The Life of A House

The boat came first; a classic wooden sailboat, a 12 ½ ft. gaff-rigged Buzzard’s Bay beauty. We called her “Shearwater”.

We had rented several houses in the area over the years, near the boatyard where she was moored. Then, like the proverbial (and unfortunately sexist) joke about the woman who buys a hat then decides she needs a dress to go with it, we thought it was time to buy a house to go with the boat. A more compelling reason to do so had to do with our eight grandchildren who, at the time, ranged in age from 3 to 17.  We hoped to find a place where the cousins could come together;  to sail, swim and just mess about on the beach.

The house we found was on a point facing the bay, a couple of hundred feet from the water. So, since it was to be our boat’s companion, we called her “Nearwater.”

At some point, an idea surfaced for a week-long camp we would hold for the two older girls. Together, we created a  schedule that included all the usual summer camp activities: sailing, rowing, swimming, badminton, croquet, archery and more.  We had quiet time, crafts, journaling and reading, along with daily chores such as filling the bird feeder and bird bath, and keeping the “dorm” ready for inspection.   Parents were invited to a closing ceremony, complete with certificates of achievements and a camp song. Thus was Camp Nearwater born.

The younger cousins heard about it and were counting the summers until they would be old enough to attend. And so, two years later and for the next four years, we had four Nearwater campers in our house on Buzzard’s Bay. As time went by, the girls pretty much ran it themselves (with a few reminders about chores, quiet time and some kitchen help).

Now that 3-year-old toddler is in middle school while the oldest camper is a senior in high school. Other summer activities, jobs, swim and dance teams have taken over. No longer able to maintain and sail “Shearwater”, we had  sold her two years previously.  It became increasingly clear that the two main reasons for having the house no longer applied. And even if they had, our bodies were telling us that the days of running a camp were over!  It was time to let Nearwater go.

We put it on the market last fall  And waited. And waited. And waited, hoping at least to get an offer. Nothing happened. Christmas was coming. “One more week”, we agreed, “then we try again next spring.”

In hindsight, it became clear that Nearwater was simply just waiting for the right buyer to come along. At the eleventh hour, we had our first offer. It was a good one, ticking off all the right boxes and which took very little negotiation for all parties to arrive at an acceptable price.

The best, though, was yet to come. We discovered that the buyer and our son had worked together in the same firm, same department for several years; that the buyers had a boat moored nearby, that they were buying it with the same thought in mind as we had; as a summer place where their three small grandchildren could spend time. Discovering all this, Keith and I decided we would like to meet them, which I guess in the world of realtors is a bit unusual.

Last Saturday, they came over, three generations of them. After chatting and remarking on all the coincidences, we took them to our “secret beach” and introduced them to our neighbor. Back at the house we offered snacks. The children, ages 7, 5 and 2 perched up on the counter stools where our girls had sat and snacked so many times. As I handed out the cups and plates that belonged to our granddaughters and would be passed on to these children, and looked into those little faces, it seemed destiny had taken over; that Nearwater had found the perfect new owners and was ready to welcome young children once more. They would  sleep in the bunk beds, discover the shells and beach stones, swim, build sandcastles and play backyard games.  There would be cookouts on the terrace and s’mores after supper. From the terrace they would watch the blazing sunsets..

Where I have been feeling sad saying goodbye not only to Nearwater but to those magic childhood years we had, creeping up alongside the sadness has come a sense of gratitude and unexpected joy that our beloved house will be cherished again, and filled with the sounds of children.