Picture it, long winding drive with lovely homes off to each side. Quaint bridge over a stream, woodlands spotted in snow.
We're on the look for the house belonging to the For-Sale sign out at the road. I'd seen it on the MLS and had written the address in my notebook, a notebook which was sitting helpfully on the mantle at home.
"I think it was in the 5500s, or 5600s? The first number was 5," I said. Only we didn't see any house that looked like the photo online. We came to what appeared to be the end of the road. There were wheel ruts going on, through what was left of the winter's snow, but it was such an untraveled path. We didn't dare risk it. We went home.
And we checked the address. "It WAS down that path!" So, ever-determined, we returned last night. The snow makes the drive treacherous, but there it is, the house from the picture. Only we can't take time to see it. We're focussed on making it up the gentle, but snow-covered incline of the driveway. Near the top, the wheels begin to spin.
We try pushing, rocking, packing dry leaves under the tires. No use. We are stuck.
But! The 45 minute wait for a tow truck gives us opportunity to peer in the windows, walk around the property. Since it is vacant, we don't feel too awfully like trespassers. It's lovely!
I was still thinking of the last time we drove up to an out-of-the-way house and nearly got stuck, so I dismissed this house as soon as it was clear we weren't making it up the drive, but Dr. D wasn't so quick to judge. And, standing there in the snow, stranded with three kids in the van, was about the most normal I've felt in weeks. Unfortunately, that hasn't lasted, but the house is still beautiful.