The Long Walkabout to Home
by Patti Rosenbloom

In the days before Neolithic Man began to slow his nomadic wanderings, the business of finding a home amidst hostile and desolate terrain was filled with unimaginable perils. Finding a "nice" house in a high tree or a remote cave "with a view" depended on the rapid firing of our Cro-Magnon brothers and sisters' neurotransmitters. Life truly depended on it.

Fast forward to the twenty-first century and meet our westernized Homo sapiens nuclear family. According to some anthropologists, Homo sapiens are masterful hunters, gatherers, capable of sniffing out the right home at a moment's notice. Putting that notion to the test are the family of Ruth and Paul Topper, their darling six-year-old daughter Robin, and their two eccentric dogs, Dipsy and Doodle.

Location, Location, Location
The Topper family migrated to the Hudson Valley long before local real estate was at a premium. After living for ten years in an urban section of one of our river towns, the Toppers longed for a "house in the country" where they would not have to see their immediate neighbors and their dogs would have more space to roam. Over time their longing rose to a feverish pitch and they sought the help of the Infamous Realtor. Said Realtor's bellowing voice, flaring nostrils and down-turned lips formed the words sellers dread most: "This would be a great house if it was in a different location.... You'll never get your money out of it...In fact you are going to lose a lot ....". Turning on her heels she walked out of their doted-upon colonial home without so much as a "call us when you're interested," leaving the Toppers to look at one another helplessly and contemplate cosmetic updates.

One week later, Realtor B entered the same house armed with laptop, palm pilot and an attitude reeking of Wall Street. Realtor B scanned the house with laser sharp eyes and declared the house "desirable." It was worth at least $50,000 more than Realtor A had appraised it at. The next noon, as hurricane Floyd breathed hard over the Mid-Hudson Valley, Ruth was informed that "prospective buyers" would like to see the house at 6 pm that evening. In spite of the high winds and torrential rains, their windswept potential buyers arrived promptly. With stars in their eyes they ooh-ed and ahh-ed at the period-appropriate renovations and insisted on knowing whether the crooked, dog-clawed, (homemade) lace curtains would be staying. Two days later a binder had been secured and the Toppers' dream of moving to a different home was all but realized.

One little hitch, however: the Toppers needed to be out of the house within six weeks. With both adults working full time, those weeks became a "pack-n-stack" fest. Items that had sat in the attic for over a decade were mercilessly exiled to the curb and snapped up by passers-by. Somehow, a trusted friend secured the rental of a "Sweet Cape" to tide them over the looking period and fond farewells were said to the first home they had ever owned. From this experience the Topper family incorrectly predicted that finding a new home would be just as easy.

The Toppers began their search in the early spring without a clue of what the housing market had become. How could it be that a 25-year-old house with paper thin walls, chewed-up window sills, and a smell of something that had died boasted a waiting list of buyers anxious to bid? And how could it be that they were being shown houses that were depicted as "Hot" but had less charm than a room at a Motel 8? In preparation for the task ahead they had multiple conversations about their "wish list," "right school" and of course the ideal "location." Initially, Realtor # 1 in County X proved to be both avuncular and reassuring. His firm handshake and deep, jovial voice belied his underlying impatience. The Toppers were shown a smorgasbord of homes with efficiency, attentiveness and, at the beginning, good humor . . .until the frustration began to surface. Whenever the Toppers would point out the obvious shortcomings--from the absence of an attached garage, to floors so uneven they invited continuous marble races--he would frown and sigh. Finally there was the 3,000-square-foot-house that boasted top-of-the-line everything, with a truss system strong enough to hold up the weight of the world--but had only one bedroom

After seven long weeks, Realtor #1's eyes took on a menacing glare. He recounted dark tales of bidding wars where regular folks like the Toppers were blown out of the bidding. He warned Ruth and Paul that the spring season was in full swing, that housing prices had risen by $10 to $20 thousand over the last year and were only going up. Then Ruth overheard him say in a phone conversation with a faceless colleague,"What, are you crazy? I wouldn't take anyone to see more than ten houses! No matter what!" Sure enough, his calls became less and less frequent and finally stopped altogether. Yet through some illogical sense of loyalty, it wasn't until they finally reached him and he declared: "I think you should build" that the Toppers knew it was time to move on.

A Dream Come True?
Meanwhile, in County B, the Toppers continued their search with Realtor # 2. She seemed a dream come true. She seemed to enjoy playing with their less-than-sedate daughter, and appeared to be both compassionate and patient. Until they started seeing houses. In one unforgettable house the Toppers encountered black walls shrouded in spider webs. Despite the odor of sulphur, an exposed "structural" beam and three water-softening systems, Realtor #2 assured them that this was a "real deal." The house had a great location, was attached to a great school and for the price, was "a steal." Rather meekly, the Toppers expressed concern about the ramification of the suspect beam. Like a careworn grandmother tending a sick child, the Realtor shrugged and said, "The beam adds character and the rest is cosmetic and can be changed. It all depends on whether you want to risk losing the house to someone else."

The Toppers were becoming unglued. As the season progressed they bemoaned the houses they passed up. Could it be that they were just "too picky"? Why couldn't they live with waterlogged crawl spaces where frogs leapt here and there, and floor joists that threatened to out-do the Leaning Tower of Pisa? Eventually Realtor #2 ran out of "inventory" to show and conceded that the market was "very tight." She suggested the Toppers take a vacation.

After five very hectic months of looking in two counties, reducing their expectations and increasing the amount they wanted to spend to their maximum comfort zone, the Toppers finally found a house at a price and a location they could "live with." Ruth began the business of what she called "mentally" moving in and began arranging their furniture. Paul fell in love with the recently renovated basement workshop that could accommodate all his tools and future woodworking projects . . . so what if it would be years before they could afford to up-date anything? During the house inspectors' visit, however, it turned out not only that the well had gone dry but the radon level was through the roof. Realtor #3 was highly indignant when the Toppers rescinded their binder.

Ruth and Paul "mentally" packed up and moved out. As fall gave way to winter the realtors' droning pitches dropped off like the leaves. Through the cold months the Toppers regrouped and re-evaluated their goals once more.

No Place Like Home
Eventually, time softened and even neutralized the memories of the hours and hours spent driving over winding back roads to remote locations to see homes that were poorly insulated, riddled with carpenter ants and depicted as "cream puffs"; of visits to the "perfect fixer-upper" whose only toilet stood in the middle of the living room. They vowed to act decisively and aggressively and by the summer find a home. Realtor #7 proved to be warm, friendly but unreliable. After several false leads and endorsements for homes they did not want to see, Ruth and Paul began to see their lives as hauntingly nomadic. To quell her pained desire to find a home, Ruth even went to a psychic. Little had they known that they would spend eighteen months traversing the river scouring real estate in two counties to find "just the right house."

Finally, in early May, they returned to a street they thought was beautiful but had written off as "too quiet." They now walked through the house with the seasoned confidence of veteran buyers. Ironically, Realtor #8 was the one who had helped sell their first home eighteen months earlier and was very familiar with their tastes. Waiting for the Toppers outside, she entertained their daughter. After the second walkthrough it was clear that the house had spoken to them. Not only had the clock in the basement stopped on the exact date of Paul's birthday but a poster in the family room proudly declared a classic line from Ruth's favorite childhood movie, The Wizard of Oz, "There's no place like home..."

And indeed there isn't. The long road home had taken them over the river and many a winding road back to a truly wonderful location. Finding the right home, in the right place at the right time might have been possible sooner, but not until they were ready. After a long bout of wandering the Topper family can be found enjoying the view of the woods and abundant wild life from the comforting perches of home.