In October of 2017, I signed the papers to declare myself the owner of a rather dilapidated, but very charming, little house in the neighborhood known as East Hill. I had a gut feeling that this house could be something significant for me from the very moment I laid eyes upon it. It was the biggest spontaneous decision of my life, and I firmly believe I will not regret it. There's something about this house...
I'd been to Pensacola on a number of occasions to visit dear friends, and in so doing, I fell in love with Pensacola. Although not tiny, it is significantly smaller than my hometown of Austin, Texas, and it has an even smaller-town feel than its population would suggest, especially within my neighborhood and likely other pockets throughout the city.
The street I am situated upon is lined with old houses of varying age. Mine is one of the oldest. There is a smattering of new construction, too, but primarily there is an eclectic mix of homes which gives this neighborhood a charm not found in neighborhoods in which all the homes were built at approximately the same time. There are beautiful old Victorian houses, Craftsman, and lots of little bungalows (if I am using the correct architectural terminology---not entirely sure). Mine is a tiny little bungalow, 1,200 square feet of living space: literally one-tenth of the size I have grown accustomed to occupying. And boy, what an adjustment! I have waaaaaaayyyyy too much stuff!
(An aside: No, I am not relocating permanently, this is a vacation home. I am not trying to move 8 spacious bedrooms of furniture into a diminutive 2-bedroom house. But I AM amused at what I'm learning about myself and my priorities as I decide just what I will allow myself to possess in this house.)
Many of these houses have been re-purposed into businesses. There is a by-appointment-only massage studio a block away. Several hair salons. An old-fashioned barber. A guy who teaches dance lessons in his garage. A florist. A gift shop. A couple of married ceramics artists ---the beloved friends who initially brought me to Pensacola--- who have a studio and gallery. All in some of the oldest homes here. Each interspersed by houses and other businesses in more modern (but still pretty old) buildings: a bakery; a tiny hardware store (which, incidentally, resembles a hoarder's paradise but the lone owner/clerk knows exactly where to find whatever you're looking for); an art gallery/studio open for classes. These are the people in my neighborhood, in my neighborhood, in my neighborhood...
Yes. Small town vibe, for sure. And I like it. There's a coffee shop I can walk to. A couple of restaurants. And my grocery store is moments away. It has a resident cat, Moose, who is known and loved by everyone. He dashes to greet people in the parking lot, or basks in the sun's rays by the shopping carts. Most everyone pauses to greet him. He belongs to us all.
It's the little stuff like that that make this community feel comfortable. Even the eccentric (and not altogether there) old man who lives next door and is prone to wordlessly begging change and cigarettes from me and my crew, and is known for petty theft, adds color to this neighborhood. (His name is Henry, by the way, and so far he hasn't lifted anything from me that I am aware of. I actually like him. He always has a hug and a toothless smile for me, and though I can't understand a word of his gibberish attempt at speech, I can decipher some of what he wishes he could say.)
So yeah, I fell in love with Pensacola. And during a visit sometime in the summer of 2017, I drove past this house and was enchanted at first sight. I was leaving to head back to Austin at 7:00 am the following day, but I made a spontaneous decision to call the realtor whose name was listed on the For Sale sign posted in the front yard, and she agreed to meet me there at 7:00 on my way out of town.
Needless to say, in addition to falling in love with Pensacola, I also fell in love with this house. Its three funky little fireplaces in rooms with shared walls that feed into a single chimney (makes me wonder about...um, private moments in either of the bedrooms), its sagging wood floors, its crazy beautiful bones. And when I learned that a previous owner, sometime in the last 30 years, added a small but reasonably-sized studio already wired for a kiln, I truly believed this house was calling to me. And typically, I am not a new-agey, fate-believing sort, but like I said: there was something about this house...
Life has taken a turn for me ---a long overdue turn--- and I find myself alone. I knew this day was coming. I've known it for years. And when it came, I pictured myself with a little getaway in the mountains of the Carolinas or Kentucky or something ---somewhere in Appalachia, not here. I really thought I'd settle in Ashville. I'm a woods/forest girl and always have been. That's where my heart lives. But fate and emotion and circumstance all collided in such a way as to land me here. Makes no sense. And sometimes I believe that is the best path. And I'm glad.
SO....
I have a little house and I'm making her mine.
The task is enormous, even for such a small home. I'm feeding lots of families.
But when I am done, she'll be a little jewel. Maybe a gawdy, over-the-top little jewel, but she's my fort, my port, my own. She's My Little Jewel.
Here's the exterior now...
Maybe it doesn't look like much but there has been a TON of work just to get it here. And soon the fence will go up, the exterior paint will be applied, and the house will be transformed. And that doesn't include landscaping or detail work.
