I’ve come to believe we don’t own a place, a place owns us. Oh sure, legally we make payments and claim ownership even when the mortgage company may share in the title. But as we scrape and paint every corner and memorize each creak of the floorboards, the place becomes part of the fabric of our family, the place where memories are made and held like a family photo album.
Our Worth Street home celebrated her 104th birthday this year. Our twelve years here is only a flash compared to the families who came before us.
Yesterday we had the pleasure of visiting with Mark and Betsy Hults, the prior owners who sold us Worth Street and called this place home for eighteen years. Mark and Betsy did MAJOR renovation to the home. And they prove my point of a place owning us. After they heard the house was on the market, they asked to visit, to see the home one more time. I was thrilled. I needed to talk to someone who once felt the exact angst I am feeling.
We walked through each room, shared family memories and tales that come with living in a historic home. Although we don’t know each other that well—communicating only a couple of times since they sold the house to us and moved to Atlanta—our house gives us an instant bond. Both our families love this place and always will. (They raised a son and daughter here too.)
Places touch us. We do the best we can while its ours. We trust the next owner will continue caring for her, maintaining, improving and loving her. She’s part of us.
Grace Grits and Gardening
Farm. Food. Garden. Life.
Here are a few pictures of our home before and during the Hults’ renovation.
Boston, More Than a Feeling