the great experiment

We celebrated our second Christmas in the house, and she's hosted more than 220 of them.  I'm humbled by those numbers.   We hung stockings on the tall mantle under low ceilings.  We bought a skinny scraggly Christmas tree for way too much money at a roadside stand (cash only!).  On Christmas morning we ate my grandmother's brunch recipes by ourselves after opening presents.  Kevin bought me a telescope for watching the stars in 2021.  It was a good one. 

I realized over the holidays how much I missed working on the house and the creative rewards it offers.  In a year of being home and reorganizing all of our routines, our projects for improvement here fell off and we focused more on maintenance.  We did some big things-- upfitting the air conditioning in the attic for our offices, adding some rugs and plants, demolishing the old concrete pad and installing a playset.  But most weeks it was mowing, vacuuming, sweeping.  Staying afloat, in many ways. 

We did not have childcare for most of December, so I wasn't able to tackle much.  We're still waiting on the window company to replace our enormous skylight in my office space upstairs.  We don't have the energy to do major landscaping.  The garden and orchard space waits, mostly fallow, for spring leaves.  I was proud to pull up a few yellow carrots and saw down a tree-like Brussels sprout shoot for dinner with the kids.  Milo was proud that the seeds he planted about 6 months ago finally produced something we could eat!  Extreme patience is a lesson of living here. 

During naptimes and after bedtime I dug back in to some historical research about the house and made some spectacular discoveries.  Jean Anderson, a Durham historian, has written extensively about the pre-Civil War town of South Lowell.  I soaked up everything I could find that she had written.  I investigated her research notes at the NC collection at the library.  I searched through the Library of Congress slave narratives.  I checked all the census records, decade by decade, for this district.  I doubled down on digging through wills, deeds, and land grants to find the earliest landowners in this place.  There are many gaps in the story I have reconstructed, but I've uncovered a picture that helps me to feel like I understand it a little better.  I can't wait to write it and share it.  

Earlier this week I spoke with the previous owners, the wonderful sellers who entrusted us with this place and its legacy.  We talked for an hour and a half about the history of the house, the stories of "old-timers" they remember from years ago, and some of the "what the heck is that?" features of the house.  I worried we might feel defensive-- me for the things we've changed, them for the things they might have left-- but we met in the middle with good stories, laughs, and mutual admiration.  They seemed to enjoy hearing about the way we are using the space.  There's some shared respect for our blood, sweat, tears (and money) that we've invested in this old house.  And for them, having done it so much longer, their parting words when we hung up-- "good luck!!" 

Why on earth do we love it so much?  It's magnetic for some of us.  For the sellers, it took an unbelievable amount of courage and work.  When they bought the house 40 years ago, only the mortarless stone foundation piers supported it.  You could see under the house end to end.  The huge tree trunks supporting the floors.  They hand-dug and installed all the cinderblocks to help support it, which now make up the foundation.  Years ago, over 6 months, they removed the wood siding from the 40s, insulated from the outside, wrapped, and re-sided the house.  The reducted through drop ceilings and relocated the heat pump.  They closed up old doors and installed a modern water heater with solar power.  Each improvement deliberate, personal, and painstaking. 

They shared stories of rabbit trapping, rafts on the river, watermelon pickings, huge gardens, hurricanes, bonfires, and corn fields.  I assured them I would preserve and pass along their stories.  

I also contacted the Eno River Association to learn more about the historical, cultural, and environmental work they are doing in this area.  We want to learn more about stewardship of the river frontage and conservation of the wildlife here.  What they told me was so moving.  There are rare and endangered species in this river at our feet.  High-priority migration corridors for wildlife through the region.  Multiple inter-dependent and successional habitats that depend on the seasons and our involvement... sometimes through benign neglect, sometimes through active participation.  They told me, the confluence of the rivers where you live is very very special.  And it's extremely important.  We're so glad that good people own this land and can protect it.  I almost burst into tears.  To me, that responsibility is validating.  Because we feel it in our bones.  And to know that someone else cares as much as we do, and for lots of scientific reasons we are only still learning!, helps me to feel like we're not alone in the work.  That it's worthwhile.  (Desperately need this while today our whole house smells like a skunk.) And that we deserve to be here as the stewards and beneficiaries of this magic. 

In the new year, we plan to keep going.  We don't know what each step will be.  

For 2021 I started with painting the creaky stairs we walk on every day to work.   (Behr Oregano Spice, a tribute to the sellers who used that color in the living room before we arrived.). I touched up trim in the kitchen and hallway, finally, and it brightens the room.  (SW Antique White)  I felt satisifed to see those small improvements.  We rearranged the rugs and furniture a bit and it was a nice change of pace since we're here all the time. You'll forgive the boxes and bins because... kids.

I invited a hardwood flooring expert to inspect our upstairs floors, to see if they could be refinished, and he immediately refused.  They are too fragile, too prone to crack, best left alone.  But we're not giving up.  We are going to test some areas and see if we can refinish them by hand.  I have no idea if it will work, but I'm willing to roll up my sleeves and try. 

The great experiment.  A frontier for generations of people who lived here.  For us, too.  Figuring it out, with uncertainty, humbling ourselves, learning all along the way.  And passing the stories down.