Caught in the Grip of the Great Real Estate Debacle of 2010

Passing through the garage this morning I glanced at the stacks of boxes and the few pieces of furniture that were taking up a good chunk of the garage floor. In anticipation of our move we had giddily packed up what we considered nonessential items that we could do without for a couple of months and stored them here. The list includes among other things the CD collection of our old favorite movies, the Wii and all of its accompanying paraphernalia, misc electronic equipment and our winter clothes. We have since unpacked some of these things, the Wii and movies in particular realizing these distractions might come in handy since we seem to have a wait on our hands. This morning it came to me that there was a very good possibility I would be switching those winter clothes for summer ones before we finally sold and moved out of our house.

It is now late July and our house has been on the market for a few days over ninety and the fact comes jarringly into perspective that we have our house up for sale in the worst real estate market seen in decades. Home values are low, money is scare and most of the potential buyers hurried to make their selections before the tax credit incentive ended in April. In hindsight, listing our house a couple of months sooner would have seemed to be the smart thing to do. Unfortunately that time-line and ours didn’t intersect. Our plan was to wait for spring, knowing that the blossoming springtime displayed our wooded lot to advantage and gave us the time we needed to give the house the fresh face always recommended when selling your home.

We have had a total of nine showings, one open house and a group Realtor critique during the past three months. All of the responses have been favorable. We are assured that the house is showing beautifully and everyone loves it. Our staging is perfect, not too much and not too little and it’s one of the most well kept houses they’ve seen. One Realtor found the loft library so comfortable that she proclaimed, “I’m staying here for the rest of the day!” We do feel somewhat confident that our house is marketable. If only there were a market in which to market it.

By now we have all heard the nightmare stories of short sale homes, foreclosed homes, bank owned homes and homes no longer worth the mortgage balance remaining on them, much less hold any equity. Home buyers and sellers are caught in a vicious cycle. In this real estate debacle few sellers are willing to contract to sell their homes to you, contingent on you selling your home to someone else. Such a transaction could turn into a never ending chain of unsold homes. The few buyers available without encumbrances are scare and they often can’t leap the mortgage hurdles now in place. The wheels of the real estate behemoth have almost ground to a halt.

The banks that once dazzled us with their magic shows by pulling mortgage money out of all orifices now jealously and suspiciously guard those funds. These are the very funds a frightened American people were strong armed into giving them in the first place. They needed the money to save their big corporate butts from plummeting into the chasm of the collapsing world market. Now there is no urgency on their parts to share this salvation with the people that pulled them back from the brink. They are disdainful of those asking for the use of this money while being cavalier in the disposal of short sale and foreclosed homes, making it nearly impossible to clear these homes from the glutted market.

Like so many others in this situation we wait. We wait with the mantra repeating in our heads, “It will happen when it is supposed to happen”. I feel this is true and still I feel impatient at the waiting, at the not knowing.

We excitedly look at houses in Indiana. Determining the area we would like to live in, what type of house we want, while trying to enjoy the process of exploring our options. At the same time we try not to fall too deeply in love with any of the houses we see, knowing we can’t really do much until our house sells.

As to our life in Ohio, we enjoy spending time with our Emma. Knowing that the time allowed to be with her shortens as fall approaches and she starts kindergarten. As she grows older our purpose for staying here gets less and our urge to move back increases. We look forward to enjoying the comfort in the nearness of family and old friends, something lacking in our lives here and sorely missed.
The time frame that has always stuck in my head is September. I’ve always had the feeling that whatever is going to happen, happens then. I guess I will just have to wait a little longer and see if I’m right.

DLF 07/26/2010

My Neighborhood

At the corner of Rolenson and Curve Road sets an old white farmhouse with overgrown bushes cloaking its cluttered yard. In summer the bushes joyously run riot, spilling out in all directions, obstructing the view enough that when driving, turning the corner there requires a leap of faith. Old man Ford lives in this house and people say that the Fords once owned all the land around, as far as the eye could see. All that remains of the great farm now is the clapboard farmhouse, derelict barn, the hen house that still houses a few chickens and some old beehives act as backdrop to a weedy vegetable garden. Seats and handles of rusted farm equipment poke up out of the grass in the overgrown fields and volunteer sunflowers dot the landscape here and there. The old rooster weather vane that sets crookedly atop the rundown barn squeals in protest each time the wind pushes it into rotation. Mr. Ford still offers brown eggs and clover honey for sale but some say they aren’t safe. Only the old-timers from the area still stop by his place to buy his products.

At the four way stop at Cheshire and across the road from the new firehouse sets a more modern sprawling ranch house. Built of the long flat rectangles of pink and gray limestone favored in the sixties, it’s almost flat roof and sleek lines speak of The Rat Pack, Manhattan cocktails and the cold war. Behind the house a white gazebo perches on the edge of a cattail rimmed pond that is enjoyed by the ducks that make their nest on the tiny island in the middle. In the summer you will likely see the old mister that lives there, outside bouncing along on his riding lawn mower. He jogs along mowing the grassy acres protected from the sun by a fringed canopy swaying above his straw-hat covered head. I wonder if the man on the mower is the same man that fifty years ago closely monitored the construction of this house, anxiously waiting for the day he would move his family into their new dream home. Although I don’t know him, I worry if I don’t see him for a while and am relieved when I see the familiar fluttering flat topped rig sail past.

Going back down the road the other way back in the woods sets a huge white house with yellow and black trim. It has two turrets, one on either side, a wrap around veranda and flourishes and swirls of the Victorian style gingerbread house. The entire property is enclosed in a stone fence with ornate wooden stiles and gates set at convenient intervals. In the yard is not just one but two gazeboes, wood and stone bridges hover over the small creek and a fanciful garden shed is out back. The property is chocked full of lovely pieces of construction. Here’s the interesting thing about this place. About ten years ago, a lone man began building a garage on this land. It was a nice big normal looking garage and when it was completed the man moved into the garage and lived there for the winter.
The next spring he began construction of what is now the left wing of the house and each year thereafter he continued to build a portion of the house until it was complete. When the house was finished then each summer found him working on a new structure, bridge, etc. As far as I can tell he has done the majority of the work himself, all very beautiful and ornate. Over the years it has been fascinating to watch the building of this small kingdom but in my mind I wonder if the builder has ever heard of the expression, “Gilding the Lilly”.…..

Back down the road not far from the old Ford place sets a nice little red brick ranch house. Its yard is awash with beautiful bright flowers that flourish in every nook and cranny. This sturdy little house was built about forty years ago by a couple wanting a place in the country were they could create a beautiful garden, orchard and park. They made sure there was a cistern in place to collect the rain water and plenty of panty storage downstairs then they got busy planting, planting, and planting. They planted pine trees, spruce trees, apple trees, peach trees, cherry trees, as well as flowers and vegetables of all varieties. The couple is gone now but the bounty that they created lives on in the mature trees and thriving plants they lovingly place here so long ago.

Next door, sets a pleasant stucco and brick two story house. It is newer in the neighborhood then some of the others but not so new as to have not settled to its place. At first the pine and spruce trees planted so long ago towered over the house but as the years passed they advanced until they wrapped the house into a spiky embrace. The now tangled woods and old orchard encourage the forest dwellers to shelter there and enjoy the abundance and safety of the place. The couple that lives there enjoys watching the deer with their spindly legged babies and the noisy but small chittering squirrels that prefer spruce trees for their homes. The woman that lives there has been known to feed the random furry visitors that come to her back door.

DLF 07/04/2010