To what lengths would you go to be a homeowner? Personally, I’ve been going pretty hard at it. Nearly every day for the past year, I’ve been waking up around 7 a.m., throwing on some work clothes, and getting ready for a day of construction. In my parents’ kitchen, I brew coffee while my dad makes us sandwiches for lunch. Then we hit the road, turning on CBC Radio as we make the twenty-nine-minute drive to my once-abandoned farmhouse.
Decades ago, the old yellow farmhouse was full of life. It was built in the 1820s. Highland cattle have roamed the mountainside, and apple trees around the property have blossomed every spring. Behind the house, lumber was once milled for the coal mine. But as the years passed and families shuffled in and out, the farmhouse was left behind. Before we knew it, twenty years had gone by and the farmhouse fell into disrepair, having weathered many storms and become a safe haven for raccoons and squirrels. On the outside, broken windows complemented a red-shingled roof with cavernous holes. Water seeped in, turning the staircase green and rotting the wooden floorboards beneath. Giant holes in them threatened to deposit you into the dug cellar below.
