  I’ve been spoiled by the gas fireplace that you can light with one finger and the flip of a switch.  It’s so easy, in fact, that even Arianna knew to point to the switch and wait to be picked up so she could flip it off and on before she was even two years old – it’s that easy.  But, since Chris agreed to cut the wood, split the wood, haul the wood, light the fire and clean away the ashes – what could I say?  So we have a beautiful Rumford wood burning fireplace in the new addition with an amazing brick chimney and a fieldstone cap.  It’s lovely.

And then John asked what we wanted to do about the old fireplace.  Should we resurface the wall and pretend that there is nothing there?  Or did we want to punch out the cinder blocks to see what lurked behind?  Was there ever really a question?  What lurked behind was about 2 feet of ash and a really dirty fireplace box with an opening that was about 4 ft x 4 ft.  I decided since it was authentic to the house, I wanted to leave it open – even if just to lay some logs in it and “pretend” that it was ready to light.

John consulted a fireplace restoration expert and came back with a proposal.  The 163-year-old structure wasn’t in such bad shape after all, and at a price (a hefty price), we could still open it up and make it functional.  Since a hearth is the “heart” of a home, (or maybe a kitchen is the heart of the home – but this hearth is in the kitchen) – it just seemed that the heart of this house needed to be fixed.  We said yes, but always with an eye on containing costs.  I suggested that they just leave the “patina” (yes, I know it’s the accumulated dirt, ash, and creosote – whatever) on the inside of the fireplace – maybe it wouldn’t cost quite so much.  And besides, if we were going to light a real fire in it – it would just get dirty again.  John just nodded, as he frequently does when I have half-baked ideas.

The construction started.  There were tarps all over the place while they cleaned out the ash and soot, uncapped the chimney in the attic and punched a hole through the roof. The stucco was dreary but I figured a fresh coat of paint and a mantle would return it to it’s mid 19th century charm.  Arianna and I pondered which chimney Santa would use this year and debated the strengths and weaknesses of each.  One was clearly cleaner, one was significantly larger.  I’m not sure she really cared which fireplace he will choose, as long as he chooses one of them.

Then I walked in and saw our fireplace; the piece de resistance of this house – the one that Santa most definitely will use this Christmas.  They had sandblasted the stucco, cleaned away those years of “patina” and  revealed what lurked behind those cinder blocks.

When we found this house, it was empty – other than nasty carpet, out-dated appliances and cabinets that were falling off the walls. But there weren’t any “things” here. The house and property had been cleaned out – auctioned off to the bare bones. It was a little sad to realize that I wouldn’t be able to rummage in the attic or basement to find any true “artifacts” of the house. But I was wrong. The house has “coughed up” interesting things when least expected.

I spent a hot, sweaty day in the dark attic sweeping clouds of dust down the tiny stairs onto the miserable brown carpet below. I wanted all that dirt out well before any new carpeting made its way into the house. I realize I could have been blinded by the dirt in my eyes, but after sweeping the half of the attic that is about 8 inches taller than the other half, and proclaiming it finished, and looked back across my clean-swept floor boards only to notice something sticking up between the tongue and groove boards. It was an old house key. I guess if the “ghost” of No Rhyme or Reason Farm wanted me to feel welcome – giving me the key to the house is a pretty good sign.

To sweep away the dirt on the lower half of the attic, I had to move 26 very old window frames in various stages of disrepair with broken glass and protruding nails. I gingerly moved them from under the eaves, one at a time, until I heard something moving on the floor. After letting out a scream (that thankfully no one heard except me), I realized it was just an old jar rolling towards me – an old blue Mason canning jar in perfect condition. Another nice house warming gift from the old house – given how much I like canning jams, jellies and pickles.

The artifacts didn’t stop there. With the excavation, dirt has piled up, settled, moved and shifted — and in that process, I sometimes catch the glint of glass or metal. I feel like an archaeologist brushing away the dirt to reveal old medicine bottles, part of an old iron, or pieces of broken pottery. It seems like when I purposefully inspect one of these piles of excavated dirt, I never see anything. But when I’m not looking – all of a sudden, something is there – pushing through the surface.

The most unexpected artifact, however, was being handed the old deed to the property. I had serendipitously met a woman at work whose husband knew this farm and Florence Reason. He was instrumental in selling the property when she passed away, and while cleaning out old papers, they found the deed – the one deeding the property her parents in 1936 for $3000. What are the chances – really, to come in to possession of this old deed, complete with the old tax stamps? I think we’ll frame it.

The infrastructure phase seems to have been going on forever. It’s all important stuff – electric, water, heating and air conditioning. And it comes with a lot of decisions. Exactly where do we want outlets placed? And where should the switches be? And which outlets should they work?   It was a longer (and harder) thought process than I expected. Don’t you just walk into a room and flip on the light? But now we had to figure out – if we turn the light on at the bottom of the stairs, do we want to be able to turn it off at the top of the stairs? And if we wake up in the middle of the night and hear a noise in the back pasture – do we want to run down to the kitchen to flip on the flood light – or would it make sense to have a light switch for the flood light in the bedroom, too? (Thanks, cousin Bruce – for that great idea!).

So now the walls are going up, the windows are going in – and we even have doors. It’s starting to feel like a real house. I can step through a doorway and feel the size and space of a room – some rooms feel bigger than I expected (the Master Bedroom), some rooms feel smaller (the Family Room). All of this comes with a bit of anxiety – is the furniture going to fit?