Last week we sat in the dining room of the house with the current homeowners for a few hours and chatted about the house, it’s history, how they’ve cared for it, how they’ve lived 20 years in it, and raised 3 kids there.The lilac bush she got for mother’s day. The pines another gift from the kids. The pigs whelped in the barn. The dogs that ran the fields and swam in the neighbors pond coming home soaking. The back field, planted and growing hay. The trees on the hill bloomed and birthing apples. 
Built by a logger in 1850 it was once used as a boys home and a home to who knows how many families. It’s 163 years old. If a generation is 20 years, that’s 8 generations!

We’re still waiting on that illusive closing date. Waiting to be the next generation to tend the field, cultivate the trees, maintain the house, raise a family within its walls. Waiting to put our mark on the house and the land. Waiting to see how it will mark us.

 
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