day one

The story could begin the day we closed on our old stone home, which was a few weeks ago. Or it could begin when we moved to the North Country in 2002 with the wild hope of owning a stone home. But I choose to designate Day One as a seemingly insignificant day over twenty-five years ago when, as a music student at a local college, I first leaned over the railing of the historic Madrid bridge and dreamed of living in this very stone home.

Now I view this lovely bridge from the bow of my kayak. (Not this time of year, though!)

Here is a closer view. Now imagine the thunder of those falls. Our old stone home is just to the right of the bridge.


I don't remember who lived there at the time, or whether the grounds appeared kept, but I do remember imagining its history. As it was situated on the bank of the Grasse River at the foot of a stone bridge, I assumed it had once been a mill -or the home of the miller, perhaps. To me, it seemed the oldest -and therefore most romantic- house in this sleepy, run-down, half-forgotten village which was only nine miles away from my college town. Nine miles and 150 years away, that is.

In many ways, Madrid New York looked like a ghost town. Dilapidated victorian homes and a tired stretch of run-down row houses formed the "town square". Main Street fanned out promisingly in one direction and quickly petered out to a cemetery and cornfields. Times were hard and business was poor. What would lure me to such a lack-luster place?

My pastor and his young family,who have remained life-long friends, had just purchased a home on Main Street, and my then-boyfriend rented an upstairs apartment on the other side of the bridge. He and I would often go for a walk and end up on that bridge, with me facing the bank where the old house called my name.

"Why would you want to live in that old scary-looking house?" he inquired politely as we stood at the halfway point on the bridge. I didn't take my eyes off of it as I answered him.

"Because I like it." said I.

Life is funny, isn't it? No one--and I mean no one--could've told me that in twenty-something years, I would return to the North Country with my overly-awesome husband (whom I hadn't met yet) and two astoundingly charming kids, buy that stone house, and make it our own.

My family loves a project. It's a good thing we do, as there is much to be done before we move in. Here on these glowing electronic pages, I will document the history, the beauty, and the work-in-progress as it all enfolds. I promise to solicit opinions, discuss remodeling options, entertain decorating schemes, and let you in on the things we discover along the way.

Welcome to our old stone home!