The House

The frustrated anxious realtor brought us to the last house of the day. “This house has been on the market a while,” she said. “I haven’t seen it yet, but it’s old.”

The aroma of baked ham, drizzling fat mingled with pineapple and cloves inhaled us into the unpretentious little house that we had passed so many times on our way to Chatham. A half mile up the road from where we were living in one of the oldest houses in Austerlitz, Dorothy and Howard Twiss were sitting in the brightly lit living room warmed  by a  glowing fire. “It’s cozy in here,” Dorothy said. “Put the baby down here while you tour.” Phyllis put Dan down on the couch next to Dorothy. Dorothy reached out and patted him a bit. “You’ll be alright. Mommy will be right back.” It was safe and warm.

“Take your time, look around; check out the upstairs,” Howard urged. “We don’t get up there much anymore.” The steep stairs brought us to three dark cob webbed laced bedrooms. There were lots of beds. “We used to take in borders,” Howard exclaimed. “It helped pay the taxes.” The upstairs hallway was tiled, but seemed to have a bulge. The bedroom doors were original and sported original 18th century hardware. The ceilings had cracks, but it was warm up there. I spied a hatch to the attic.

“We seal that off in the winter,” Howard said. “In the summer, there is a fan to cool the attic.”

“Is the space usable?” I asked.

“Well... there are no floorboards up there.” he sheepishly replied. “I needed money to put in the furnace, so I sold them to pay for it.”

We tromped down the stairs. Dan was beginning to stir. While Phyllis picked him up I studied the woodwork in the living room. It was similar to what was in the house where we were living, 1788. The plaster was cracked in a few places. The floor there was shiny, well cared for,and  ancient.

“A little  linseed oil once a year is all I do to keep them nice,” Dorothy offered.

Beautiful!!“ Phyllis told her.

Dozens of little window panes magically filtered the early moonlight, distorted through the molten glass that had drooped over hundreds of years.

“The house was built around 1790,” Dorothy informed us as we continued to wander.

The kitchen, where the roast was baking had a new linoleum floor. “We wanted it to be easy to take care of….just use mop n’ glo“ Howard boasted. “The floor’s a little uneven, but it will last a long time.”

So’s the ceiling, and it probably won’t last long at all. I thought to myself.

There was a slight uphill rise toward the chimney. “There used to be a fireplace that took up this whole wall,” Howard explained. “The floor is built over the stones where it was… that’s why it’s so uneven. The Mercer’s before us took it out so they could have a bigger kitchen.We had a wood stove here before we got the furnace.”

I opened the door to the pantry. The handwrought hinges creaked. “It gets cold in there,’ Howard said. “Cans freeze in there. We try to keep the heat in the kitchen.” I quickly closed the door. Dan was restless in his mother’s arms.

“He’s hungry. Can I nurse him in the living room?” Phyllis asked.

“Sure she can,” Dorothy shouted from the other room. “Come in here and relax.”

Dan had his first of many meals in that house.

“That small bedroom upstairs is warm and quiet. Good for the baby.” Howard said.

While Phyllis took care of Dan, Howard showed me the other living room that was set up as a bedroom. “This room used to be a post office. Maybe it was used before that as a store.” he said.

“How do you know?” I asked.

“The floor was really a mess when we moved in,” he explained. I put in new floorboards and then the rug to keep it warm.”

It was warm. There was a picture window facing the back of the house. “We used to take that window out during the summer,” he said. “We had cows here at one time… scared the heck out of us one day when one of ‘em stuck her head inside and mmmooooed.”

Dan was content, and back to sleep. Phyllis said, “We love it.”

“I guess we’ll get back to you,” I said. “we want to look around outside in the daylight.”

“Come any time,” Howard said. “There are five acres, and another 39 up the hill. You can buy it all if you want.”

We were excited. “Make an offer!”  the realtor suggested. “They are asking $35,000, but are anxious to move south where they have family.”

The next day, we went back. Despite the snow, we looked around outside. The garage housed Howard’s elongated 1967 Pontiac. The wall had been bumped out to accommodate that. There  was also a 1938 Rototiller that Howard had used to plant a potato garden. “It’s one of the first ones built by Frazer!” he remarked. “I’m going to leave that here if you don’t mind. When it warms up in a month, I’ll show you how to start it.” He wanted the tiller to have a new life, that he knew he could not give it. A younger man, a younger couple, children can bring life to the cold, tired landscape.The stream flowed rapidly between the ice sculptured banks toward the south. There was a small hill, apple trees, and blueberry bushes poked through the snow. Visions of sledding, pies and more pies danced in our mind.

The asking price was $35,000. We offered $25,000, and we finally agreed on $30,000 for the house and 5 acres.

As the winter snow diminished, we toured the old cobbler shop behind the house. It housed fire wood, and old tools. There was a tumble down turkey coop, a little tool shed, and a ramp that ended in  mid air where the entrance to the barn once stood.  Parts of the barn were stacked, rotting around the back of the ramp. Much of the barn had been taken away, sold to pay taxes and put a new roof on the house. “When the roof goes, the house goes” Howard advised.

The snow had covered a lot of problems: piles of debris from the barn, little hills of garbage here and there, old wagon parts rotted into the ground, wire fences along the boundaries, lying where their posts had died, now rotting, and a junked 1960 Rambler .

In mid-March, the spring sun encouraged crocus and other bulbs to peek up, and the outline of Dorothy’s gardens were revealed. Periwinkle poked out around the foundation. A bed of rudbeckia was outlining itself near the driveway. Howard dragged out the tired old Rototiller, and gave me lessons. “It’s pretty heavy, but you let it do the work… It just goes along...wear boots… sometimes you hafta’ help it out,” he explained as he ran the tiller again and again over the Rudbeckia. He let me start it. I too made a pass over the RudbecKia. “It won’t hurt the flowers,” he assured me. “They’re tough, and the tiller isn’t going too deep. Ground’s still frozen.”

We walked around a little. He opened the tool shed. “I’m leaving you these mowers… they run...I used ‘em last year. They need fresh gas,”he advised, “but they’re all you need..” The treasures were not impressive.I was not brought up with engines of any kind, and suddenly I was inheriting a barnful of yesterdays toys.

Wherever I went, outside or inside I saw work. Phyllis also saw work, but concentrated on the beauty, the setting, the antiquity, the possibility.

On April 1st, Fools’ Day, we had the closing. We checked hourly from 11:00 a.m. until 2:p.m. and by 2, the Twisses had gone south. They left a studio couch in the living room. By 3:00 , we had moved enough things in so we could be comfortable, including the crib for Dan and a changing table. With firewood, courtesy of Howard and Dorothy, I started a fire in the fireplace. Phyllis prepared shipwreck in an electric frying pan also left by the Twisses.  While the baby slept,we were warm and together by the fire. In our new space, there was no "spaces". We were all babies.