My Old House Gets A New Life
STORY NANCY BELGUE l PHOTOGRAPHY MAX WEDGE
This is a highly personal story. When I was growing up, I moved a lot. I went to six schools before grade 8 and lived in 24 houses by the time I moved to Kingsville 22 years ago, and the moving came to an end. For the first time in my life I put down roots.
My family and I were living in B.C. before moving to this area I now call home. My husband, who had come ahead of us to begin his job, found what he termed “the perfect writer’s house,” and bought it for me without my ever having seen it. Some might say that was a risky move. Some might even say it is a deal breaker, marriage-wise.
It worked out, though. The century-old Victorian on a quaint street in the hamlet of Kingsville turned out to be just the thing I needed: a sanctuary and a place to rest up. The gingerbread-encrusted front porch was a perfect place to dream away a summer morning. The front parlour with the inherited piano (it comes with the house, but more on that later), the rustic great room with the forest-green walls and the pine ceilings were to become as familiar to me as the creaking board on the third stair from the top, the sound of black walnuts thundering onto the back deck in the autumn and the signed bricks from workmen who so long ago built the house. I close my eyes and can still hear voices echoing in the dining room, bringing back memories of our family dinners, celebrations and parties. And I did become a writer here. I wrote all of my five books sitting in one room or another of the red brick house that is, and always will be, the longest place I’ll ever live.
But in the summer of 2020 I moved on. It was time for a change. My life was different: My husband had passed away, my sons had moved away and in a most unlikely turn of events, I had, once again, fallen in love. The house that had been my sanctuary was ready to move on as well. I had a talk with her. I asked her permission, and like the great lady she is, she graciously agreed. We parted ways.
When I saw the name on the purchase offer, a bell tinkled in the back of my mind. Some years ago, our Homes Windsor & Essex County ran a feature about a beautiful home on Bob-Lo Island. And so it is that my old home passed into the hands of a woman I had met, liked and written about. This seemed somehow fitting to me. As someone who genuinely loved the house, I wanted only the best for her and as the years had gone by, she (my house) needed a new lease on life. Laura Dobrich, her new steward, saw all her potential. She swept in, and with a refined eye transformed her into a modern farmhouse-style Airbnb.
From the sleek matte-black door, white-painted walls and ceilings, to the refinished floors, Laura breathed new life into my slumbering beauty. During the transformation, I had stopped to speak to my old neighbour and Laura spotted me, invited me in and gave me a tour. I marvelled how the old, wide-plank floors (reclaimed from a distillery in Amherstburg) had been so beautifully refinished. I was awed by the difference the white walls and ceilings made to the light in the rooms. I was pleased that the upright piano (which had been bequeathed to us by the previous owners when we bought the house, and which I passed on to Laura) was in pride of place in the dining room, and that her son, a talented musician, will actually play it.
Brick that had been covered in drywall had been left exposed in the dining room, the old, dusty-rose carpet (don’t judge!) that I’d never taken out of the master bedroom was replaced with new wood floors, and the front parlour transformed into a charming bedroom. The home now offers four guest bedrooms: The Lily Room, The Rose Room, The Daisy Room and The Peony Room. The rooms are so named because Laura loved the gardens I created during the time I’d lived there. She even christened the home Elm Street Gardens.
As we prepared for this story and I revisited the home where so much of my life had happened, I steeled myself for feelings of sadness, nostalgia and even, perhaps, regret. Surprisingly, none of those feelings presented themselves. The house looks beautiful, Laura’s plans are exciting and the thought of others enjoying the history, the location, the town and the front porch were, somehow, comforting.
Our homes, as we know, are where our life happens. But in truth, our life goes with us wherever we live. I’m making new memories now and though 14 Elm Street will always be the place that allowed me in some ways to know the true meaning of home, it is wonderful to see her taking the stage for her next act. I am her biggest fan. I am standing in the audience applauding wildly. And I am looking for at least five curtain calls.
