Lew-Ellyn Hughes dreams of leaving city life and finding a place where she can see her beloved Maine wilderness from her window each morning. Her dreams finally come true when she finds a nineteenth-century farmhouse for sale in Stratton, an idyllic town nestled in between lakes and mountains. She decides to turn it into Diamond Corner, a cozy, five-room bed-and-breakfast, sharing her love of Maine with visitors from all over the world. Farmhouse on the Edge of Town is a collection of heartwarming and humorous stories from fifteen years of owning the bed-and-breakfast that features a cast of hardy Mainers, colorful guests, and lovable family, as Lew-Ellyn juggles their wants and needs with her trademark humor and insight. From opening up a bakery in her kitchen to wrangling a bull, her stories will delight anyone who’s ever spent time in a small town.
The excerpt below is adapted from "Crooked as an Old Witch's Spine" in Farmhouse on the Edge of Town by Lew-Ellyn Hughes.
The farmhouse was as crooked as an old witch’s spine. Her windows were so drafty, they gave the curtains wings. The floors creaked, the banisters wobbled, the roof leaked. Still, in my heart, she was beautiful and full of promise. I was captivated by her charm, her history, her potential. And, best of all, she sat on an acre of land on the edge of a brook that fed into Maine’s fourth largest lake, next to a vast wilderness, just down the road from some massive mountains, in a small town in western Maine. She was where I wanted to be.
When I was preparing to buy the house, I hired a building inspector, and the first thing he did was fall through the rotten boards on the porch floor. He pulled himself out, dusted off his clothes, shrugged at me, and continued. I liked this guy. He looked the home over, and when he couldn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know or suspect, I was ready to buy the 1890s farmhouse.
As soon as it was officially mine, I got to work. At the top of the list was starting at the bottom of the house. Her old bones needed straightening. I hired a house-leveling company. They jacked the farmhouse and the barn to their upright positions and repaired the foundation to keep it so.
The house was now straight and sure, and she looked oh so much more respectful, like a lady of upright upbringing. But the plaster walls rebelled and cracked at the change. They were happy where they had settled in their old age. At night, as I lay in bed, I could hear portions of walls fall to the floor. I played a guessing game, trying to decipher which room was shedding the plaster of the past: The living room? The kitchen? The library? It became my morning ritual to put the coffee on and, while it perked, sweep up the dusty mess made overnight.
I couldn’t hammer a nail in straight, so I had little to do with the renovations, but I certainly became a pro at demolition. I pulled horsehair and plaster off the walls for hours and days and while doing so, found some interesting things—like the saw placed in between the studs over the kitchen door. It was common practice for builders of the time to place one there upon completion of their job as a way to bring luck and prosperity to the home and keep evil spirits away. I left the saw in place, and I imagine it is still there. After the electrician replaced the antiquated knob-and-tube wiring with updated electrical lines, new insulation and walls went in. In between renovation projects, I rented the rooms at a discounted price. Most people were fascinated, impressed even, at this project, but occasionally a guest or two, upon looking around and noticing this was a work in process, appeared worried about their stay.
After assuring them that no construction would take place during their visit and that their room was perfectly perfect, they relaxed. I never wondered what I had gotten myself into, because I had renovated several homes before this one and worked as a construction coordinator for a log home company, but I could tell that a guest was wondering what she had walked into when she saw the stairway wall torn down to its studs. I joked and told her the wall was torn apart because I thought I heard a spider in there. She smiled and sighed in relief.
I was also creative with remodeling. I used the old doors that were in the barn as the ceiling in my office space. When it was time to replace the porch, I used the old, yet still solid porch posts as the window and door trim in one of the bedrooms. I told a friend that I had lived with paint color swatches tacked to the walls throughout the house for so long that I didn’t think it would feel like home without one. That friend painted the second story hallway wall as a giant color swatch complete with paint names and numbers on the side. When it was time to have the maple floors sanded and sealed, I moved out and stayed with a friend. The summer that all the walls were to be sheet rocked and painted, I shut the B&B down and took a job at the local campground as manager. But soon, the old house would be renewed and would grow to become a successful, full-time passion that consumed all my days and many of my nights as I waited up for late arrivals or slept with one eye open in case a guest needed something.
After the guests departed each day, after the breakfast dishes were washed, the beds remade, after the house was cleaned and ready for new visitors, there was always enough time to get outside, into the woods for a hike, a challenging mountain bike ride, or into my kayak for a scenic, relaxing paddle. In this new life of mine there was always enough time to breathe. It was perfect.
God gave us two feet for a reason: so we can balance on one with all we have learned in life, all we have experienced in our past, as we step out into the future with the other.
Farmhouse on the Edge of Town is out November 19.
Kommentare