Maison Trouvée: A Blog of Househunting

My husband and I are searching for a place to call our own. A little farm in New England seems like it would suit, but can we really make the transition from culture-loving Brooklynites to staid northeastern farmers? On va voir!

[maisontrouvee-blog]

The Incredible Exploding Real Estate Agent

Loyal readers of the blog might remember the colonial at 62 Stryker Rd that I wrote about a couple of months ago. The seller's property information report that the owner filled out indicated that the house had a vermin problem, water leakage, a rickety master bathroom floor, and other incredibly unpleasant problems.

When we questioned the real estate agent, she told us that none of this was true, and that Eric, the owner who filled out the SPIR, suffered from Asperger's, which caused him to be overly fastidious in filling out the form. When last we left our story, I was debating in my head whether the estate agent or Eric was in the right about the property.

Well, we viewed the house last weekend, and I'm sad to report that Eric was right.

The pictures interspersed throughout this post show just a few of the mold and water damage problems we found with the house. Additionally, when we went to the barn, we saw wall boards that had been nailed up over sections of the rafters to hide the problem were actually bowed in from the amount of water behind them. Worst of all, an open stairway goes from the garage to the upper story of the barn, and we could actually hear animals scratching around in the roof above our heads!!

Despite what the real estate people we've dealt with seem to think, not all first-time homebuyers are credulous greenhorns. My husband and I can tell our arses from a hole in the ground, and even though the house is beautiful and (in terms of layout and historical integrity, at least) exactly what we're looking for, we know our emotional and financial limits, and the house simply needs too much work for us.

This is where things get... interesting.

Two days after the viewing, I sent this email to the estate agent to thank her for her time and give her feedback on the houses she'd shown us:

Hi [name],

Thanks so much for showing us those properties on Saturday. 

Though the Stryker Rd. property is exactly what we want in terms of maintaining its historic layout and is lovely in terms of size and light, the house and barn need much more renovation work than we are financially and emotionally willing to take on at this point.

I think at this point we'll have to keep looking. If you see anything come on the market similar to Stryker Rd. but in better condition, please let us know. We'll continue to look too.

Thanks,

Charlotte

I thought that this email was polite, yet firm about expressing our needs and preferences. Apparently, however, the estate agent took things very personally. She replied:

I think, if Stryker Road was in "better" condition, it would be over 200k.

What is important about Stryker is that all the systems are updated. That is the most expensive fix to an old house; furnace, electric, foundation, roof , septic.

I am not sure what you feel needs updating other than cosmetic work, and that is something that can be held for a long term project while still living in the house.

With Stryker, you have an opportunity to purchase low and get great value.

The roof is minimal, and doing a bath is also not as much as NYC prices. Keep that in mind.  I have done entire bathrooms for 3k.  

[name]

Dear readers, please look at the pictures appended to this post and tell me if the mold, water damage, and peeling roof shingles look like simply "cosmetic work" to you. Please tell me if you would have the brass balls to look at these serious structural problems and tell me to my face that there is nothing wrong with the house.

Tell me if, no matter whether this estate agent is either a bold-faced liar or completely delusional about the structural integrity of this house, this is someone you'd want to work with. Here's what I said:

Thanks, [name], but no thanks. I'm afraid we'll have to work with another agent from now on.

I'm sure that, unlike Captain Renault, you will not be shocked (shocked!) to see what she sent next:

Charlotte,

I have sold real estate for 26 years.  Millions of dollars worth of sales.  Top agent in every firm I ever worked in.

Here is just one of the things I learned.  When you find a buyer  exactly what they are looking for, and they reject it for all the wrong reasons, you know immediately you do not have serious buyers.

Your pronouncement to use another agent was rude and unnecessary.  I had no intent to go any further with you.

I wish you and your new agent good luck.

[name]

Well now.

My husband and I, apparently without knowing it, are looking for a house with serious and expensive structural issues. We are, apparently, looking for a house with raccoons and god knows what else nesting in the attic. We are, apparently, looking for a house with an overgrown lot on the side of a very steep hill. (Apparently, a sheer drop-off is the perfect place for an extensive vegetable garden.)

And, by gum, this real estate agent found it for us.

Can I just point out, here and now, that pitching a hissy fit, telling me I'm not serious, that I don't know what I want, that I'm rejecting things out of hand for the "wrong reasons," and that you are the hottest shit east of the Mississippi does not exactly make me want to reconsider my decision to RUN THE FUCK AWAY from your insane bullshit?

Before this experience, we had dealt with estate agents that were a little shady. A trifle unscrupulous. A bit inclined to lie through their teeth and string us along in order to get a commission. I'll say right now, however, that I am just about fed up with estate agents and their lying.

My husband and I did find a home on this trip. We love it, and we're going to try to buy it. (More on that later.)

Thank god it's for sale by owner, is all I have to remark.

[maisontrouvee-blog]

Also, fuck SOPA.

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Ghosts of Ulster County

This is nominally the story of 70 Store Road. This is nominally the tale of our Saturday house-hunting expedition. What it really is is a lament.

Our real estate agent informed me before we went to see this house that -- though its original Victorian layout was indeed preserved -- it was in bad condition. My heart fell as we arrived at the house. Its barn is literally stuffed to the rafters with empty beer bottles. Its large lot has detritus and debris strewn all over it. Its floors are sagging, and its walls are literally rotting from the inside out, with rust seeping from the nailheads to make itself visible even through the plaster and wallpaper. The varnish on the floor is worn in paths that take fifty years to lay down.

The house, in short, is dying.

I don't understand how people can do this to their home. Perhaps there's a great divide in some people -- they don't see the place they live in as home, and they treat it as such. My husband says that it's indicative of society's growing disregard for property rights and the sovereign value of possessions.

I see something different. I remember that, when I lived in Russia, most places looked like this house. This former home. While there's definitely something to be said for the lack of property rights in a formerly Communist country, I think it has more to do with the people. Their outsides grew to match their insides. The moment these people gave up on themselves was the moment they stopped conserving their property or doing anything about the deteriorating conditions in their home.

We began our search looking for a house of character. Most househunters use "character" as a substitute for "this will impress my friends." What we meant, however, was that a house must have integrity. It must still be all of one piece. It must still display a unity of purpose and of form that today's houses lack. It must be alive -- not carved up into fragments and reassembled with new skin, as most houses are. That kind of a house is usually worth fighting for, be it ever in such bad condition.

You can't fight uphill, though. You can't fight something that won't change, and your time had better be spent elsewhere. We looked at the neighbors of this house, and we saw the same renunciation -- the same giving up of self -- that was apparent in 70 Store Road's owners, even though we had never met them.

If the neighbors were of like mind, and if they conserved their properties and themselves, we may have been willing to live cheek by jowl with them and fight for this neglected, beaten, broken, but living home. Instead, we left the house to die in what peace it can, as it will soon.

My husband gives it 10 years left to stand, in its current state of disrepair. That's less than 1/10th of the time this house has so far stood. I wish it may fall into the hands of good people. That's about all I can do.

So many of the houses we've seen so far are ghosts. Their husk remains, but the kernel inside has been smashed to bits and replaced with inedible cruft. Whether the mutilation was carried out in the 1930s or 50s or 70s or 90s, at some time the former owners of these homes have valued fashion over integrity, and in so doing have killed the house's living soul.

All of this just begs the question: If you don't love a house for itself, on its own terms, why buy it? If you like 1970s-style wood paneling, why not buy a house built in the 70s? If you like a main-floor master bedroom with a whirlpool tub or if you value an open floorplan, why not buy a house built in the 90s? Plenty of houses were built in both of those decades.

People will ask me why I care so much, or why I get so angry when people destroy historical relics of this sort. In this instance it's not the history that bothers me so much (though it IS maddening that people generally do not care to explore history -- whether personal, social, or any other kind). It is, in this case, a question of integrity.

Most people's houses end up looking like their souls. In this modern era, that means that a shell built up in history has been cut up, sewn together, torn apart, rearranged, and perhaps "improved" by prevailing taste, sentiment, and fashion. The shell is knocked through and hollow, twisted into an "open floorplan" that any breeze will blow through, and then filled up with knickknacks and gewgaws and other irrelevancies until all the integrity or fortitude once possessed is buried and cannot be re-created.

Looking for houses that have not been so mangled (or for houses that, though maimed, can be nursed back to life) is an arduous, unforgiving, and exhausting process.

My husband and I are looking for a place that retains its original vigor, integrity, and -- oddly -- innocence. Houses like that are as rare as the people who can inhabit them.

[maisontrouvee-blog]

Househunting Saturday: Pre-Game Countdown

Apparently a natural gas company thinks my previous post was "schiste." Good. I'm glad to make the bastards uncomfortable. And no, really, there's nothing "natural" about being able to light your kitchen tap water on fire. Wow. (Can I just say that I'm sooo glad we will never have assholespeople like this digging holes to China in our back yard? They need to hire a new PR guy, at least.)

Anyway, my husband and I are going to look at houses tomorrow. We'd set an appointment with our NY real estate agent about a week ago, and today she called me for a little pre-game countdown and a last-minute substitution of players. Our original roster looked like this:

70 Store Rd, Accord

4635 Atwood Rd, Stone Ridge

503 Millbrook Dr, Port Ewen

4181 Rte 28, Boiceville

6 Fairview Ave, Catskill

40 Old Rte 209, Wawarsing

I think that's a fairly comprehensive list; it's rather an ambitious one, too, because winter days in New York only have about 5 hours of light in the afternoon, and it's impossible for us to get upstate before 11am. When the estate agent phoned back, however, we had rather a sad time of it. Some of the houses just aren't going to work out. Here's why:

6 Fairview Ave, Catskill

This house looks lovely, but it's rather too far away from the others for us to see. The 45 minute drive would eat into our house-viewing time, so we'll have to do this another day.

70 Store Rd, Accord

This house (alas!) is the one I'd wanted to see the most, mainly for the sun room, the old apple trees in the garden (which would save us having to wait 7 years for our own tree plantings to mature), and the creek frontage. According to the estate agent, though, when the owners say "many original details," what they mean is that the home has the original windows, which of course leak air. That wouldn't be so bad, except the house has electric baseboard heat, which is a money pit even in a non-drafty house. Gha!

40 Old Rte 209, Wawarsing 503 Millbrook Dr, Port Ewen 

Our estate agent was quick to point out that these are near a town, Esopus, which we didn't really like on our last visit to the area because it was so run down (by which I mean even more run down than most of the towns upstate). There's also a large prison near the town, which in itself is fine (we're not really afraid of the prisoners), but -- frankly -- we don't want to live near the kind of people who would actually be prison guards for a living. It would be rather like living in Huntsville, TX. Nevertheless, we'll see the one in Port Ewen.

So, frankly, that leaves us seeing Boiceville and Stone Ridge first, with Port Ewen, Wawarsing, and Accord moved down to the "if we have time" list.

Seems rather silly to go all the way upstate to see only two houses, though, doesn't it? It seemed so to me, but the estate agent still had this house up her sleeve.

Despite the wall-to-wall carpeting and the hideously ugly wood paneling and dark kitchen cabinets, Arts and Crafts style houses interest me. Is going to see a house for the sole purpose of a staircase really an advisable move? Probably not, but we do have to start somewhere, and the more houses we see, the more we'll understand about our real wants and needs.

I suppose the estate agent's interests coincide with ours in this: there is no reason to go see houses we have very little chance of actually moving into. I suppose also that I shouldn't get hung up on the beauty of one or two rooms in a home if the things we can't change about the house (location, amount of light, etc) make it otherwise unsuitable. And we do appreciate her candor in bringing the faults of the house to light before we go see something and fall in love with something that just isn't going to work. At the end of the day she's working for the sellers, but so far the estate agent is a refreshing change from the asshole agents one generally gets in Brooklyn.

We'll see what tomorrow brings. No doubt cascades of pictures and detailed write-ups of the houses will follow, for our edification and your possible amusement.

[maisontrouvee-blog]

Fracking: Not In Our Back Yard!

Early in our house hunt, my husband and I were looking at several properties in Sullivan County New York, which is right across the border from Pennsylvania. We gave up on those after seeing a documentary called Gasland. Let me tell you why.

Gasland was created by a documentary filmmaker named Josh Fox, who got the idea for the film after receiving a natural gas lease agreement for his family farm in Pennsylvania. Before signing the lease he decided to do some research into hydraulic fracturing (the method used to extract natural gas from shale) and the effect it was having on the people and environment wherever it was used.

What Josh found was incredibly disturbing. He profiles several families whose tap water is literally combustible (you heard that right: they can literally light their kitchen tap water on fire) and is -- of course -- causing all kinds of illness in the residents nearby. It turns out that fracking requires the injection of all kinds of known carcinogens and other nasty chemicals into the ground.

Industry claims that because the chemical-laden water is injected so deep underground, there is no effect on the much shallower water wells providing these houses with drinking water. Some studies done by the EPA have begun to show that this is absolute BS, however.

This evening I read an article in the New York Times about a fracking waste water disposal well in Ohio that is being blamed for causing 11 earthquakes in 9 months!

Suffice it to say, my husband and I won't be buying any property on top of the Marcellus Shale, or anywhere downstream of an aquifer with fracking in the region. The risk of air and groundwater contamination is just too great.

Sorry, Sullivan County. We're not willing to risk health and sanity for any property.

[maisontrouvee-blog]

Beautiful Home... and then an update?

Remember this house? The one with the beautiful interior, and the Seller's Property Information Report that read like a horror story? I spoke with the listing agent this afternoon, and apparently there's a bit more behind the SPIR.

Enter Eric.

Eric is one of the current owners of the place, and took it upon himself to fill out all the forms related to selling the house for his brothers and sisters, who are also part-owners. The problem with Eric, apparently, is that he takes things a good deal too seriously.

Case in point, the question "Are there public or private landfills or dumps (compacted or otherwise) on the property or on any abutting property?" Eric answered yes. According to the real estate agent, however, the "landfill or dump" consists of a single abandoned car, since removed.

What the estate agent said today seems comforting, and I'd love to believe that we can get a beautiful unmodernized colonial for under $175k. Skepticism, however, must prevail until we can actually see the place. Don't want to form an attachment before we know if the patient will pull through.

Obviously there other things wrong with the property, even those problems don't include a vermin problem, an on-site garbage dump, or a flood-prone location. The poor home suffers from Awful Kitchen Syndrome, like so many of its fellows. There is wood paneling (gasp! horror!) in one or two rooms. And even the real estate agent had to admit that the barn needs a new roof and the whole exterior of the house needs painted.

That said, some defects have a remedy, and some do not. We'll go see this house at the end of January, along with whatever else this woman has to show us. More on 62 Stryker Road then, no doubt.

[unhappyhipsters]

It was punishment unique to her modernist parents: hours of solitary confinement with classic and contemporary design icons, followed by stern yet uncomfortably hypocritical lectures on freedom of expression and rejecting tradition.

(Photo: Richard Foulser; Dwell)

[maisontrouvee-blog]

SO true. This is the tl;dr version of my "Hell Is Modern Architecture" post.

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Hell Is Modern Architecture.

I've long perceived a disconnect in my aesthetic sense, between the kind of architecture and design sense I can admire in theory, and the kind of design sense I'm drawn to in practice. Let's call it the difference between Dwell magazine (theory) and vernacular architecture (practice).

I admire simplicity of line and function. I admire unity of form and aesthetic -- when everything looks as though it is of one piece, and could come out of the same mind. Modern design (or should I say postmodern design? Hipster-esque design?) at least notionally encompasses these things.

However, you could not pay me to live in the kind of houses shown in modern aesthetic magazines like Dwell. What generally strikes me about all of the homes they post is that no matter how colorful their furnishings or warm their plywood walls may be, the houses are incredibly cold. They are, in fact, almost lifeless.

This modern aesthetic -- the elevation of a state of detached irony into some kind of badge of honor or mark of intellectual distinction -- really disturbs me. It shows up not only in architecture and design, but in the actions and attitudes of people who embrace the postmodern or Hipster-esque lifestyle. Frankly put, I think most people who value detachment over connection and irony over warmth end up acting like assholes, whether they want to or not. How could you not, if your entire values system is based around cutting yourself off and holding yourself apart from your fellow humans?

Some people try to achieve minimalism in form and function. What they end up achieving, I think, is minimalism of ideas. In associating with and living like only people who have the same sense of ironic detachment as themselves, these people cut themselves off from a world of passions and ideas and modes of living that are delicious and fresh and could really add something to life.

This is what I love about old homes. I love imagining the different people who have lived in them, and seeing how each inhabitant has left his or her mark on the place. I love the warmth that exudes from the homes -- generally built by a man or a group of men for their family, and reflecting the pride and attachment they felt for the people and place at the time. And, frankly, I feel sick and angry when I see older homes that have had all the warmth and charm and feeling ripped out of them in favor of Dansk woodstoves and smooth sheetrock walls.

You can't have a sense of ironic detachment from your home. Or you can, but I don't doubt you'll be worse off for it. I certainly can't live that way.

(In writing this I want to acknowledge the enlargement of ideas I've received in talking with friends who in many ways are completely different from me and have had totally different life experiences than mine. To cultivate detachment would mean never having gotten to know you, and I'd be the poorer for it. Thank you for being open and honest and immediate with me.)

[maisontrouvee-blog]

Beautiful Home... and then comes the fine print.

Get a load of this place.

It's lovely (if colonials are your thing, which they certainly are mine), it's in a nice town, it's definitely well within our price range, it has a nice lot... and it seems to be falling apart in all of the places not shown in the lovely photos.

How do I know? Well, the real estate agent's automated listing service sent me to a page which also happens to include a SPIR.

SPIR stands for "Seller's Property Information Report," as I found out this morning. It's basically a 6-page-long form that asks the seller questions about the house, the lot, and the neighborhood they're in. Sellers can answer Yes, No, or Don't Know to questions like:

Is the property located in a federal flood hazard zone or wetlands, public waters or conservation zones?

Has there been any significant damage to the property or any of the structures from fire, wind, floods, earth movement, or landslides?

Has there ever been any water leakage, accumulation of water, dampness, or visible mold within the basement or in any crawl space?

Do you have any knowledge of damage done to the property caused by termites, dry rot, or pests?

The form is very helpful, from a potential buyer's point of view... until she realizes that all of the above boxes have been checked "Yes."

I suppose the asking price ($173,500) for a 4-bedroom colonial on a nearly 2-acre lot should have let us know that there was something structurally wrong with the place. But in true Mrs. Blandings fashion, I ignored those thoughts in favor of pleasanter imaginings of a painting easel set up in the drawing room and a library with a roaring fire in the fireplace.

Always read the fine print -- and be skeptical when the real estate agent (who I'm sure is a very nice woman, mind) says:

Yes, the SPIR is in need of an explanation. I'll phone you.

[maisontrouvee-blog]

Beautiful house, no? As with all houses, though, it has its drawbacks. The bedrooms are fairly small, and the interior renovations are not exactly to our taste. Still, the lot seems big enough, and the house looks super well cared-for.

All of the research I've done on the town of Tunbridge indicates that the town would be ideal. The people seem truly warm and nice -- active in helping their neighbors in a pinch, but valuing privacy and independence as well. The houses, from what I can see, look well-kept, and there is a Waldorf School only a few miles from the home. (We don't have children, but the Waldorf ethos is something we'd love to have represented in our neighbors.)

We're reluctant to settle, though -- especially when paying such a large amount of money. The hunt continues.

[maisontrouvee-blog]

House Not Found... Yet

Don't let the title ("Found House") fool you. We haven't found The One... yet.

In fact, my husband and I have just started looking for our little place in the country. We think we're smart. We (hope we) don't suffer from Mr. Blandings-like symptoms. To be honest, though, we're beginning the process with a lot of trepidation.

Buying a house seems like it should be simple. You look for a place, and if you and the seller can agree on a price, then everything works out. But apparently it's not that simple. Banks, building inspectors, town governments, zoning boards, mortgage insurers, real estate agents, and others intervene. Dealing with each of these people and bodies lends an additional layer of complexity to the process, which could just be why house-hunting is looked upon with such fear and anxiety by just about everyone who does it.

If you've never navigated through the shoals of mortgage points, FHA requirements, Mud Season in Vermont, or any of the other joys of house buying, then you're in the right place -- because neither have we. If you have, I hope you can commiserate with us as we experience them for the first time.

Welcome to Maison Trouvée.