week 49: all green lights and one big fat red

this week on the little dream farm

View of the backside of the barn after a few inches of snow.

This coming week we were set to close on a new home and farm.

That is, until we walked away from the deal.

In early October Chris sent me a property in Connecticut that we wanted to jump on and go see. I’d planned to take the following day off from work to make the drive.

While setting up the showing with the realtor, she mentioned she had a house that wasn’t even on the market yet that she’d like to show me first if I was interested.

Turns out, I ended up liking the house so much (and not at all liking the one we scheduled to see) that Chris and I hopped back in the car later that week for a trip back to Connecticut to see it together.

We stood in the pasture looking around at the land together and Chris told me he loved it like I did. There was something there. We went back to the realtor’s office that day to work up the details of an offer.

We submitted the offer on a Monday. It was acknowledged on Tuesday that we’d have an answer by Wednesday. And on the day of my birthday (and four day’s before Chris’) our offer was accepted. We celebrated with a bottle of non-alcoholic Rosé we got at one of our favorite markets in Vermont. It felt like the very best gift for us both.

In the days between seeing the house for the first time and having our offer accepted, I went down a long, winding, seemingly never-ending rabbit hole. This house, a 310-year-old antique colonial, had so much history and so many stories to discover.

I started researching the house’s history, the history of the town, of the county and region, about what was going on around the world during that time in history. I was watching old episodes of “This Old House,” learning about how to restore antique windows, reading antique colonial restoration blogs, and combing through 18th century hearth cooking recipes, dreaming of meals we might make over the fire in the keeping room hearth.

When we made the offer, we asked the seller to consider allowing us to keep all the animals on the property—two llamas, three heritage breed sheep, a dozen chickens, and a Great Pyrenees farm pup. We were aware their plan was to re-home the animals, and we couldn’t think of anything better than keeping them right where they were and joining them with our crew.

The seller said yes to us keeping the animals.

We’ve evaluated thousands of homes and farms in the region. We’ve gone to see less than a dozen in the last two years. We made an offer on one and lost out to another buyer.

With this house it felt like everything was falling into place so effortlessly.

A week later came the inspections. We agreed Chris would hang back with the animals given his work schedule while I went and stayed the night near the house so that we could accomplish all the inspections in the span of two days instead of making two trips back and forth with both of us.

We assembled a team of rockstar old-house experts:

• A whole home inspector, who, unprompted, told me he’d inspect this house as if his daughter was purchasing it. That meant the world to me since my dad is no longer with us. My dad would have really appreciated him taking such good care of us.

• A chimney inspector who works with a lot of antique homes since this house had nine fireplaces, to include a working cooking hearth and beehive oven, and three chimneys—one with a meat curing chamber in the attic.

• A septic inspector since we wanted someone dedicated solely to septic (as opposed to a whole home inspector adding it in) knowing that the system might also be quite old.

• And as an added precaution we consulted with a antique restoration structural contractor, whose sole business is restoring old homes to asses the structural soundness of the entire home from the basement up to the attic.

The two days of inspections were thrilling, enlightening, and exhausting. I learned a million new things, loved every minute of it, and got to spend time with the animals while I was there.

The results of all the inspections and the hundreds of pages of the reports made it very clear that we’d be looking at multiple six-figures in repairs to the home, some in the immediate and others in the coming 1-5 years.

Things like sill replacement and the installation of Lally columns in the basement for the foundation of the home, window restoration of the antique windows, roof replacement, mold remediation, upgrades to the well, replacement and rewiring of several electrical panels, and a host of other upgrades and repairs.

The house was in great shape visually and had undergone a handful of major upgrades, like new insulation, new siding and paint, new heating, a new liner in the pool, but of course antiques often require a greater level of ongoing care and investment. In this case, the structural issues were the root of all the other necessary repairs.

Each of our inspectors promptly returned to us the inspection reports along with quotes for the work, and we called a few old home experts in the area and sought quotes for everything not covered in our inspector quotes. Each quote came in at four, five, and six(!!!) figures, and along with the dollar signs, we were getting a very realistic sense about this big old house and what it would take to give it the best chance to remain for another 300 years.

At this point most people would likely walk away given the structural and mold issues alone, but we loved the house, we saw its potential to be brought back to life, and we felt confident we were up to the task given all the experts we’d assembled who assured us it was a sound purchase with the understanding it would require significant investment in the coming years.

We went back to the seller with an amended offer and all the data to support the change in our reduced offering price so as not to offend the seller but to hopefully come to an agreement on us assuming all responsibility for the repairs without bearing all the financial weight.

When we didn’t get an outright no, we were hopeful. Then a week passed and we still had no answer. Then our contract expired and was effortlessly renewed on both sides. Then days passed until we were now at the middle of November, just 32 days away from our anticipated closing date, still with no answer. The seller left the country on a trip to Europe, leaving us still without an answer or any peace.

To protect our deposit now that we’d spent a pretty penny on inspections, we terminated our offer the day before the contract was set to expire again, having no indication we were going to hear one way or the other from the seller.

“Best of luck” was all we got as a reply.

It felt as though the Universe had been sending us one green light after the next for an entire month—all these little signs and synchronicities and pings and magical little moments that made it so easy to keep leaning in and keep pursuing this beautiful old home and a piece of American history.

I was writing them down and journaling them all throughout that month just so we wouldn’t forget all the incredible little things that popped up along the way. I’d planned to tell you about them all, but there isn’t much sense in that now.

We were getting nothing but green lights until we hit one big fat red light…and that was that. After what felt like a month-long deep dive masterclass into old homes…

The chance to love this old home back to life, gone.

The ability to take on and learn about and love new animals, disappeared right out from under us.

The opportunity to land in a new town closer to the things we want to be closer to, but not this one.

Letting the house go was tough, but letting the potential of the animals go was hard, too. There was a plan for them even before we’d come along…but it sucks that plan wasn’t us.

It’s so easy to just chalk it up to, “Well, it just wasn’t meant to be!” And perhaps that is so. But it sure didn’t make it sting any less in the aftermath of walking away from the deal.

I have to say, I am beyond proud of Chris and I for how we handled the entire process. We did so much research. We made ourselves as prepared as we could be. We sought and had the opportunity to work with some incredible experts and tradespeople. Day by day we were gaining confidence that even though we’re not the most handy people, that we were more than capable of learning and that there’d be plenty of experts to assist us.

We did what was best for us by countering with what we felt was incredibly generous and fair based on everything we’d learned from our stellar inspections. We clung tightly to our values, and even though it cost us the deal, it didn’t cost us a single cent of who we are.

This week, we’d planned to tell you all about the new adventure we were so excited to begin.

Instead, the sting has lessened, but I’d be lying if I said I’m not still scratching my head at how something can feel so meant to be—like this opportunity was personally designed just for us because there was literally no one else in the running—and then it not come to pass.

An immediate and ongoing thought I’ve been having—this farm still has more to teach us. Maybe this farm isn’t quite ready to let us go.

Of course, looking forward is always more confusing than looking back. It’s so easy to look back and say, “Well thank goodness that didn’t happen because then this couldn’t have happened.”

But when we’re in the moment looking forward and disappointment comes, that reassurance of the next best thing doesn’t feel too reassuring until it arrives.

So we ride by faith. The faith that what is for us will not pass us. The faith that maybe it’s not about making right or wrong choices, but just about making them. The faith that even better things are up ahead than what we’ve imagined. The faith that even when something feels meant to be but isn’t, maybe it’s simply further preparation for when the real thing comes along.

My mom has this saying, “Thank God I didn’t get everything I thought I wanted, because I’m so thankful for what I now have.”

That big old house might just be the one that got away. Maybe one day, if it’s in the cards, we’ll come across another.

Until then, we’ll hold on tight to the Little Dream Farm and to each other, so incredibly grateful for what we now have, with the deep understanding and respect that the very place we’re living in now is the result of a little dream, a wish, and a prayer we once had many years ago.

I might not be winter’s biggest fan but I sure won’t argue with her beauty. Sunset on the west side of the farm after a day of snow.

---

It has been COLD this week. We use these things every day:

1. We have one of these little heaters in each of our bathrooms and we use them when we shower. Keeps down on the steam even with the exhaust fans going, and keeps us nice and warm after stepping out of a hot shower. 10/10 recommend!

2. I have this space heater in the guest bedroom because I tend to run cold. I like to set this for an hour at a time and love how it heats up the entire space in just a minute or two. You can set it to the exact temperature you want, and we call the guest room The Warm Room in the winter because all the cats love to hang with me there while I work.

3. I ended up getting this puffer coat in both colors—one to wear off the farm and the other for winter farm chores and winter walking. It’s the best coat.

4. Liked my puffer coats so much that I ordered this identical one for Chris in mens, too, and I’m happy he now has a much warmer and heavier chore coat.

*Note: Not all, but most of these links are affiliate links. That’s no matter to you, as it costs you nothing. However, if you make a purchase, we -may- receive a teeny weeny commission.

---