The magic at home
Early and often, I reassure my buyer clients that I truly love touring homes - it's not a waste of my time to visit in person. I love solving the mysteries, finding the details that show care or raise concern, considering the history of the home, the choices that were made during each stewardship. In New England broadly, we have the special privilege of having historic housing stock - land is limited, housing is in high demand, and that means it stays economically viable (and preferable!) to renovate instead of building new. Nothing is cookie cutter about buildings here, and it's wonderful.
Any client who sees me in a basement believes my assertion that I'm happy to be there; it's harder to help my sellers trust that I enjoy discovering their homes, too. It is an honor to get to know people through their most personal space.
An historic map here, an introduction to a new-to-me local painter there; a jazz album by a late husband gifted to our collection, a useful tool passed along instead of being left on the curb. The lamp in my living room came from a listing: the seller didn't want to ship it to New York. These small mementos and memories end up incorporated into my own space and life, and I think of these clients often and fondly. I love to follow their moves and renovations, their births and birthdays. It's the best.
My sellers last month at 41 Amherst are artists, and I happen to love their art; when we talked through listing prep, Rainey apologized - "I can take down some of these pieces, they're weird" - but her work brought a vibrancy to the space, a warmth and care that carried through along with the thread of her penchant for red. I am obviously biased by hand tools and love her series of softened sharp things, but the pièce de résistance was the fortune cookie bubble gum machine, with the custom "you will fall in love with a house this week" fortune. Touring 41 Amherst was an adventure, a journey of discovery, from the secret stairs to the plastic animal protectors to the spikey fruiting plants in the garden. It was a home filled with small surprises and wonder and joy, and even the young kids visiting were in awe and completely at home.
Every listing appointment includes common mea culpas:
"It's a mess..."
"It's not showing-ready."
"I know I have work to do."
Of course! I can see past that. I see through the laundry to the size of the closet, past the plaster cracks to the historic charm of a curved wall, beyond the charging cables and changing tables to the care you've put into curating and furnishing your home. I notice the art and the books and the way your desk is positioned to catch the perfect afternoon light, and I feel the space as yours - but I see the potential it could have for someone else, too.
A few weeks later, at 20 Primrose, my seller was concerned for her beloved office walls. "My kids say I need to paint this room," she lamented of the sponge-painted clouds she had added to make the space her own. We opted not to paint that room, nor to replace the carpet, nor to add contemporary staging - and all weekend long, with two patio chairs standing alone in the living room, prospective buyers talked about the excellent feel of the space, the energy, and the mobile of found items left in its place in the corner.
No one judged the clouds. The right buyers will see the special things in your home just like I will, if you let them.
photos: 1,2-Kate Ziegler; 3-Anfuso Imaging