My obsessive brain keeps returning to the same things… over and over, despite my best attempts to turn to other things. What are my passions? What are my dreams? What could they be if not the things I feel such joy and contentment thinking over – and such despair when I try to convince myself they can never be?
Months ago now, we were given an idea to sell our house and purchase a much older home on 2 acres of property, just outside of town. The home belonged to my husband’s aunt and uncle, and was then passed down to their daughter – who now lives in town, and needs to sell.
The trouble is, our house, though much newer, and in much better condition, is only assessed at about $30,000 more than hers, as she has the land. Her house needs a lot of work, as it has asbestos throughout, and bats in the attic. The electrical is not up to date… so much needs to be done, people think anyone who buys will have to tear down and rebuild.
Only I like her house. I like the style. I like that it is heated with a wood stove, food is cooked on another wood cookstove, even the hot water is heated by wood. It has a good well, with clean water; a large garden (though it is currently overgrown), several large outbuildings, including a huge workshop, lots of old fashioned tools (her father was very handy), and 2 acres of property, backed by 60 acres of treed forest belonging to her brothers, and water access across the Trans Canada Hwy for swimming.
I think of this, and ache, as the lifestyle is all I have been fixated on, and desiring since I was about 11 years old. The privacy, and woods I have loved since I was younger than that. I would say that since the children we tried to adopt were taken from us, I have had no dreams – but this isn’t fully true. This, this lifestyle – wood stoves, animals, gardens, swimming, walks through the woods, woodworking on my own projects, country style homes, screen porches, root cellars, home baked bread (on a wood cookstove)… these are the thoughts that return me to life, and chase away the darkness.
In eight years, the mortgage on this house will be paid off, and I have no desire to take out another… but if I could afford to buy that property, and somehow make a go of it… how I wish that I could.
She lists it in March, and I see no way that we could afford it. Not since we would have to strip down and renovate the house, or tear down and rebuild. But oh, how I ache for that life.