It was little 1820s village colonial on the side of a hill. It was falling down in spots, drafty in spots, and a bit of an albatross according to our house inspector.
But we had said yes anyway.
We closed on the house the week between Christmas and New Year's Eve. And, of course, it snowed that week.
So we moved in on a cold, wintery day. The windows seemed to let out the heat as quickly as the furnace could generate it. The clunky old furnace worked double-time and sounded like it might go any minute (it lasted about two months, actually).
I was a little anxious on that move in day - there had been so many details leading up to the closing. Were they going to replace the roof or not? Had the sewer pipe been replaced? Do we have all our paperwork in order?
That morning, I couldn’t help asking myself, what were we thinking??
And then, walking around back, it was like a little winter wonderland. Deep snow muffled the sounds, silent pine trees, dressed in white, standing elegantly and patiently. Winter has a way of stripping things down, holding silence and stillness, helping us to listen.
Out behind the house, I came across a spindly little rose bush planted outside the bathroom window. And sure enough, a few roses still bloomed; they were dusted with snow and the thorny branch was covered in ice.
It's life force - so strong - it couldn’t not share its beauty with us.
And in that moment, I knew, that we would be alright in that little house. And we would start our family there.
What wants to speak to you today?
Jessica Curtis is a professional coach who helps people cultivate intention and live from a place of meaning and authenticity. If you think you could benefit from working with Jessica or want to invite her to work with your group, reach out to start a conversation.