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Recently, my sister, Cari, and I had made the life altering decision to move from Calgary to an acreage in another province. We found the property of our dreams, just fifteen minutes outside the village of Nakusp, BC, as if we had been magically guided to that particular parcel of land.
We purchased the hobby farm in November of 2005 but didn't get possession of it until May 01 of 2006 and because of circumstances beyond our control; we ended up buying the property sight-unseen.
We had no problem selling our house in Alberta and we had agreed to a move-out date of May 15. That meant we had two weeks where we owned two properties. That was fine with us because it meant we could go look at what we had purchased and figure out what we needed to do to make our new house a home. We were going to spend four days measuring for new window coverings, figuring out where our furniture would go and giving the place a thorough cleaning.We arrived on the property without incident. After touring the outside, we headed in to check out the single-wide mobile home.
We entered through the front porch, which by the look of it, had been a hastily constructed addition. As Cari opened the dented screen door, I felt a twinge of anxiety. We stepped gingerly into the small, enclosed space and I tried not to freak out. The inside of the porch was lined with pink fiberglass bats with plastic vapor barrier secured on top. The porch obviously leaked in wet weather because the insulation in the ceiling and walls were wet and the plastic had mold growing on the inside of it. I prayed that the condition of the front porch wasn’t indicative of the rest of the place.
As Cari fumbled with the lock to the main door, I stood there feeling my apprehension grow. She finally managed the lock and I watched in amazement as the door swung open into the kitchen, narrowly missing the fridge by an inch.
I knew that the mobile home was 400 square feet smaller than our house in Calgary but seeing how that translated into actual living space took me aback.
As we toured the house, my outlook became more positive. Yes, it was small but the floor plan was exactly like our home back in Calgary. Okay, it wasn’t exactly like our house back in the city. It was missing a third bedroom, a second bathroom, a basement, closet space, an office, a workshop and a laundry room, but I still figured I could make our furniture work in our new space. Besides, I would measure every room just to double check that everything would fit.
Once we unpacked the cleaning supplies and set up the inflatable camping beds in the bedrooms, we promptly went to work making the place feel like ours. However, as we worked, I noticed something curious happening. It was early May and the weather was a bit cool for sitting outside so we had placed two lawn chairs in the living room facing the large picture window. Like moths to a flame, Cari and I kept gravitating to the lawn chairs. Instead of industriously scrubbing and vacuuming, we sat looking out at the trees. Minutes would turn into hours and we would still be sitting, silently watching the trees dance in the breeze.
This curious behavior continued over the four days so that by the end of our stay all we accomplished was giving the house a quick clean and taking down the peach colored valances in the living room. So much for our big plans.
As mesmerizing as our farm was, when I went to bed that first night, I was hit by a wave of anxiety. Was it buyer's remorse or a sudden realization that I, a city girl, had bought a hobby farm and was moving to another province without a job? It seemed like a good idea at the time but now that the reality of what we were doing hit me I felt sick to my stomach.
I lay in the dark and looked up at the ceiling hoping to find the answers to my fears when I saw the strangest sight. I didn't have my glasses on, and with my extreme near-sightedness, it appeared that my bedroom ceiling was full of large circular holes. I fumbled in the dark for my glasses. When I put them on and looked back up at the ceiling, I started to laugh. What I thought was moonlight shining down through Swiss-cheese holes in my ceiling turned out to be those plastic glow-in-the-dark stars that parents decorate kids' rooms with.
I lay back in bed, looking at the stars in my own private sky and quietly sang, "If your heart is in your dream. No request is too extreme. When you wish upon a star. . . Your dreams come true."
I knew, right then, lying in the dark looking up at my ceiling of plastic stars that no matter what was to unfold in my future, I would be just fine. Both Cari and I were smart, resourceful and creative. We would make this new life work. As for figuring out how all our furniture would fit, well that was a challenge best left for another day.
