Our Dream Property

When my husband and I bought our first home back in 2007, it checked just enough boxes. It was affordable, needed some updates we felt confident tackling, and seemed like a great candidate for a quick flip. The plan was simple: live in it for about three years, sell it for a profit, and move on.

But six months after we moved in, the real estate market crashed. Selling for what we owed became nearly impossible, and just like that, our three-year plan stretched into something much longer. Eighteen years later, we’re still here.

Over the years, we never stopped looking. We’d scroll listings, and imagine new possibilities. We explored fixer-uppers to turn into rentals, foreclosures to flip, houses to move into, even vacant land to build our dream home. We made offers—many of them—on all sorts of properties. Every single one was rejected. And strangely, each time, we weren’t heartbroken. We’d just shrug and move on to the next.

Eight months before we found the property we now own, we came close. It was similar in size and location to the one we eventually bought. We walked the land, fell in love a little, and made an offer. It fell through. I was more disappointed than I expected. During the offer process, we learned that three-quarters of the land was wetlands—protected and unusable. In hindsight, it was a blessing.

Then, one random day, while casually browsing a real estate website, I adjusted a search filter—I couldn’t even tell you which one now. And there it was.

Our dream property.

Thirteen acres. Wooded. Not too far from our current home. Set back from any busy roads. The taxes were manageable, the price was within reach, and the listing had been sitting there for over a year.

We reached out to our realtor, but since there wasn’t a house on the property, we were free to check it out ourselves. So we did—bundled up, with our four kids in tow, tromping through a foot of snow.

Most people would probably see that as a dealbreaker. But for us? It was an adventure.

Sure, it was hard to tell where we could even walk. The overgrowth of prickers and what I now lovingly call “Stranger Things vines” made it slow going. But we saw past the mess. We saw hills and valleys, a creek winding through the property, and an undeniable sense of possibility. The land had clearly been logged at some point and left in disarray, but to us, it felt like something waiting to be brought back to life.

When we got home, the real research began. We checked school districts—there were two listed, which made no sense. We investigated zoning laws, building regulations, and why in the world this gem had been on the market so long. Once everything checked out, we made our offer.

To our amazement, it was accepted.

A couple of weeks later, we decided to walk the property again. The snow had started melting, and with it, the land began revealing itself. That’s when we discovered something incredible: a rough driveway, hidden beneath the snow and thorns, leading in the opposite direction we had walked the first time. We spotted property markers we hadn’t seen before.

To this day, we joke that if we’d seen that driveway earlier, we might have offered more.