I didn’t expect to discover my dream house here in this Small Southern Town – especially considering that as of two years ago I was heading for the hills planning never to return. I certainly didn’t expect to stumble upon my dream house less than a mile from my mom’s house while we were out walking our dogs the other evening. It was fantastic to discover that my dream house has a note on its front door stating that it will soon be for sale; however, it’s rather unfortunate that at this point I have no job and a dwindling savings account that will soon be entirely depleted by the deposit I will pay to M and A to rent their house in Orlando. While I will be working as a graduate assistant starting in August, it will hardly be enough to qualify me for a mortgage – hell, it wasn’t enough to qualify me to be a renter most places I looked! And yet. I have found my dream house. And I can’t stop thinking about it.
First we saw it from the road. It didn’t look too impressive from a distance. However, it looked un-lived-in, so given our proclivities for exploring empty buildings, we decided to go check it out.
As soon as I saw it up close I fell in love. The ambiance was incredible. This house would be the center of a Barbara Michaels book; it must be overflowing with ghosts. Ownership of this house would cause me to immediately drop any future plans to live overseas. International Cat Lady of Mystery? Small Southern Town Lady of Mystery more like.
My mom and I snuck around it in the dusky evening light, and discovered the note on the door saying that it would soon be up for sale. I kept thinking about it all night, and returned the next day to take better photographs.
The view of the house from the driveway
It has a very queer addition off the side that I don't quite comprehend.
The view from the back
Looking in through the front door
Looking in through the front door - front left room
Looking in through the front door - front right room
Looking in to the front right room
I’ve contacted the realtor whose contact information was on the door, but have yet to hear back. In the interim I’ve been considering such practical get-rich-quick schemes as the black market for kidneys and the prospects of marriage to a wealthy man. It seems distressingly unlikely that I will acquire this house. Unless of course the owners just want it moved off their land, in which case it can join my mother’s 1906 bungalow and our 1951 Spartan in our ranch for bizarre, misplaced buildings.