(Old) House Proud | Tales of Historic Home Ownership

When it comes to old houses, New Englanders have a complicated relationship. There’s the charm and craftsmanship. And then there are the strange bevy of issues that are often unique to say, an 18th-century Cape. Sloping floors? Check. Poorly insulated walls? Of course! Leaking sewer pipes? You better believe it. Recently we asked readers to share their experiences—the good, the bad, and the ugly—about the joys, challenges, and rewards of calling a little slice of American history, home. Below are a few of our favorite stories.

Is That What I Think It Is?

One fine spring day, not long after my wife and I purchased our 19th-century Cape in southern New Hampshire, I looked out a side window and saw white-colored water coming out from under the barn section of the house. I knew then there was a big problem with the septic line, which was under that part of the building. I opened the door and noticed the pipes had separated, likely many weeks before, letting raw sewage leak out into the gutter area around the cement pad. When I saw how much sewage had come out I was horrified. After calling a few friends for help, all of whom were strangely busy, I recruited my wife. After we dug a long trench at the far side of the field, we set off hauling five-gallon buckets of the waste, pouring it into the trench. We must have each taken a dozen or more trips, emptying our load of the smelly semi-liquid, gagging and wheezing nearly the entire time. What probably took a few hours to do felt like weeks. The mess was cleaned up, the pipe mended, and life returned to normal. A year or so later, we replaced the whole system with a professionally designed and installed septic system. We had our little house back and life was good.

-Ken, New Hampshire

The Giving House

I grew up in a 1759 Connecticut Colonial that my parents fell in love with despite the overwhelming repairs it needed. Aside from the treasures found in the walls, under the floorboards, and in the gardens, the perils of a restoration project proved to be prime playing grounds for me and my brother. The back half of the second floor was so badly sloped we were able to roll down the wooden floorboards as though they had formed a well-manicured hill. We used the defunct electrical wiring along the ceiling to hang blankets for makeshift tents. When the second-story floors were being replaced, we would tiptoe across the exposed support beams. This fun ended when my brother fell through the dining room ceiling. Not to worry—the ceilings in this house were only six-feet high. Then there was the excitement of our dad’s showdown with the historical society (lovingly referred to as the hysterical society) which had told him the dilapidated and rotting shop attached to our house could not be torn down. Under the light of one summer’s full moon, my dad assembled a small band of chainsaw wielding neighbors and the shop was “remodeled” before the sun rose. My brother and I were involved in every detail of the restoration that spanned two decades. My parents still live in the house and when I return home to visit, stories and laughter fill those beautifully restored rooms!

-Jacquie, Connecticut

The Giving House, Part II

We purchased our New England Colonial 30 years ago. It’s a real Colonial, from 1748, built when this area was still a colony. We’ve had many fun surprises, including removing a wall to expose a ten-foot wide cooking fireplace complete with beehive oven. Oh yes, it also let everything that was outside come in. There’s nothing like using bug spray when you come into your house! Our walls were stuffed with corncobs, our pumpkin-pine floors a source of great amusement when you dropped something—you could never guess in which direction it would roll away. The kids would go down the basement stairs in the spring and sail little boats in the stream that appeared. We also had a lovely yellow-spotted salamander that lived down there. I could go on, but in the long run we have fixed up some things and replaced others. We love our little piece of American history.

-Suzanne, Massachusetts

It Starts with a Lightbulb

The military call it “mission creep,” but we owners of old houses have a name for similar undertakings: “mushroom projects.” The first time I heard this expression was in conjunction with admiring a beautiful finished basement at a friend’s house. He explained that the project started when he went downstairs to get something and found the lightbulb was burned out. So he got a flashlight and a new lightbulb and began to unscrew the old bulb from the ceiling. The bulb broke off and he had to find a pair of pliers to remove the base—which caused the old ceramic socket to crumble. He went to the local hardware store for a replacement and then discovered that the knob and tube wiring did not have a metal junction box to mount the replacement. So he acquired a metal box and started to enlarge the hole in the plaster ceiling to accommodate it. It was then that he noticed that the old plaster was detaching from the wooden lath and, just in time, was able to jump out of the way as a large chunk of ceiling crashed to the basement floor. At that point, it became clear that he would have to pull down the entire ceiling and install new wood strapping to accommodate Sheetrock. Well, he figured, as long as he had to hire a Sheetrock and plaster company, he might as well install insulation and redo the interior basement walls. It was a no-brainer that the old flooring should also be pulled up to install a vapor barrier and put in something a little nicer to go with the new walls and ceiling. Eventually a beautiful, new, oak wet-bar and a built-in cabinet for a new big-screen TV were also added. Talk about an expensive lightbulb.

-Will, Vermont

And Then We…

One day I noticed some knob and tube wiring in our garage. Since it didn’t go to anything, I decided to remove it. As I snipped the wire, the garage light went out. The building inspector mentioned we had brass water pipes and they needed to be replaced. Brass corrodes from the inside out, he told me. “One day you will get a pin-hole leak that will keep getting worse,” he said. A few years later we sawed the claw-foot tub in half and carried it out. The great bathroom remodel was on! I had to change the way the pipes ran under the bathroom floor, so I figured it would be a good time to replace the brass. The pipes were so brittle, just grabbing them and pulling caused the joints to break. Attaching new walls to the studs, and even insulating the walls was fun—you can’t find 19-inch wide insulation at the big home centers. Then there were the studs, rough cut from local logs, true two-by lumber, full of splinters, and sections where there was still bark and a rounded edge. Good luck driving a nail or screw through drywall into that. The front door could only be opened during the winter; the rest of the year a team of men with sledge hammers were needed because the wooden door swelled up and stuck fast. We lived there for 11 years, with most of them being recalled as the year we… put on the new roof, put in the new bathroom, replaced the metal cabinets in the kitchen (the newest room in the house), rewired the whole home, finally hooked the kitchen sink to the septic tank (until then it had a failing drywell), and installed a pellet stove.

-Josh, Maine

Cold Comfort

I fell in love with my 1874 18-room Victorian 15 years ago. Many of the homes where I live are of the same era so even though I wasn’t looking for an old home, this is what I ended up with. I now know what it’s like to have a mish-mash system of wiring and plumbing along with no insulation, except for the newspaper and trash thrown in the wall spaces. Other features: crumbling plaster, curtains blowing in the breeze in the winter, a furnace the size of a small factory (which ran for 90 minutes out of every two hours), as well as debris and bats coming down the fireplace. I was dumbfounded when pipes that ran from the middle of the basement (not an outside wall) to the third floor froze (my plumber still can’t believe it), and when it rained, water started dripping into my bedroom from the top of the window sash. It’s become a love/hate thing. I swear I hate it sometimes but I also love the history, character, and workmanship of the house. There really is something about the “feel” of this house that I know I wouldn’t get in a new home.

-John, Massachusetts

Chimney Sweep

My second husband (first had already had enough of the house— or me—not sure which) and I had just settled down for bed in our “bedroom,” which was really just a first-floor room since I still hadn’t made enough progress on the 1774 house to have an upstairs room. We had the light on, which attracted the attention of some chimney swifts, who I guess thought it was time to “go to the light.” We shut off the lights and heard a commotion in the chimney, which at first we assumed were mice (big shocker). Then, the swifts worked their way down into the room and proceeded to fly around. Brave souls that we are, we pulled the covers over our heads, sure they were bats. My hero, now my second ex, was no braver than I, and it was my nine-year-old daughter who came to the rescue and got the birds out of the house. My then husband and I had been so excited to uncover the original fireplace complete with wooden lintel, but of course, this had opened our house to the sky. Another bad move. I am now sleeping upstairs in a nicely restored bedroom, screen over the top of the chimney, plastic over the fireplace, daughter a zookeeper, and another husband done with the house. I get the hint.

-Bonny, Rhode Island

Rooms with a Flue

Thought our chimney flashing was leaking for the longest time. I’m a contractor and I checked and checked and checked the roof again. Turns out it was animals/mice/vermin snuggling up to our warm chimney in the attic and peeing thru the ceiling tiles. Not only did our home not have insulation, it doesn’t even have wall sheathing behind the brick veneer. Just studs with more brick between them. And on the inside? No lath at all. That plaster is set right on the brick infill. Also, when you turn the medicine cabinet’s fluorescent light off, so goes the Touch & Glow lamp on my nightstand. Perhaps it’s a feature of the knob and tube wiring. And the mystery double wall-switch in the bedroom? One works, the other doesn’t. It’s probably annoying the person in a parallel universe.

-Al, New Hampshire

A Friendly Ghost

My house was built in the late 1800s. It was built on graveyards and farmland. There’s a rectangular box in a room with shelves and a big cabinet, and a cross on the door. One winter evening, I was shoveling the driveway. I looked up and saw a lovely lady with her hair up, [wearing a blouse with] mutton-chop sleeves, looking down at me. There was no one in the house. My daughters have heard a woman and a little girl talking up and down the stairs. When you take pictures on the third floor there are white lights in them. The cellar also has white noise. It’s all friendly, though.

-Susan, Massachusetts