It took a decade of looking to finally purchase my Adirondack home.
I found many residences as far north as West Chazy and south to Keeseville that I liked but was outbid by competing buyers time and time again.
Weary of losing out, I took an underpainting workshop with Sheel Gardner Anand at the Firehouse Gallery in Burlington. If I couldn’t buy a house, I could learn to paint like the old masters.
I forgot about house hunting, and then Judy Guglielmo, a Fessette Realty agent, called and said I should take a look at a property she had showed another client. I looked online at the property and was too jaded to appreciate its charm. One sunny but slushy spring day, I drove from my then-Peru apartment to check out the estate home, and I saw the light.
Besides Guglielmo, my team consisted of Pete Conroy, a contractor and skeptic of the first order, and a house-and-building inspector whose name escapes me now. He agreed that the home I purchased was the best one I looked at and would go for $100,000 easily if it was in Plattsburgh.
Conroy looked at every house for the promise of from-scratch baked goods for life. There are more than a few cakes and pies outstanding.
One of the perks of my two-bedroom ranch was a very tall pear tree in the backyard.
A backsplash of gray and pink tile with a pear motif still graces my kitchen installed by the previous owners.
For the last five years, it’s always been a question of how to get to the ripe pears that are way out of reach. My days of shimmying up trees are long gone. Down South, there was a time my cousins and I climbed towering trees and jumped out of them to our parents’ horror. Amazingly, we never sprained or broke anything.