This Issue | October 2016

One of the first places I lived after graduating college was an 18th-century Cape in southern New Hampshire. It was the oldest house in town, a fact that was hammered home to me every waking moment I was in the place. There wasn’t a true floorboard in the whole building and the bathroom roof leaked, even during a gentle rainstorm. In one hallway a cobble of wires poked out from a wall. Were they live? What were they for? I never did get any answers. My bedroom was a converted…well, something. Maybe a shed? Whatever it was, it wasn’t tight. The drafts were ever constant and for that first month I lived in the house I rushed at those leaks like I was on the front line of an invading army. I wielded cans of spray foam insulation with great gusto, until I didn’t. I was overmatched and eventually retreated to a life of extra blankets and additional layers. I ended up living in the house for four years. There was something about that old place that I admired. No, it wasn’t perfect or true or even dry, but it had endured. Generations of families had lived there, worked there, worked on it. I became a part of the home’s story, part of its lineage, and I grew to relish the role. Living in an old home isn’t easy, but it can be rewarding. Many of you know what I’m talking about. In this issue we’ve pulled together a collection of reader submitted stories on what it’s like to live in and take care of these properties. They’re hilarious, revealing, and in some cases, all too familiar. Enjoy. Ian Aldrich Deputy Editor @ialdrich