Turning point, part 1
In an earlier post we wrote about neighbors stopping to introduce themselves and ask about our future plans. They almost always started the conversation by saying, “Did you buy this place?” Then they ask, “What are you going to do with it?”
On this day it’s late in the afternoon and we’re beginning to lose daylight. We’ve been working at the property all day. The house is secure and we’re putting the last few things in the car before heading to the home where we’re staying with family. A car stops in the middle of the road and a man jumps out of the car, leaving the door ajar and the engine running.
He briefly introduces himself. We reply to the predictable, “Did you buy this place?” Then he asks what we’re going to do with it. When we tell him we’re considering burning it, he becomes animated.
“Can you come with me? I’ve got someone you need to meet, now.”
Now? We should get in your car?! His body language and tone is friendly enough, but there’s an undercurrent of determination. Despite the city mouse warning alarms, our country mouse sensibilities win out. We exchange knowing glances and decide to separate. One of us goes with him, the other returns to family nearby.
Our neighbor explains that he knows this guy I need to meet. We drive for a couple miles, turning often enough that wherever we’re headed is not easy to find. He slows as we approach a large garage. In the distance is a house with a stream of smoke rising up into the trees. We drive closer and he parks in an area beside a stream. Uphill there are two men sitting in chairs near the house. Smoke rises from the wood-burning fire pit they’re sitting beside as they watch us walk up the hill.
Our neighbor says, “Hey, I found the people who bought the place with green shutters.” We accept offered beers and after introductions I learn that one of the men beside the fire owns this place and can fix just about anything. Judging by his long, graying beard and accent, this guy must be a true native Vermonter. We talk about his various work projects in the area and all have one thing in common: he likes to fix up old places. He tells of working on our place 32 years ago, repairing the kitchen floor over the cellar. We agree to talk more later and our neighbor drives me to our family’s home.
That evening we chat with family over dinner. Seems all are familiar with the guy who likes to fix up old places and they confirm that he is indeed native to the area. They are also familiar with his work and, like the many other ideas and plans we talk about, they think it may be worth following up.
We eventually find a time for the native Vermonter with the beard to meet us at the little farmhouse. He goes through it from top to bottom. While we’re in the cellar, he shows us how he managed to get new floor joists into the small space decades ago. Unlike others we’ve taken through the house, his comments are consistent with those made by the retired contractor neighbor who advised us last year. We ask him if he would save the house or tear it down. He replies quickly, “I’ve driven by this place for years. I’ve always wanted to save it.”
