Written by Chris:

Our house has a history. It’s not the history we would like maybe, but we never have the history that we would prefer. This house, an old two-story farmhouse on a little hill, was built in the days when only things worth building were built, and they were built right, to last for the next generation, and maybe the one after that. This house carries the marks of wood-fired heat, and a path to the outhouse, of blustery winters and summers so hot everyone had to sleep on the porch. This house has already raised 20 or more kids, and gave our son his first bloody lip on the day before we bought it.

It’s a house full of the small triumphs, big failures, and dirty little secrets that all families have, but so few actually realize.

Today we shampooed the carpets, scrubbed the woodwork, and washed the hardwood floors with Murphy’s oil soap. We noticed all the dust, pet hair, and screwed up plaster that we never noticed before it was ours. There are a few times in life when it’s maybe better if you don’t fully realize what you’re getting into. Literally buying the farm is probably one of those times. We are simultaneously overwhelmed and overjoyed. We can’t wait to see what we can do for this place, and we’re even more anxious to see what it will do to us. More important than its past, this house has a future. And we have damn-near complete control over that.