Its true, I used to hate my own house. I hated the ugly grey vinyl siding,I hated its uneven floors, its pink carpet in every room, its cracks in the walls, and most of all the brown paper sack wallpaper. (Yes, its true they used brown paper sacks dipped in blue paint and glitter to use as wallpaper!) It was terrible. I hated the house that I would live in. I hated the house that my husband proposed to me in, the house that I would later raise my children in, and spend the next several years building my life.
I remember the first time my husband brought me to the HK. He loaded up my two horses Magic and Charger in the horse trailer and said he had a place to show me. We pulled up to this house, this ugly house. But he didn’t direct my attention to the house. We saddled the horses and we rode the 70 some odd acres of the HK. He showed me beautiful ponds, groves of overgrown trees, old broken down fence rows that had seen better days, he showed me a falling down barn, tillable fields, and open pastures. To some it may sound like I’m describing what I saw as distasteful. They house yes, the land no. I loved the ponds, the overgrown trees, the tillable fields, the pastures, and even the barn that was falling in.
That day as we rode the acres of the HK, I fell in love with this small farm. My husband (then still boyfriend) told me how he wanted to put in pipe corrals, build strong five strand fences, dig out the ponds, rebuild the terraces on the tillable , and so many other plans that made my heart smile. He had plans that I wanted to be part of. He had sold the farm to me by making me fall in love with the land. He had known I’d buck the whole idea of the property if I’d seen the house first.
You see, I had a vision of the house I’d live in. The house where I would raise my children would be an old farm house. It wouldn’t be fancy by any means. It wouldn’t be new. It would have a huge front porch, it would have old solid wooden doors with a staircase with brass in the corners, it would creak and make noises, it would have a basement that my children would be scared of. I grew up in a house just like this. And my husband knew what vision I had in my head.
After we rode the ground, we tied up our horses and went to see more of that ugly house. It had pink carpet everywhere, it had pink rose wallpaper everywhere, it had that terrible sack wallpaper, and there was so much stuff packed in the house you really couldn’t even get a feel for what the space would truly look like. It was shaped like a rectangle. No staircase. No wraparound porch, not even a scary basement. No amount of vision from my husband could make me love the house. I couldnt even like it.
However, I did love the ground. The asking price was in our budget range, and the house however ugly, was a bonus. It was in good working order and a great size. We decided we loved this small farm. We wanted to make it our home, despite my distaste for the house.
From the title you know I used to hate this house. What changed that? What made me come to love this house with all that I am?
It started the moment my husband knelt down on one knee on that ugly pink carpet and asked me to spend the rest of my life with him. My love for the house continued to grow during dinners, birthday parties, and other holidays celebrated within its walls. Then even more when we brought our oldest daughter Boo home from the hospital, and then Owl, and then Bunny. My love for the house grew and grew and grew as we built our family and made memories.
Even though we have very slowly changed the cosmetics of the house, the ugly pink carpet is gone, the rose wallpaper has been taken down, the paper sack paper is still there for now, but won’t be forever, I have come to realize that the way a house looks doesn’t matter. Its home because my family is here. Its home because of all the memories made here.