When we moved to a quaint hamlet in New York, we never imagined becoming part of such an amazing community and building such an amazing life! Our life here in New York has far exceeded our expectations and brought about new and exciting adventures. In the years prior to moving to New York, we were looking in various regions along the East Coast – from Southern Maine to the Carolinas, finally making our way to New York. Originally, we started looking for homes around the Capital Region and in the Berkshires, spanning from the Hoosick Falls area, Albany, to Chatham. Yet, after unsuccessful house hunting endeavors throughout the region, we narrowed in on the Hudson Valley. While house hunting, we stayed with family who lived in the hamlet we now call home. We are forever grateful for the hospitality, delicious meals, and help our family provided while we were renovating.

And, soon enough we began our search in the hamlet.

As you can imagine or for those of you who have gone through house hunting, it is a long and tiring process that often ends in disappointment. In 2014, there were numerous homes for sale in hamlet and we just about looked at them all (even placing fair offers on a few of them). Yet, despite envisioning our new life in each of these homes (from paint colors to redesigning the kitchens), our offers fell short or were rejected. Yet, thankfully luck was on our side. We had one house left in the hamlet to look at. The house came with its fair share of warnings from the realtors, friends, and family. On the surface, this house had not been lived in for over 5 years (attributing to the missing windows and lack of water, heat, and electricity), was rumored to have a bad foundation, and even some stories circulated that it was haunted (which we have yet to witness). It was at this house that our story and life in New York began.

After driving by this house one day after looking at other homes in the area (feeling quite deflated I may add), we decided to enlist our real estate agent in setting up a showing of this house. Upon arriving at this ‘horror story’ (aka our home) for a showing, we found out the house was previously converted to a three-family house and was bank-owned, making it was a fantastic price. Today, we do not know if it was the crisp autumn air, the missing windows, or the darkness in the house that drew us in, but something did. After looking around the house, we knew this was it – the diamond in the rough we had been searching for! Although not perfect or in any means move-in ready, we knew this house had the potential to become our home. So in ignoring the rumors and the amount of work this house would take to make it a home, we jumped in headfirst. Despite Rick (husband and father) not being there, we called him up and explained what we saw in the house. With some coaxing from our friends, Rick said go ahead and put an offer in. The same day as the showing with cash-in-hand, we made an offer of $28,000. Soon enough we were homeowners and had two homes – one in Vermont and our new fixer-upper in New York.

Back in 2015, we spent a few months being weekenders going opposite the skiers headed to the various ski resorts in Vermont. Of course, 2015 was the coldest and harshest winter weather this area had faced in years. Yet, those weekend trips to our new home – despite a sub-arctic house with no electricity or running water – quickly became an exciting (and tiring) new adventure. Yet, owning and running two households with the arctic temperatures became tough. Yet, fate was on our side and we sold our house in Vermont shortly after these weekend trips began. This meant we had to move double-time to make our New York home at least semi-livable and clean out our 16 room colonial home (with a full attic and three-car garage) in less than 90-days. The move had a lot of hiccups and screaming matches along the way, but after five months of renovations, we finished a majority of the renovation work. We had amazing friends in Vermont who cleaned the old house and wrapped up the last part of the move with our horrible movers!

Since 2015 we have come to know that our hamlet is so much more than our physical address and home. It is a place where our neighbors have become the best of friends – celebrating in the good times, being a shoulder to cry on in the bad times, and being a team we know we can always count on. Before continuing, I want to make sure to acknowledge the lifelong family and friends that we left behind in Vermont (they have and continue to add immense joy to our lives). We miss all of our Vermont family and friends (even more so, as COVID has made travelling to see them tougher)!

So, here lies our story of how a house turned into a home. It all started on one hot June day. It was late afternoon as we were unwinding with friends that were visiting from PA on the front porch, dressed in our work clothes and covered in sweat. Sitting there, we noticed crowds of people walking in groups down the street. Soon enough my parents were pulled off the front porch by a group of our neighbors that were walking by. They were invited to Taste of History, which is an annual historic house tour that consisted of friends and neighbors walking to three different homes sharing food, drinks, and laughter. Although I stayed home with our guests, after that event we started to get to know our neighbors, and come July we were at the annual Wine and Cheese event engaging with these same neighbors. The rest is history. We wine, dine, shop, etc. together. This community is our second family (and if we are being honest our ties to this community are thicker than those with many of our own blood relatives)!

Despite 7 years passing (with the last two years entailing a global pandemic), my love for my community remains the same. I want to thank my community for nurturing me, pushing me to excel, being there for me, and helping me flourish into the person I am today. Although there are not enough words to describe the gratitude I have, memories made, and the feeling of belonging, I want to highlight some neighbors and memories that are forever imprinted into my life.

Early on, we built a special relationship with one family in town. The mother became best friends with my mother and their daughter (being around the same age as me) became one of my closest friends. Around 11pm one night, my mom and I were both in bed when we got a call from these friends asking if we wanted to go for a walk. I remember thinking – “What a walk at this hour? It is dark. I am in bed.” Yet, off my mom and I went with our friends walking around town, down to the marina, and along the docks at 11pm with the only light coming from the streetlamps. Since then, we have been partners-in-crime going shopping and antiquing on a regular basis (weekly auctions, Country Living Fair, etc.), engaging in ‘Pope cleaning’ leading up to events, and being there for all the parties (New Years, anniversary, graduation, birthdays, etc.) and special occasions that we each have had. If one of us needs something at the store, the other will get it. If we see something at the local auction and are unable to make it, the other will bid on it for us. Actually, we have one paddle/ number that all of us in the neighborhood now share when at the auction (and somehow our auction group keeps growing). Although the pandemic has hampered these activities, we still cherish these memories and look forward to the day we can return to our normal shenanigans again.

After a couple years here, we started to spend many summer nights at the Boathouse Grille, a local bar and restaurant right on the Hudson River. It was there we met our “Bocce Crew” and started the tradition of playing bocce every Thursday on the courts next to the restaurant. This crew has since become some of our closest friends, accounting for many unforgettable memories and laughs. My bocce partner is one of my closest friends (almost like a grandfather figure) – he is 82. Besides being a powerhouse on the bocce courts, we have in-depth discussions on politics, business, and marketing, he helps me celebrate my accomplishments, and always provides the best advice. He has become one of my family’s best friends – becoming an unofficial member of our family and one of our closest friends (one in which both my mother and I share).

When our former dog, Ruby passed away suddenly one morning we called one of our neighbors as the wife is a nurse (both of whom are animal lovers) to come to tell us what we already knew – Ruby died. This was bound to be tough no matter what. But, this couple rushed over to check for a heartbeat, console us, and even helped dig a grave and bury our beloved Ruby. All of this was before 7am on a weekend! A few weeks later they delivered a beautifully painted portrait of our dog to commemorate her.

Another couple up the street has served as our co-host for many events and taste-testers for new recipes. This couple always prepares spectacular spreads of food and drinks and has served as an idea board for countless events that have included the entire community. Between cookouts, a 1920s Murder Mystery party, COVID Olympics, and more, we have built a strong foundation for future events (post-pandemic of course). Likewise, this couple deserves a shoutout for letting my father hunt on their land and helping my father drag the deer he shot out of their woods (many acres on tough terrain) two years ago.

Similarly, down the street, we have enjoyed the company of an amazing friend, who was actually friends with my great-grandmother. We have enjoyed helping her redecorate and organize her house, have enjoyed croquet games in her yard, and devoured many delicious meals. Honestly, all of our neighbors are amazing chefs (and in the past 7 years I have yet to have a bad meal).

There were a few pivotal moments when I truly believed I was living in a movie. You know the old-fashioned ads or images portrayed in movies where neighbors may borrow flour from one another? This happened more than once in my community (I honestly did not believe such communities existed.} We have had neighbors call upon us late into the night for ingredients they needed to finish baking for one event or another. I remember trekking down the front stairs, in the dark, with a bag of flour and a can of pineapple on separate occasions then eating that creation at a gathering in the coming days.

For birthdays, anniversaries, graduations, or honestly any milestone no matter the weather or circumstances, friends and neighbors make an effort to celebrate. For my mother’s 50th birthday, many of our friends and neighbors helped plan a surprise party with a pot-luck (which of course included the beloved carrot cake). For my B.S. graduation, our neighbors showed up at the Boathouse to celebrate my accomplishment. Despite COVID-19 canceling any plans I had for my MBA graduation, our neighbors (thanks to my mother) surprised me with a socially distant celebration in the driveway. These are the moments that continue to push me to excel!

But most of all, it is in times of crisis, fear, or sadness that you truly find out what community really means. Amid the pandemic, with the immense fear and isolation we are all feeling -impromptu walks or socially distant visits (outside of course) brought much-needed joy. And when faced with a crisis, neighbors come running. When the pipes freeze, neighbors are there to lend a hand (most often that person is my father lol). When we thought my father was having a stroke a few years back, the Dr. down the road came running while we awaited the EMT’s and neighbors soon joined to make sure we were okay. Between my own hysteria, I called my mother’s best friend in town who arrived in under one minute (running up the steps), she drove me to the hospital as we followed the ambulance, and she stayed in the waiting room all night while we waited. Then she proceeded to get us home in one piece! (*No my father did not have a stroke, it turned out to be CO2 poisoning.)

These are just a few small examples of what make this community my home! It is the neighbors that are there in the good times, bad times, and all the times in-between, the food (of course), the gatherings, and our combined love for decorating (and antiques) that make this hamlet my own little slice of paradise.

So, as Hilarie Burton Morgan wrote in her memoir, this blog is a love letter – to a community that has nurtured us and to all the people that have brought solace, joy, happiness, and just enough craziness to keep our life interesting (even amid a global pandemic)!