The no tresspassing sign posted on the large oak tree in front of the home had a name on it. So after a bit of searching, I found that there were three persons by that name in a near by town. I called all of them, and recieved one call back.
The folks said that they were not the owner of the property, but had a hunting lease on it. They also informed me that the owner would never sell. They said they knew about the condition of the home and that they were responsible for keepign the area around the home mowed as part of the agreement in the hunting lease.
I hung up the phone, near broken hearted. Here was someone who was semi-responsible for the home-place and they knew, and either didn't care about the condition of the home or didn't feel it was their responibility to helptake care of it.
On top of that, they saud the owner, who lived out of state, would never sell it and would only lease out the hunting rights.
There were so many questions racing through my mind- who would abandon this place? why would they not care? Is it a matter of the person being out of state? If they won't sell it, would they at least preserve it and the history that is sure to be attached to it?
I began my search for the true owner of the property. Luckily the tax assessor's website for the area it is located in, makes use of some really cool programs/software.
I set up an account and logged in and searched for the road the property was located on. The program pulled up all the names and addresses of property owners on the road. All the information the tax assessor has access to is available on this site.
PLUS (this is really big for me) once you are looking at a assessment, you can MAP IT!
I LOVE MAPS! Too boot, the maps this program uses are AWESOME! So I pulled it up and saw ALL the land that went with the parcel. I changed setting and could see the topography, streams, railroads, water systems, satalight images as far back as 1955 and through 2010.
It was so cool to use that feature and see how the land has changed over the course of the past few decade. Which parts have been logged, how much the tree line has moved in on the pastures, what types of trees are planted (most satellite images are ten in fall/winter and you can tell if an area has evergreen or deciduous trees. I could see the shooting lanes and deer stands the hunters had on the property and old out buildings/barns that are not noticeable from the road.
And I could see the same thing for the properties around the Blackwell home. It was a map lover's Sunday drive in a convertible. Way cool.
So now that I have shown you my inner nerd, I'll continue the story. Ha!
The assessor only list the legal name and mailing address of the property owner. So I began an internet search for the phone number of the owner.
I was so giddy when the owners name and address turned up in the white pages. For anyone who has tried to find a phone number on the internet in the age of cell phones, you know how excited I was. I had feared the owner would be a cell-phone only person who elected not to list their cell phone in the white pages.
Time to call. I was so nervous. What would I say? Would I sound crazy? I had a knot in my stomach.
What if the leasers I spoke with earlier were right, and that I would only be "bothering" him and "he doesn't want to be bothered".
The last thing I wanted to do was tick someone off or offend them. What if I had it all wrong and the owner did care and just couldn't get out to the property on a regular basis. I didn't want to sound rude telling him about the state of the property.
I called. It rang. And rang. And then went to a fax ring.
Well poo! Now what do I do?
I waited a few hours and tried again- thinking maybe they were expecting a fax. It went to fax again.
The next day, I was searching for the owner's family members and thinking of other ways I could contact him. I tried his number one last time, and this time got and answering machine. Joy! ... Poo, what do I say? I quickly tried to tell him who I was and that I needed information from him.
After not hearing from him for a day or two, I decided I would try to contact what I thought might be a family member.
A woman answered the phone, and I explained my situation. She said she would try and get the owner on the phone via a three way call. The owner answered the phone. I began to explain who I was- a reporter from a town near the property, how I found the property, and the state of the property. I asked if it was for sale and if not could I preserve it through writing and photographs.
He explained it was not for sale right now and if it ever came up for sale it would only be with all of the acreage.
This sunk my spirits pretty darn low. I would never be able to afford the hundreds of acres the dog-trot sits on. I got a bit upset thinking about the dog trot slowly rotting away, animals living in it- about it being unloved and forgotten.
I told the owner if there was ever anything I could do to help him preserve the property to please let me know. He granted me permission to access the home and property, take pictures and write about it- as long as if something were to happen to me while exploring the home, I wouldn't blame it on him.
This helped my spirits a lot. I was afraid I would be asked not to call again and told to stay off the property. I was afraid the owner didn't care.
While we would never be able to move into the home and do a live-in restoration like my husband and I day dreamed about, at least I could preserve it through documentation.
After a couple of days of being down in the mouth and putting my day dreams on paper, then filing them away, I picked up my bottom lip and we went out to Sweet Gum Hill to take pictures.
Friday, May 4, 2012
Thursday, May 3, 2012
Who I am and how I found the Blackwell dog-trot
My husband and I have been talking about living out in the country for some time. A different couple might have a different pro and con list, but our's was overwhelmingly in favor of living in a rural area.
We bought our current home, in the cute suburb type town where I grew up, because of all the reasons I enjoyed my home town. Quality schools, safe environment, small commute, near stores, and the other typical benefits of living in a suburb.
What we found though, was the school system was no longer anything like the system I or my parents attended. So much so that we are currently homeschooling (which is a blog in and unto itself, and I wont get into that here). A tragedy in my husbands family awoke me to the fact that bad things happen, even in "Mayberry". There is a park two blocks away. Growing up, if I had lived that close to a park, I would have been allowed (or even told) to go play at the park all day. Now, out of fear of the world we live in, I won't let my kids go down to the park by themselves.
The house we live in now was built in 1881- and it is ADORABLE! I love it. I love the stories I hear from community members about the lady who lived here. I love hearing people say how happy they are that the home is no longer rented out, and has a good family living in it. I love the story about our home, which is why I had no problem buying our home, even thought it only had two bed rooms and one bath (and I have three children and a stinky husband! lol)
The truth is I could live here in this home for the rest of my life and be perfectly happy. We started a garden this year- tomatoes, okra, bell peppers, banana peppers, squash, bush beans, cucumbers, and zucchini. We put a large play set in the back yard for the kids this past fall, and they spend many hours playing on it- putting on "Circus Shows" for me.
In many ways it reminds me of the house I grew up in, just a few blocks down the road. It was built in 1910-ish, had 10 to 12 foot ceilings, beautiful moldings, and smelled of old wood.
But, in my heart of hearts, I have always wanted to be in the country, catching lightning bugs, playing in pastures, tending a large garden and yard birds.
Some of my favorite times as child growing up were at my pawpaw's cattle farm. Where my sister and I would catch catfish in his stocked ponds, play house in a dried up creek bed, step in cow poo, and get scratched up growing through barb-wire fences as we played tag.
My kids won't have those experiences, and I want them to. I want them to appreciate the beauty of nature on a sentimental level, not just because they read about ecosystems from a text book.
My husband has similar memories of his grandfather and their land, which was sold due to a highway right-of-way deal. He remembers learning to recycle and reuse from his grandfather. By keeping old tools or parts you could reuse them and build or fix things at a later date. My husband says he wouldn't know what he knows with out the knowledge passed down from his grandfather, in an old chicken coop turned shop.
I want him to teach our kids (girls included!) and me the things he knows, in his own old shop. I want to see him have the satisfaction of fixing something or making something better- that he seldom gets to do here in our suburban home.
I want my kids to be able to ride their bikes, with out fear of traffic or "stranger-danger".
I want to be able to sit on my front porch in my night gown and listen to the rain as I read my kids a book.
Searching for a place that's "the ticket" is easy. What has been harder to find is a home that "fits the bill."
I want more than I can afford. I've kept my eye on real estate the past couple of years. Property like we have in mind is too expensive for our one income family with three kiddos. So I have accepted that I may not be able to give those things to my kiddos, but I still have a lot of memories we can make here at our home.
About the time I had given up on my search, my friend Jacs started blogging about an old dog-trot they were restoring, I called her up.
I really liked what they found and was hoping to find a similar set-up. Jacs and I met one morning and went riding around looking for an old abandoned home. We both thought we might find an old farm house, shot gun house, or something. We both agreed it would extremely unlikely we would find another dog trot like hers. (Click her to visit her blog! You will love her dog trot and the way she tells the story of The House at Sugar Creek!)
But we did.
We were in mid conversation when we rounded the bend in the road. The talking stopped as we both gasped. "Stop the car!" I squeaked, as Jacs was already pushing down on the breaks.
We got out and walked up to the front of the house. My knees literally got weak. Maybe it was because we were sitting in the car riding around. Maybe my blood sugar got low. But I think it was because I fell in love with the house.
Jacs took a picture of me in front of the house and my smile was genuine- not something that usually happens when a camera is in front of me. Maybe that's why my husband likes the picture so much.
We debated snooping about the place, because there was a no trespassing sign and we didn't want to hurt ourselves being nosy.
We decided that since our intentions were not malicious and we would be extra careful not to damage our pretty faces, lol, that we would proceed with the utmost caution.
We walked carefully on the dog trot, along the floor joist as we looked in windows and looked for open doors.
The more I saw the more I loved the home place. Even after our encounter with a two headed monster!
Most of the doors were locked, but a couple had already been broken in. Jacs was the first to enter the room and she froze. We both heard hissing.
I called from the trot, "Jacs get out of there, it sounds like snakes!"
Still frozen she replied, "No... no... I don't know what this is but it isn't a snake. you have got to come see this."
Being completely freaked out, I hesitated. My curiosity won over and I reluctantly went over to where Jacs was holding the door open.
"It's got two heads." she said as I approached.
And there, hissing at us from the floor of the room, were two downy baby vultures.
Baby buzzards were now occupants of the most beutiful dog trot.
(Warning image below could be considered nasty.)
As silly as it sounds, seeing wildlife in the house and state of the home really upset me- near to tears.
Freaked out, we left and returned that evening with our husbands in tow. Should something bad happen, we wanted help with us.
The guys took an assessment of the damage and what needed to be repaired to preserve the home.
Later that evening, I asked my husband what would it take not only to preserve the home, but for it to be lived in. And so began a series of day dreaming of our family living in the Blackwell's Dog Trot.
I know it sounds crazy, but you have to understand, I will not live in a new home. I know the utilities are more expensive in old homes and there is a list a mile long of reasons NOT to buy a old- some would say antique- home. Just watch "The Money Pit" staring Tom Hanks and most will be deterred from living in anything but a new home.
But old things and places seem to call to me. Not in a monetary, greedy way, but in a sentimental nostalgic way. I just love old things.
I'll be the first to admit the way I reacted to seeing the Blackwell dog trot is over emotional and very unusual. To be honest, I know it is silly and uncalled for. I wish I didn't feel the way I feel about the house. I love old buildings and homes, but I've not had one bring me near to tears or make my knees weak the way this old home place does. I'm blaming it on my women hormones.
To satisfy my curiosity and love for the place, I decided I would contact the owner and find out the status of the property.
Stay tuned as the story unfolds!
We bought our current home, in the cute suburb type town where I grew up, because of all the reasons I enjoyed my home town. Quality schools, safe environment, small commute, near stores, and the other typical benefits of living in a suburb.
What we found though, was the school system was no longer anything like the system I or my parents attended. So much so that we are currently homeschooling (which is a blog in and unto itself, and I wont get into that here). A tragedy in my husbands family awoke me to the fact that bad things happen, even in "Mayberry". There is a park two blocks away. Growing up, if I had lived that close to a park, I would have been allowed (or even told) to go play at the park all day. Now, out of fear of the world we live in, I won't let my kids go down to the park by themselves.
A picture of Thelma Rushing's home, which is now our home. It was moved from East and West Street when the library wanted to expand their parking lot. Our neighbor and others in town have told us many wonderful stories about Mr. Rushing. We feel honored to live here. :) Picture credit
The truth is I could live here in this home for the rest of my life and be perfectly happy. We started a garden this year- tomatoes, okra, bell peppers, banana peppers, squash, bush beans, cucumbers, and zucchini. We put a large play set in the back yard for the kids this past fall, and they spend many hours playing on it- putting on "Circus Shows" for me.
In many ways it reminds me of the house I grew up in, just a few blocks down the road. It was built in 1910-ish, had 10 to 12 foot ceilings, beautiful moldings, and smelled of old wood.
But, in my heart of hearts, I have always wanted to be in the country, catching lightning bugs, playing in pastures, tending a large garden and yard birds.
Some of my favorite times as child growing up were at my pawpaw's cattle farm. Where my sister and I would catch catfish in his stocked ponds, play house in a dried up creek bed, step in cow poo, and get scratched up growing through barb-wire fences as we played tag.
My kids won't have those experiences, and I want them to. I want them to appreciate the beauty of nature on a sentimental level, not just because they read about ecosystems from a text book.
My husband has similar memories of his grandfather and their land, which was sold due to a highway right-of-way deal. He remembers learning to recycle and reuse from his grandfather. By keeping old tools or parts you could reuse them and build or fix things at a later date. My husband says he wouldn't know what he knows with out the knowledge passed down from his grandfather, in an old chicken coop turned shop.
I want him to teach our kids (girls included!) and me the things he knows, in his own old shop. I want to see him have the satisfaction of fixing something or making something better- that he seldom gets to do here in our suburban home.
I want my kids to be able to ride their bikes, with out fear of traffic or "stranger-danger".
I want to be able to sit on my front porch in my night gown and listen to the rain as I read my kids a book.
Searching for a place that's "the ticket" is easy. What has been harder to find is a home that "fits the bill."
I want more than I can afford. I've kept my eye on real estate the past couple of years. Property like we have in mind is too expensive for our one income family with three kiddos. So I have accepted that I may not be able to give those things to my kiddos, but I still have a lot of memories we can make here at our home.
About the time I had given up on my search, my friend Jacs started blogging about an old dog-trot they were restoring, I called her up.
I really liked what they found and was hoping to find a similar set-up. Jacs and I met one morning and went riding around looking for an old abandoned home. We both thought we might find an old farm house, shot gun house, or something. We both agreed it would extremely unlikely we would find another dog trot like hers. (Click her to visit her blog! You will love her dog trot and the way she tells the story of The House at Sugar Creek!)
But we did.
We were in mid conversation when we rounded the bend in the road. The talking stopped as we both gasped. "Stop the car!" I squeaked, as Jacs was already pushing down on the breaks.
We got out and walked up to the front of the house. My knees literally got weak. Maybe it was because we were sitting in the car riding around. Maybe my blood sugar got low. But I think it was because I fell in love with the house.
Jacs took a picture of me in front of the house and my smile was genuine- not something that usually happens when a camera is in front of me. Maybe that's why my husband likes the picture so much.
We debated snooping about the place, because there was a no trespassing sign and we didn't want to hurt ourselves being nosy.
We decided that since our intentions were not malicious and we would be extra careful not to damage our pretty faces, lol, that we would proceed with the utmost caution.
We walked carefully on the dog trot, along the floor joist as we looked in windows and looked for open doors.
The more I saw the more I loved the home place. Even after our encounter with a two headed monster!
Most of the doors were locked, but a couple had already been broken in. Jacs was the first to enter the room and she froze. We both heard hissing.
I called from the trot, "Jacs get out of there, it sounds like snakes!"
Still frozen she replied, "No... no... I don't know what this is but it isn't a snake. you have got to come see this."
Being completely freaked out, I hesitated. My curiosity won over and I reluctantly went over to where Jacs was holding the door open.
"It's got two heads." she said as I approached.
And there, hissing at us from the floor of the room, were two downy baby vultures.
Baby buzzards were now occupants of the most beutiful dog trot.
(Warning image below could be considered nasty.)
As silly as it sounds, seeing wildlife in the house and state of the home really upset me- near to tears.
Freaked out, we left and returned that evening with our husbands in tow. Should something bad happen, we wanted help with us.
The guys took an assessment of the damage and what needed to be repaired to preserve the home.
Later that evening, I asked my husband what would it take not only to preserve the home, but for it to be lived in. And so began a series of day dreaming of our family living in the Blackwell's Dog Trot.
I know it sounds crazy, but you have to understand, I will not live in a new home. I know the utilities are more expensive in old homes and there is a list a mile long of reasons NOT to buy a old- some would say antique- home. Just watch "The Money Pit" staring Tom Hanks and most will be deterred from living in anything but a new home.
But old things and places seem to call to me. Not in a monetary, greedy way, but in a sentimental nostalgic way. I just love old things.
I'll be the first to admit the way I reacted to seeing the Blackwell dog trot is over emotional and very unusual. To be honest, I know it is silly and uncalled for. I wish I didn't feel the way I feel about the house. I love old buildings and homes, but I've not had one bring me near to tears or make my knees weak the way this old home place does. I'm blaming it on my women hormones.
To satisfy my curiosity and love for the place, I decided I would contact the owner and find out the status of the property.
Stay tuned as the story unfolds!
The Blackwell Home
This is the Blackwell Home. I'm keeping its location and owner's names private for now, because the home place has been vandalized and broken into enough already.
But I want to start documenting the story of this old dog trot, and maybe one day I will be able to make this blog public and release the location and the names of the owners and people who lived here.
So, why am I writing about this dog trot? Why am I interested in the ol' Blackwell home place?
As a lover of history and things of yester-year, how could I not fall in love with this place? Seeing it I wanted to know the people who lived here, their stories, their memories, and the history.
Because the house sits on iron-ore footings, the floor joist are made from trees, one of the fire places is made from iron ore, and there is a dog trot - you just know it is old. I want to know how old.
I want to know if the floor plan was original, or if the front room on the south side of the trot is original.
I want to know who built it, where they came from, what family life was like. I want to know when it was last lived in and why no one lives there now. What type of lumber did they use to build it. What prompted the homesteaders to build here. How many children did they have, where are those children and their families now. Which rooms were used for what purpose originally and how did that change over the course of the home's life.
Most importantly, I want to know if it can be saved.
And so begins my journey to learn about the Blackwell home (don't bother Googeling- there is NO information online, which is why it is so important that these questions be answered, and preserved.)
But I want to start documenting the story of this old dog trot, and maybe one day I will be able to make this blog public and release the location and the names of the owners and people who lived here.
So, why am I writing about this dog trot? Why am I interested in the ol' Blackwell home place?
As a lover of history and things of yester-year, how could I not fall in love with this place? Seeing it I wanted to know the people who lived here, their stories, their memories, and the history.
Because the house sits on iron-ore footings, the floor joist are made from trees, one of the fire places is made from iron ore, and there is a dog trot - you just know it is old. I want to know how old.
I want to know if the floor plan was original, or if the front room on the south side of the trot is original.
I want to know who built it, where they came from, what family life was like. I want to know when it was last lived in and why no one lives there now. What type of lumber did they use to build it. What prompted the homesteaders to build here. How many children did they have, where are those children and their families now. Which rooms were used for what purpose originally and how did that change over the course of the home's life.
Most importantly, I want to know if it can be saved.
And so begins my journey to learn about the Blackwell home (don't bother Googeling- there is NO information online, which is why it is so important that these questions be answered, and preserved.)
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