When our county began to open up, we started going out to have dinner with friends at their homes. We’ve known some of these friends for years, and our evenings have always been casual and relaxed.
But after spending so much time in our home, and seeing these other lovely, and almost perfect houses, we’ve come to appreciate our little farmhouse all the more.
Maria wrote about this first, tonight, on her blog. Our friends tend to have more money than we do, but then, almost everyone we know has more money than we do.
But they take special care of their houses, which so often look perfect. The tabletops are all empty, we never see the stuff that litters every space we have.
Once in a while, Maria tears through the table and organizes things. It never lasts. We are who we are, we have neither the time nor the interest in being spotless.
Our farmhouse was built sometime before the civil war, and it is, by some standards, a wreck.
The molding has fallen off of the roof, slate pieces come sliding off, the back porch cement is cracked, the wooden tiles on the porch are rotting, the faucets leak, our wooden window frames are very tired, and there is rust around our old porcelain fixtures.
We cannot, for the life of us, find a handyman who thinks it’s worth his time to take on our small tasks. I know now that we will never have the money to do all the things that need to be done, but then, that is the story of farms and farmhouses.
No farm with animals is ever perfect. Our house is comfortable, warm, and inviting. Our friends like to come here, they like the vibe.
Our house is so different from the homes we visit; they are spotless, the kitchens are clean and spacious, the rooms big and airy, the window frames new and fresh, the air conditioning systems quite and cooling.
Whenever we come home, we laugh at ourselves.
Our house is small, and I am a chaos machine. So is Maria, in her organized way. Our dining room table is littered with mail, things for the Mansion, for Bishop Maginn, sanitizers, insect and tick repellent, unopened packages, lenses, magazines, books, music speakers, placemats and napkins, and candleholders.
We are right off a busy highway where trucks rumble by and sometimes rattle the windows. We love it.
Our bedroom is in the attic, and the room is an oven for much of the summer. We just got a big new air conditioner to help us sleep.
Someone comes to help us clean almost every week; we would drown without her.
Yet we love our house so much; it is the perfect house for us, a creative workspace for two that is just right.
The old parlor where the ministers came for tea is my office; Maria works in an old refurbished little schoolhouse off the back of the house. It has two doors one for girls, one for boys.
We are on a highway with cable for the Internet, and we have made some essential improvements.
We have solar power now, we’ve planted a dozen trees to block the noise from the road, we’ve painted the interior of the house and put in modern electrical infrastructure.
We put in a new roof on the porch and replace the slate tiles every year.
The mortgage is lower than a one-bedroom apartment in most places; the farm is compact. I believe Maria will be able to stay on the farm after I croak if she wants to.
She can take care of herself, and then some. I love my study; she loves her studio. Both are crammed to the rafters, mine with papers and books, hers with fabric and sewing machines.
We have a woodshed for our firewood, a single barn for hay and shelter for the animals, three small pastures, and a dozen acres of woods behind the pastures. We are sharp and focused about our work, but our minds are jammed with distraction, obsessed with our work.
We don’t even usually notice the clutter. I’ve read about all those Japanese systems for removing clutter, but I don’t understand them. Clutter is my coon and my inspiration, why would I want to get rid of it?
Like my typos, I like my clutter. I am not interested in being meticulous and perfect, I don’t know how we all got talked into thinking that is important. People live and work in our house, and on our farm, and it shows. I’m proud of that.
We can see the animals from our windows, and they can see us.
Because we are on a state highway, we are the first to be plowed in the winter, and the electric company comes quickly when there is an outage.
I wonder if we had a lot of money if our house would look like the houses we visit. I suppose it would be tempting. But we don’t have that kind of money, and that is fine.
Our house is tight and clean.
Perfection isn’t critical to us. The farmhouse seems to be built for our odd, independent and creative instincts. I love the colors in the interior that Maria has chosen, and her Frieda Kahlo bathroom is a small masterpiece.
It is enough for us, just right. A perfect house would be lost on our three dogs and us. It’s strange; really, how much less we need than we thought we would need at one point in our lives.
On her blog, Maria wrote that she and her first husband restored one “perfect” house after another. “The houses got smaller and smaller,” she wrote, “until the “perfect” two-room cabin revealed the truth about our failed relationship.”
Life is mysterious and wonderful if you think about it. Our little farmhouse has revealed the truth about our wonderful, if hopefully never perfect, relationship.
Your farmhouse looks like what a home should be, especially with the dogs. I have the same problem keeping my kitchen table uncluttered so if you ever find a solution please post how you did it -and how long it lasted. LOL (When I need to clear off the table I put things into canvas bags to sort out at a later date-on a different table.)
A suggestion, do you think you might have better luck finding a handy man in this time of Corona, especially with so many folks out of work. Here in VT we have something called Front Porch Forum where folks can post email notices of all kinds. Lately I’ve seen more folks looking for someone to do odd jobs,, r from others offering various kinds of services.
The word “perfect” means different things to different people. As far as I’m concerned, the feeling you get when you enter a home is much more important than aesthetics. I feel the same way about my home. It isn’t huge, flashy or spotless, but the warm feeling I have when I come home says everything. As for stuff on the table and paw prints on the floor, those are the things that make a house a home. Those houses you see in style magazines look cold, staged and devoid of emotion. Probably because they are. Pictures of my home confirm that a family lives there. And that’s what counts.
Thank you. This is exactly how I feel as well.
I totally get it. Marie Kondo would definitely NOT approve.. I have a table that will seat six, yet maybe two can eat at it. Could never understand those perfect homes….
I love your farmhouse. I have had two houses over a hundred years old and loved them both so much. Now I live in a new house in a sub- division and how boring it is! These houses are cookie cutters and if you have seen one you have seen them all. If I were younger I would sell this place in a New York minute but not prudent at this stage in my life. At least I can enjoy your photos and life style….Have a serrandipity day…..
I love it! We gave our weekly cleaning person the summer off just so we can enjoy our clutter and breathe for a couple of months! When she comes to clean, I feel I have to spend the entire day prior to “cleaning and decluttering” so she is able to clean! Ridiculous, but true.
It gives me great joy to see someone else’s kitchen table in the same state as mine. I can just about identify everything on it! Every once in a while, I get in a de-cluttering mood and clear it off. I’ve been postponing doing that for weeks now, even though I really want the space to start working on a jigsaw puzzle!
Amen to imperfection!! Color, texture, a gallery wall, a life well lived, dogs, fish, snails all have a Place To Call Home.
When I was young, I noticed my friends spending $$$ on furniture, expensive cars, etc. I had to make choices, and I knew I could have anything I wanted, just not everything I wanted. I decided I wanted to travel more than I wanted a new living room set. Old furniture covered with lovely, colorful throws, mismatched chairs, they speak to me. Good on you! Your home is a reflection of two independent, productive, caring people.
How refreshing! This is how I feel as well. My maternal grandparents had for decades what we thought was the most beautiful perfect farm. The house was old and well-lived, with very old wooden floors that creaked, with the same furniture they had purchased when they got married, wooden pieces that were painted over and over, and my grandmother just changed the cushions once in a while. Things looked old and yet wonderful! When my grandfather died, my grandmother continued living in that house until the day of her passing. We treasured that farm and farm house in Tambor de Alajuela in Costa Rica. It was a coffee and sugar cane farm. At home, in Philadelphia, PA, I collect lots of things. I have lots of plants inside our split level and our kitchen is the same old one that came with this house built in 1961 (we moved here in 2001). Maybe one day we’ll improve it a bit. We enjoy the simplicity with some clutter (at times too much, but organized). I enjoyed reading this entry very much! I identify a lot with those feelings! Regards!
Gee, Jon, the room looks great, just like New Mexico!
Thank you or affirming my house problem.
What a lovely piece of writing! I am one of many who appreciate the colors integrating one another in clutter. I, too, do a fell sweep and the #1 rule when we moved (next door) was “the dining table will be a place to eat, not to set things.” Alas and alack, here we are with a table that is weighted on one end with the daily. I suppose, as long as WE can find what we need, have what we desire right on hand without the huge search, it is worth it. Anyway, I love your colorful house and appreciate, more than ever, your honesty in who you are. That honesty helps me along in taking off my mask, allowing me to be myself, the person that has hidden for 64 years, inside the wallpaper of flowers. Thank you, Jon, once more, for your writings. You and Maria are a breath of fresh air.
Your home sounds perfect. Ours is similar.
Thanks for the beautiful writing.