When Ron and I first fell for Chestnut House, she was being sold "as is". A charming Craftsman Gothic home, built in 1884, three towering stories on a corner lot in the Historic Northeast neighborhood of Kansas City, MO, the house spoke to us-even from the skimpy snapshots posted online by a hurried realtor.
Our love affair with the house began the moment she appeared on the horizon. A haughty, yet humbled, grand dame in need of our attention. The type of old girl that, in her day, would never have been seen without her hat and gloves was sitting, crumpled and tumbledown on her corner, stockings ripped and hem showing.
We couldn't wait to explore the house. Our friend (and realtor) Yuri, himself living in a restored Victorian a few blocks North, received an unexpected visit that first afternoon.
"May we see the house on the corner over there?'
"When?"
"Immediately?"
"Alright."
Little did we know "as is" in property-speak means a ridiculous conversion of a beautiful home into five separate apartments, a destroyed air conditioner, expansive windows hidden behind drywall and duct tape, and a musty basement stripped of every copper pipe and wire belonging to the house.
Nothing deterred us. Our hearts were stolen as quickly as the copper had been. We could see through the walls, see through the stained pink wall-to-wall carpet, even see through a full bathroom built unceremoniously in the middle of the living room. Little did we know x-ray vision wasn't the only superpower we'd have to develop to save Chestnut House. It was too late...with that first look, our affair with this gracious girl had begun.
