Searching - Part 1

Barrington is a lovely, well-heeled town. It’s beautiful, close to water everywhere you look, and filled with traditional New England style homes – ranches, capes, bungalows and lots and lots of colonials. We now live in an adorable, front-porched bungalow a block away from a long, stretchy beach on Narragansett Bay. It’s cute, sweet and just too small. When we bought it a decade ago, we thought it would last us about 5-7 years – the extra 3 years has been a bonus. So, here we sat knowing we wanted to stay in town for the schools and thinking we’d have to sadly leave our beach neighborhood behind, because it was just too pricey to buy anything bigger than we currently had in and around these streets. Add into the equation that we are not “New England style” home people. And the chances of finding a house we loved in town was, slim to none.

Well, as luck would have it, Dave is an architect. A pessimistic one {foreshadowing}, but an incredibly talented architect, none the less. “Let’s buy some land and build!” Ready, set, go!!!

Only finding an affordable lot, proved impossible. First and foremost, there was very little out there for sale. Secondly, if we could afford it, it was either too small, on a main road, or it was sold before we found out about it. We went so far as to make an unsolicited offer on a lot that was not for sale. Which, obviously, was a chance we took that failed.

Then one day a house around the corner from us had a for sale sign in the window. I was driving by, spotted it, slammed on the brakes, jumped out of the car and ran to the sign. Now, since we moved here, I’ve been fantasizing about this house. It’s ugly, kinda contemporary, but not done well. I always thought that it would be a great remodel project or a great candidate for tear-down – no one would be sad to see it go. The loudly swearing, colorful man who lived there had passed away almost 3 years before, and the house sat empty and neglected for almost that entire time, falling into further disrepair with each passing season. So, there I was, staring at the for sale by owner sign, with a Florida telephone number to call, and a price so outrageously high for this derelict piece of property, that I got back in my car and laughed all the way home.

Months later it went on the market with a real estate agent for less than the original price, but still too much to make it a feasible part of our project. She had an open house. I went. Just to see.