*editor's note: a point to you if you can figure out the references in my post titles*
When we fled the ever-spreading suburban landscape nearly five years ago, and returned to the wilds of the North Country, I assumed that we would purchase a nice old house in town within a year. Real estate is actually affordable here and there are wonderful homes built around the turn of the century (previous, not present) that provide lots of room (and rooms) for a young family. Yards, sidewalks, neighbors.... ahhhhhh.... However.
The Husband became a partner in his father's business and it soon became apparent that we needed to live close to The Lake for efficiency's sake. This town girl wrapped her mind around the idea of moving to the country and abandoning the sidewalks, neighbors, walk to the library and quick jaunts to the grocery store. As no suitable houses presented themselves immediately, the Husband decided we might build a house at The Lake.
With his own two hands.
After recently changing careers from F/A-18 (Marine Corps fighter jets) avionics.
Ever the supportive wife (ahem), I shrugged and said something wonderfully encouraging like, "Eh. Sure, if you want." And so, with such an inauspicious beginning, we embarked on this journey of log, sweat and tears. Well, maybe no tears yet. And, frankly, 99.9% of the sweat has been Bob's.
Stay tuned for the next episode, in which the Husband acquires the logs, and I learn how easy it is to spend down assets.