I think this is my dream house. Literally. ♡I am in love.♡
Sometimes I have these odd, recurring dreams (also nightmares, but that’s another story…) and one of them over the last several years has involved a little white house deep in a wooded forest with green shutters and a high sloping green roof that has a hole in the back where a tree has fallen through it. Sun is streaming through that hole around the fallen tree limbs and into one of the back rooms as I walk in through the flung open door, long slated rays of light glistening on the dust hanging, dew-like, in the still air. There’s an array of vintage memorabilia, stacks of old magazines, piles of folded clothing strewn and scattered about and I pick up a porcelain doll from in an antique wicker perambulator that wobbles on skinny rubber baby bumper wheels.
Well, yesterday, while perusing houses for sale in our new fav area of Mastic Beach and Shirley near Fire Island, we came upon this gem, deep in the trees on a quiet little creek, no neighbors to the right, none to the back (there are views over the creek and marsh from what will, no doubt, be our dining room, as well as from the kitchen sink ~ a must for any once-and-future home of mine is a window over the kitchen sink!). You enter the property through a privet hedge that can be gated, a driveway with room to spare for guest vehicles. I’m not sure the roof was green when we saw it Saturday, but here it is. Green. And right before we found this house, we stopped at a yard sale where we saw a — wait for it — antique wicker baby perambulator.
As we drove back to the city last night, we got a phone call from a real estate broker we’d reached out to about another property, a piece of land on one of the canals that P was interested in… and guess who just happened to own this home? All the little pieces started to fall strangely into place. I truly believe in dreams, especially ones you have over and over and over. There are no coincidences. And there’s a reason for that psychic or psychological repetition of recurring dreams. I know in my heart of hearts that we are meant to have a house like the one in my dream. Like the one in the pictures here.
Of course, the price is wrong for us right now…but we have to make this happen. I feel that strongly about this place. We have yet to walk inside, maybe we’ll get back there today, so my love could change according to the way it smells, how much light it gets, what the bathrooms look like. And we haven’t asked if a tree fell through the back, although it looks like a new roof and the guy did have a bunch of tree stumps dug out of the property (there is no more yard to speak of, it was just seeded this past week), so who knows the entire history of the little place?
But the creek access and the wild nature factor are huge variables. At least for me. I can already see myself kayaking and canoeing down the creek towards the bay. P has a little boat, a small sail boat that he built himself, in storage in Seattle. I can see that little vessel nestled by a new little dock we’ll build next to the tree by the canoe, above, and see us rowing it out to catch the winds in the willows around the area.
And, yes, even though this is technically Mastic Beach, NOW you can call me Shirley.