After weeks of counter offers, signing paperwork, many many mortgage battles (and several banks later), lawyers meetings, house inspections and a few more tears, both of frustration and happiness, we finally found ourselves the proud new owners of a house in the country. But somehow I was still scared. Until I had the key in my hand, until we could make that first mortgage payment, it was still all a huge unknown. And because we were still saving, we had agreed on a closing date 4 months in the future.
That left us “existing” in our rental townhouse before we could take possession. We had quickly come to hate our tiny dwelling with its crumbling parkay floors, dented walls, and dark interior. Don’t get us wrong, we never really loved the place. It was cheap, it was a great location and we always had one strange roomie or another helping to pay the bills. But our backyard consisted of a patch of grass approx 3 feet by 12, and a few patio stones that supported our second hand patio set and rusting bbq. Our neighbours were weird. Downright weird. We had the “screamer” a mother who would literally scream obscenities at her toddlers in a nasaly voice, and she often lost one child or another who would soon be seen waddling through the parking lot wearing only a diaper. We had the “hoarker” a gentleman whose backyard faced ours, and without a doubt, each time we tried to enjoy a bbq or if we flung open our patio doors to get some semblance of a breeze through our house, the “hoarker” would be in his yard, smoking a joint, hacking and coughing, spitting and yes, even farting. It was so loud, so clear, it would make us shiver with disgust. The stray cats would leave scratches on our car, the kids would rummage through our garbage, and the snow plow would always load the snow next to our parking spot, freezing our poor car in place. The parties a few doors down, the midnight car alarms, the idling cars right under our bedroom window, and the constant barking of dogs (not just our own). Oh and don’t forget the flock of pigeons that would roost on our roof, only feet from our bedroom window (check out the picture). They would coo and flap, waiting for a free meal from next door where the guy fed them. We were done, just done. All we thought about was our new house, waiting for us.
The new house was beautiful. She was a two-story house, with a big front porch, double garage and a rec room. We somehow lucked out and ended up with 3 bedrooms and two and a half baths (that’s including an ensuite), a gigantic kitchen with an island, great for the chef) and almost 2 beautiful acres of grass. She was gorgeous. You couldn’t throw a stone and hit our next door neighbor on one side, and on the other we were embraced by a farmer’s field. Across the road, was another field, a perfect view of sunsets and grazing deer. Every step we took in her green grass had leopard frogs leaping out from underfoot, and the porch just beckoned you to sit, a warm drink in hand, to watch the slow country life pass by. The move couldn’t come fast enough. Would we miss our townhouse? NO…. NO!! And in case you mis-read that… that is a very firm and very sure “NO!”.