When a House Becomes a Home

When I was still in my twenties, I was about to put a down payment on a condo in Burbank, California when my grandparents’ house in northern Wisconsin was put on the market.

I grew up in that house, and my best memories of childhood were nestled within its walls and spread across the 160 acres of pristine land that surrounded it. It was in those meadows that I picked wild daisies, and in the forest that we learned what wild mushrooms were edible. The land provided a space to think and nourished the scrawny and shy child I was with sun, earth, water, and wind.

With the help of my cousin Bob, we convinced my aunt and stepdad to sell the property to me. What a leap of faith. How would I come up with a monthly payment, not to mention the down? What would I do with a house in Wisconsin when I made my living in Los Angeles?

Well, it all worked out. Fast forward to today, and the house, in all its remodeled glory, now holds even more memoires—of my kids and nieces catching frogs and hatching monarch butterflies in mason jars. Of summers filled with raspberry picking, fishing, and firefly chasing, mosquito bites, hands sticky with melted ice cream, and pine pitch stuck in fluffy, red hair. Memories of autumn rambles down a leaf strewn, rain slicked road where an old friend in a pick-up would stop for a chat. My kids in awe would ask, “Mom, does everyone know you here?”—not understanding truly small town, country life.

Yes…it all worked out.

To date, five generations have enjoyed what we now call the Wisconsin White House. We have also had the great pleasure and honor to welcome an extension to the family, Joyce, whose parents purchased the property after WWI and eventually built the home. She has graciously shared her history and her family with us, and she is greatly cherished.  (Pictured with me and her daughter Nancy on Joyce’s 100^thbirthday.)

The question comes to mind, when is a house not just a house? When squeaky floorboards are a contented sigh to the ear?  When cracked paint is lovingly referred to as original? When you wouldn’t for a million dollars cover up the magic marker lines on the door jam documenting the kids’ growth into adulthood? Yes, all of those, but mostly, a house is more than house when it is the gathering place. When laughter rings out over memories shared, when saying good-bye always brings tears, when you pick a bunch of lily-of-the-valley and place it in a vase in the window, exactly where Grandma used to and everyone remembers. When you realize that there is so much sacred and cherished under one roof, so much that is not tangible, but felt deep within the heart, a place that conjures love and a sense of belonging.

Each spring, when I visit the Wisconsin White House, a pair of trumpeter swans greets me at the dock. They are named James and Cecelia after our grandparents who purchased the property in 1943. They had the guts to leave Chicago and put everything they had into a fixer-upper “Up North.” Sort of like me, putting every penny I had and some credit card debt toward a seemingly unreachable dream.

Yes…it all worked out.

The Wisconsin White House is available as a vacation rental. We love to add more people to the family. www.northwoodshomerentals.com.