I have a little "personal real estate" story that I would like to share with you.
As my friends can tell you, with the exception of my 401k, I just do not invest in anything but real estate properties. I have a limited knowledge of the stock market, and frankly it scares me. However, even real estate is not always the gold mine you hoped it would be. I own a little bit of "heaven" in West Virginia. And I don't think any single investment has ever given me so many really good laughs and so much angst.
Early in the 1990s, an opportunity presented itself to purchase a bit of acreage and a cabin on a mountain in West Virginia at a greatly discounted price (even for West Virginia), and for about seven years we enjoyed the pristine wilderness and wonderful hospitality that only the south can offer.
Unfortunately, some damn Yankees came upon the scene and all 12 of the families that shared our mountain-top hideaway became embroiled in a court battle over right of way to the cabins that lasted another seven years. The lawsuit is now settled, we again have access to our cabin, and this weekend my husband Bud and I attempted to wrest ownership control of our property from Mother Nature.
Now let me tell you, when you do not have access to a cabin in the wilderness for that period of time it is not like locking the door and taking a vacation. "Things" begin to take residence in your property.
It is a mystery to me how Batman ever took up residence in the Batcave. With regards to our cabin, I can't figure out if the bats and the mice had a working agreement, or if the bats were raising the mice for food. Either way there was an abundance of both. And I can tell you they are really messy housekeepers.
Southern hospitality is not myth. When the other families that we share Klondike Ridge with found out we were there to try to reclaim our cabin they all stopped by to lend a hand. I will always be grateful for their friendship and hospitality. We had to trash every piece of upholstered furniture in the cabin, including our box spring and mattress, and pull up carpeting as well. Many willing hands were there to help. But there were a few Kodak moments in the process.
My friend Karen and I were literally shoveling bat guano out of the cabin, while Bud and Karen's husband took the couch, chairs and carpeting to the dump. As we cleaned and washed everything down with Clorox we kept finding evidence of both mice and bats. (They just don't care where they poop.) We had cleaned out several abandoned mouse nests and Karen remarked, "We had better check all of the drawers, because I keep finding these nests everywhere".
She pulled out a dresser drawer that we used to store towels and some kitchen items and found a huge nest in the corner. "Wow, Karen, that is the biggest nest we have found," I remarked. And as I reached for the nest, it moved. Well I am not afraid of mice, or many other critters for that matter, so I started to take the top off the nest - two, and then three mice ran out of the drawer. I told Karen, "Grab the other end of the drawer, we're going to dump it outside." Now Karen is a real friend, she never questions me, she just grabbed the end of the drawer and we headed for the door.
As I am walking backwards toward the door, roughly 15 steps from the dresser, there is suddenly lots of activity in this drawer. But I am also looking over my shoulder so I don't fall flat on my butt carrying what is now a drawer full of mice. I hear Karen say, "Carol, hurry..." I look back at Karen and I see her eyes like saucers and real fear in her face. You know, I think those darn mice sense fear. There is now a gang of five little grey mice heading for Karen's end of the drawer. And from the look of them, they really are intent on scaring her to death. The whole thing hits me as hysterically funny. They are not at my end of the drawer, and I get a real case of the giggles. When we get the drawer outside and set it down the first five mice scatter, and then another six appear from the nest. I am still in hysterics and poor Karen is wishing she had never met me. I will give her a lot of credit. She stayed there and helped me clean up that cabin the rest of the afternoon. Southern women speak softly but they have lots of grit. (No pun intended).
As the day wound down, Bud, my long suffering spouse, and I were cleaning up the last of the debris when we had one more visitor. As I mentioned earlier, all of our human neighbors had stopped by to lend a hand. I was just bagging up the last of the crud and preparing to leave when Count Dracula himself came gliding right through the door. This was the biggest bat I have ever seen. This thing made two passes at me - and that was all I was willing to put up with. I was so mad I started to yell at the bat. "Out...Go on...Get out!" The bat kept swooping over my head and I just kept yelling at it.
Bud just left the cabin, he told me he figured it was safer outside than anywhere near me. (Was that because of me or the bat?)
I stomped downstairs to get my broom so I could send "The Count" back to his castle, but when I came back he was gone. And...ok, I don't have a rational explanation for that, but sometimes you just go with...whatever works.
The moral here, because it is a real estate story: No matter how much you know about any investment you make... be prepared. Because there are no guarantees in real estate, or in life.
Oh, and by the way, did I mention this all happened on HALLOWEEN!?
Comments(0)