This is my house and it is an old one. It was built in 1836. Its original site was downtown and was moved by oxen in 1864 to this location. There are two or three other houses in town that were built in the same year but nothing older.
We had been living out east when we came home for a visit in 1978 - and bought a house! I'll never forget my best friend, Sue Lange, telling me there was a sale going on at an old house downtown - we should go take a look.
The place had been vacant for five years and nothing had been done to it in god-knows how many years before that. Sue walked through the house extolling its virtues. She had the "eye." I didn't and saw no virtues.
And so began the process of making this old girl our own. Stripping off layers upon layers of wall paper, replacing the kitchen sink from an era long gone by, removing the old oil burning furnace and putting in a new gas one and insulating the joint.
That was when I learned to hang wallpaper. Sue, again, was the expert so she decided we should start with the kitchen! It was like an episode out of a sitcom: "Lucy and Ethel hang paper." And it was the paper that you schmeared paste on. I had it in my hair, up my nose and on my shoes.
It's been a great house all these years in a perfect location for us. I hope it doesn't hear me say this but I really want to live in a ranch home with an attached garage, a functional basement with two bathrooms before I die. I'm not holding my breath on that one, though, and if it doesn't happen . . . ah, well.