Six weeks ago I finally got to see the inside of a cottage
that I’ve been in love with for what seems like forever. It’s down the road
from my family’s home and in the 17 years that we’ve been here, no one has ever seen anyone come or go from this tiny place. I’ve imagined what the inside
looked like and what I could do if I ever got my hands on it. My vision was of
squirrels and birds making their home inside (not far-fetched as I’ve learned)
and me gladly covered in plaster and working my fingers to the bone trying to restore it. So, in August when I got a call from a friend on the lake saying, “your
little cottage with the moss roof is for sale!”, I called the realtor
immediately.
Let me warn you now that this tale doesn’t have a fairytale
ending but I wanted to share because I don't want this cottage to fade away without people knowing it. An old house has a spirit and this one has a really wonderful
spirit. Stepping through the front door was like stepping back in time. There are linens
hanging on the drying rack in the bathroom, newspapers piled on the coffee table, a stack of old board games on a cot waiting to be played again, there's even a party line phone number hanging on the kitchen wall next to the
rotary phone. Nothing has been touched in decades, as if the people who lived
there vanished one day. As the story goes, it was a summer cottage and the
couple who owned it, passed away long ago. Their daughters never
returned and let it sit uninhabited all these years, until there were holes in the
roof and flowers growing out of the rain gutters. I felt like I had been there
before, you know that feeling you get when you have a connection with a person
or place. I could see myself living there, gardening and washing dishes and
being happy. And now this is where things take a turn. I was convinced, not without
a fight, by the many contractors and masons who came to the cottage over the
past month and a half, that every wall, floorboard, piece of framing, and stitch of furniture would
need to be removed because of the extensive mold and the crumbling ash
foundation. Unwilling to accept defeat, I then seriously considered the idea of having the house demolished
and rebuilt exactly as it was, board for board. Tried to convince myself that
this would be a good trade-off but I knew in my heart that it would never fill
the space left. I really don’t want a likeness of the house I fell in love
with, the walls wouldn’t have memories and my hands wouldn’t get dirty enough
for my taste.
The first time I visited the cottage, I immediately felt the family that spent their summers there. You couldn't help but feel their presence, surviving in all the objects that they lived with. I’m
heartbroken to walk away from it but even more so knowing that someone will
buy it and tear it down and that feeling that took a lifetime to bring into being will be gone forever. I had a long and sleepless
night last night knowing that I would make the last call to the realtor today.
I’m finding gratitude in the glimpse I had of this sweet house and comfort that no stone was left unturned in the hope of salvaging it. I guess the lesson here is in
letting go…not entirely though, I am asking if I could buy the front door.
Something from this little cottage is coming with me!
