I covet this house. It is an adorable, white farmhouse style house (no farm though) on a pretty piece of property around the corner from us. I drive past our street every now and then just so I can drive by and look at it longingly. Today I decided to drive by and take a picture. Only I feel so ~ I don’t know ~ sneaky or invasive taking pictures of other people’s property. So I’m driving by trying to look inconspicuous (as inconspicuous as you can going 5 mph with a camera stuck out the window). This is the best shot out of the two I was brave enough to take. I’m going to go put on camoflage and walk down there and take another.
Anyway this house is set back on an expanse of lawn. There is a low rail fence that surrounds the property with a big white archway over the driveway and a smaller one over the walkway. The rail fence has roses and lavender planted in front of it on one side and rosemary all along the other side. There is a long, grey gravel driveway to the right that leads back to a garage. There are actually a number of buildings that make up the property. The house itself with its little porch and its pleasing symmetry, a small granny cottage just to the left of the house, the garage and another small building, a shed perhaps. All are painted white and have pale grey shutters on the windows.
It’s just so charming and not overy sweet looking. You can’t see it in the picture above but in the big tree on the left there is a porch swing hanging from one of the large branches. If I lived here I would sit out there every morning with my cup of tea and do the crossword puzzle.
I have an affinity for little, older houses. I love the creaking, sticking windows, the worn floors, the kitchens that are designed for practicality and not entertaining. My favorite house (one I actually owned, not just stalked like my little farmhouse above) was built in the 1940’s. It had two bedrooms, one bathroom with cardboard made to look like tiles on the wall (we did renovate that bathroom), the cabinets in the kitchen were metal (another renovation), it had a hardwood floors throughout the entire house except for the kitchen and a family room that was added on later. All told it was about 1100 sf. When we redid the kitchen and the cabinets were pulled out we found a little toy car and a spelling test dated 1948. The house had a nice sized porch with room for a couple of chairs and table and a hanging boston fern (I am of a mind that all porches require a hanging boston fern).
There was a detatched garage behind the house with a laundry room and I have many memories of making a mad dash back to the house in the rain with a basket of laundry. At the very back of the long, narrow property there was a studio with a half bath which at first was a storage shed then I commandered it and turned it into my home office. We had picket fences and archways laden with Sombruil roses (bring a cut one into the house and it will perfume the entire space). It was truly a lovely place.
We wanted more room and to get out of the bay area so we sold it about five years ago. A decision we tend to regret now and then. The new owners added on to the back but kept the overall look and feel of the place. Then they moved and the people that bought it from them have totally remodeled and the house now looks like a McMansion and "has been totally stripped of any of it’s charm", according to my sister who still lives on the street.
I would love to get my hands on a similar house and lovingly bring it up to date without compromising its origins. I would rather have a small house with a big heart than one with no history or soul.
Oh boy, can I identify with this post! All of my life I have been charmed by certain homes — something about them just resonated with me. Often they were little storybook cottages or Tudor styles from the 1920s.
When I lived in the Mansion Hill area of Madison, Wis., there was this abandoned stone Dutch colonial (ca 1901) two blocks away. It was kept up, because the owner was still alive, although very old. It had been his parents’ home, a gift from his paternal grandfather on his mother’s wedding day. It made me think of roadsters and girls in tennis whites and terriers and the clinking of tea cups and highball glasses.
When the owner died, I went to a tag sale there, but since I was a poor student I had no money! I regret that today. One item from that house — the backdrop for a hundred fancies and daydreams — would have been priceless.