When I as engaged, I was charged with finding us an apartment. There were plenty of apartments, of course; the tricky part was finding one we could afford. We ended up renting a tiny 1 bedroom 1 bath top floor of an old stucco house on an isolated corner of Columbia Lane. It was close to my BYU where I was finishing up school and close to my husband’s job at Best.
That house was our first introduction to what is known as the Grandview Hill. I guess it’s fitting this NW girl should end up in the NW corner of her town.
Despite us being in a situation where the only neighbors we got to know were the couples that rented the basement apartment, we liked the feel of the area. I remember driving through neighborhoods in the Grandview Hill and thinking, “I could live here someday.” Which was a stretch for someone who always wanted to get back to the farm.
In particular, I recall driving through a neighborhood a little further southwest of our apartment and watching a house go up. I watched the progress of the bay window in the back of the house and every time I drove past it I thought to myself, “I’ve always wanted a bay window.”
Eventually, as we were expecting our first child, we moved across town into my cousin’s basement apartment at the foot of one of the Wasatch mountains, where we lived until just after the birth of our second child.
By that time my husband had been employed as a school teacher and I ungainfully employed as a stay-at-home mom and I felt it was time to look into acquiring a mortgage.
When we first met with a bank, we were literally laughed at.
“You won’t want to live in what you can afford,” were the literal words.
I asked the guy to show us anyway, and there were three homes in all of Utah County we could have gotten a loan for.
By now you may have guessed it was not the brand new home with the bay windowed dining room. But we did drive right past that house to look at the one I already knew in my heart would be our first home. Because it was right around the corner and happened to be exactly one mile from the school where Shane was teaching.
The 1320 sq. ft. 2 BR home was definitely a fixer upper (the structure was initially a fruit-packing shed that had been build onto rather unconventionally a couple of times), but the price was right, Shane’s second job at the time (so he could afford school teaching) was installing sprinklers in the summer and remodeling houses nights and weekends during the school year, so we had a built-in handyman. And the neighborhood was perfect.
It was like coming home.
My favorite parts of that house were the light and spacious kitchen and dining area, which looked out from a big picture window to the green backyard, the deep oval bathtub in the tiny master bedroom, and the huge backyard, in which we built a sandbox that provided hours and hours of endless construction and entertainment for the kids (along with a few episodes of pinworm for the kids, because the neighborhood cats found it a nice playground as well).
But mostly it was about the neighbors. We felt at home–wanted and needed and loved–even before we moved in. We were surrounded by good people working hard to raise more good people in a place where it quickly became apparent even when people grew up and moved away from they longed to return. And some did. And so began the next generation.
Eventually we had four kids crammed into what was really one bedroom with a little side-room and it wasn’t until two of my brother-in-laws and one of their friends lived in a trailer in our driveway that I realized we might need more space. Shane’s 6′ 4″ little brother stood in the doorway of our home one day and it struck me that we might only have four kids, but those kids weren’t going to be little forever and we simply didn’t have room for four BIG kids.
Word on the street was that one of our neighbors a couple of houses up across the street was planning on selling his home. It was a gold brick split entry. I did not love gold brick. And I had no love lost on split entry. So I was not even interested in looking at that home. Until I heard the words “hardwood floors.” Yes. The upstairs bedrooms apparently had all hardwood floors under their carpet.
Split entry aside, this house 5 BR house was twice the size as our current home and was on a beautiful third-acre lot that had lots of potential. Fortunately, that year the bank had laughed out loud at us we were able to buy low and the market had grown steadily enough we could sell high and have enough equity for a decent down payment. So we jumped.
And that is how we moved literally across the street. I didn’t even have to unpack the drawers from our dressers, we just carried them over and slid them right back into their rightful slots.
What I love about this house is the plentiful storage (my first linen closet!), the shady back deck, having a real laundry room, and a dining room large enough room for a my large second-hand dining room table on which I can feed people.
Since then our kids have grow almost as tall as Shane’s little brother. They fill this house with their very tall friends. Our first grandson is now the same age as our youngest child when we moved in. Over the years we’ve watched neighbors come and go and sometimes come back again. They continue to be our people.
I love knowing that, for whatever reason, this was and is where we are supposed to be.
There’s no place like home.