Press-Republican

Home & Garden

September 23, 2013

Wrestling with trees proves fruitful

Writer shares story of daughter determined to get ripe pears

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.

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