About the Property
I’m Scott. I acquired this property in late 2020, after it had stood abandoned for a decade. It was overgrown with laurels, Himalayan blackberries, and grasses that grew waist high from between the driveway’s cobblestones. It was so overgrown, the deer actually had made bedding sites in the middle of what used to be grassy lawns. The place was littered with 1,000s of glass beer bottles, and at least one construction company had started using one area of the property as their personal “free” dumpsite, amassing a sprawling 6-foot tall pile of discarded roofing shingles and fast food refuse. The bank had glued warning signs on what windows hadn’t been broken out. A huge tarp covered the main building, attempting to protect the broken tile roofing, and someone had helped themselves to the copper pipes and electrical wiring from the ceilings and walls. No cabinets remained, no appliances, and everywhere there was proof of the derelict side of human nature.
Yet, somewhere underneath the layers of misadventures, and still very close to the surface, was love. You couldn’t be here and not feel it. Tender, nurturing, caring for a vision that was anything but cookie cutter. Most of the landscaping had been choked out, but there were still beautiful, brightly colored Japanese Maples, nestled away as if they had naturalized themselves there decades ago. Dozens of grapevines, teeming with fruit, albeit unruly, surrounded what should have been a parklike orchard, on handmade arbors of stone and iron, the likes of which I’d never seen. Fruit trees, laden with harvest, stood abandoned and forgotten. And 3 houses, but from straw bale, harkened you into a Tuscan villa experience. Their floors were not carpeted, but rather made of worn stone, with a massive hearth built from river rock, anchoring the space with a presence that I can’t explain. Everything blatantly handmade, and all, somehow, standing the test of time and man.
And all forgotten. All waiting for someone, anyone, to see it, appreciate it again. For 10 years, it waited, sat silently, alone and abandoned. But it still had a voice, and it was whispering “We are strong, we are unique, and we are worthy” to those who would listen.
I had been actively looking at houses and properties for over a year, and nothing caught my attention like this place, it was all painfully trite and void of nourishment. Cement and asphalt had lost its flair. I needed something real, something where I could garden and dream again. Yet all I ever found were sterile white walls and facades that did little to hold back the onslaught of modern materialism and conformity. But this place… it had a voice, it was a sanctuary, and someone had poured their life into making it exactly that. This place needed both nothing and everything. There wasn’t a choice.
So, I threw everything I had at it and bought the place. It took fighting with multiple banks, none of which particularly wanted to help. Even the banks had forgotten about this property!! After the first bank foreclosed on Dean, the original owner, they offloaded the bank note, amassed with others, to another even larger bank, who offloaded it to a third. That bank was later acquired in a merger back by one of the earlier banks, and the note kept getting passed around like a hot potato. Somehow, in all of that, the final bank actually lost the title. They had no idea they owned the property and were quite adamant, for months, that they didn’t. But, I persisted, and finally, papers were signed, and I moved onsite.
To say that I had no idea what I was getting into is a gross understatement. Obviously the place was sight unseen. There wasn’t an inspection report, or instruction manual. It took more than 5 years to find the water line that leads to the lower house. ((I finally discovered it, about 12 hours before I shelled out mega bucks to have the entire property searched with ground penetrating radar, but I’m getting ahead of myself.))
I remember my friends had me place my little travel trailer up on the highest point of the property and, first thing, buy a metal awning for it, as we had no idea what the rainy months would bring or how quickly trees might fall. They wouldn’t hear of me living out here alone and not having at least that much protection from the elements. I remember being so content – I could touch everything I needed by just taking 2 steps. I lived that way for months, while I tried to start assessing whether ANY of the structures on the property would be livable again.
Of course, I initially chose wrong. I started renovating the lower house, thinking I could live there faster than the main house. The problem didn’t show up until after we got the well pump working again (miraculous!) and realized we had no clue where the shutoff valve to the lower house even was. The property refused to give up that secret until 2025, and it didn’t get fixed until just this year, 2026.
But the OTHER parts of what I had no idea about… those kept bubbling up. The history of the man who built all of this, the artwork and style that used to define these spaces, how difficult it is for one person to take care of this much property, especially when nobody can tell you where the sprinkler valves are located…! In order to do this,
This space KEEPS giving up secrets, even now, 7 years in. I’ve uncovered more than one set of stone stairs hidden from time, more than one secret garden, and I’ve absolutely no clue what I’m doing. Somehow, I’ve got to learn a dozen different construction skillsets, amass the local knowledge of a Master Gardener, and fight back the encroaching invasives, all while also struggling to grow my own food and livelihood and somehow come to peace with my life being this frigging overwhelming.
I’m not an electrician, a master stone cutter, a welder, a landscaper. I’m not even considered a handyman. I just … liked strawberry plants and african violets, and having pets. I wanted something unique. I got it. In solidarity, it’s taking every ounce of everything I have to keep it, and the universe is not being stingy about pushing those boundaries either.
But we are nothing in this world. If we pass through it and get to say – this one thing, this one place, this one person, this one breed of animal, this one sketchy little plot of land… is better for me having been here. Well, that’s pretty amazing I guess.
So.
I’ll never get to know if my best is enough. Or if I actually even reached that goal. All I can do is try. I SEE SO MUCH POSSIBILITY when I look around me, still, just like I did. The excitement is gone, now I’m just scared, but I’m still here. Building the legacy, one day at a time.
