We bought a house.
Have I mentioned that?
Well, not exactly a house — but a manufactured home. A double-wide. A trailer.
I say this shruggingly. Where I grew up, so many people had them that I never thought twice about them. A lot of people that I knew, including one of my earliest crushes, living in manufactured homes (we never called them “trailers” or “double-wides”) had more money and nicer homes than folks in brick and mortar foundations.
But around here, apparently, it’s not so.
Jon says that when he was growing up, trailers were considered the lowest of the low. He says that his mother, despite her superficial excitement about our double-wide, is quietly cringing inside. He cites people that we know who refused to move into trailers at the beginning of the marriages.
But I don’t feel this way. I think the home is beautiful. Would it have been better to build a dream home from the ground up? I can see the advantages, sure, but also its disadvantages. Delays. Time. Arguments.
This way was so much simpler. We walked onto a lot, pointed at a home, and selected our decor preferences from a booklet. It took a single day. It was wonderful. I’ve spent the weeks since browsing furniture. Such pleasure!
But putting a double-wide down on that beautiful farm has the whole neighborhood in a kerfluffle! Our crazy neighbor who only wears unfastened coveralls (One time we stopped by his house after dinner and he was wearing them without a shirt and watching TV. He never put a shirt back on) thought he might have to start drinking. Jon offered him a swig of vodka and he shook his head and said, “No no no no way! That stuff’ll have me seein’ double and feelin’ single can’t be drinkin’ that!”
We hired locals to pour the foundation (opted out of the manufactured home dealer’s option for the job) — and even that crew chuckles under their breath. It’s all in good favor, but odd to me. Which, I think, makes them think I’m even weirder than they already think I am. I think that even Jon cringes a little (a double-wide! the horror!) and quietly scratches his head over my nonchalance.
But I love it!
I say to Jon, You bought me a house. A house!
Granted, it also comes with an entire how-to packet. And a DVD. But who cares? It’s a house.
Isn’t that enough?
Of course it is.
A bunch of people came out to watch the manufactured home delivery thing. It was impressive! The guy driving the semi-truck has been doing it for 20 years, and it showed. He squeezed it in-between a whole cluster of walnuts, sometimes just by centimeters, and never yelled or broke a sweat. It really was impressive.
The delivery took all day long. I spent the hours mostly gardening, but I’d walk up and survey the progress from a distance. And then go back to gardening, or visiting with our neighbors. Around 3 or 4, our visitors started to leave. At 5, the crew left. At 6, Jon came down from the barn.
“I’m gonna go look at the house. You coming?” he asked.
I pulled a brand new broom out of my car and together we walked up to the house. The new broom, according to the Farmer’s Almanac, is for good luck. We stood at the stoop and looked at the front door, and then each other.
“You ready?” he asked.
I was. I opened the door and together we walked in.