It is currently 83°F, sunny and slightly breezy. A perfect spring day in Oklahoma (these are rare and to be soaked up whenever possible). I am lounging on my front porch, getting some grading done, doing a little reading, and enjoying these fleeting moments of peace, solitude, and sunshine-y warmth.
My friends are green with envy whenever I mention my front porch. It’s probably my favorite thing about my entire home, and they have every reason to be jealous. It’s large enough to feel like a second living room. Wicker patio furniture from Pottery Barn, a large coffee table made of refurbished old wood, twinkle lights hanging from the ceiling, a red front door with a white accent wreath. Guests are greeted by two large red pots with spring flowers and a teal “hello” welcome mat. The porch is entirely covered, and looks out over the whole street. The view includes 100-year-old houses, big trees, and plenty of people watching as neighbors walk by with their strollers and dogs, runners get in a quick afternoon run, and cars whiz by going this way and that.
Every time I sit on this porch a take a moment of gratitude. All of my life I’ve dreamed of owning an old historic home with a large front porch for me to enjoy on days like today. And now I can finally say I live in one.
If you read the documents from the title company, they’ll tell you this home was built in 1904. If you talk to the neighbors down the street, the house was built in 1889 as the original farm house to the piece of land these homes on my street all now sit on. They’ve got the farm tools dug up from their backyard and the land marker inside their home to prove it. The romantic in me likes to believe my neighbors over the title company. I’m still trying to do my research on this part of town, this home specifically, but being such a young state, land records are hard to come by and those I can find are difficult to decipher. I’ll keep digging though.
The historic and storyteller in me likes to imagine all the families that have come and gone from this home. How many people have lived within these walls? What stories and secrets do they have to share? What did this place look like when the original owners laid that last piece of wood flooring, or placed that final shingle on the roof? Where did they come from, and where did they end up after this place? Or was this their forever home? Did they raise a family here, or were they already older, their kids grown and gone? I may never know the answers to any of these questions, but I’m okay with that. My imagination allows me to dream all sorts of dreams of what once was.
For as far back as I can remember, I have wanted to live in an old historic home. There’s something about them – charm, maybe – that’s always drawn me to them. I love the character and the details. I love how not a single home that was build more than sixty years ago looks exactly like the one next to it. There’s a sense of security in knowing an old house has stood for as long as it has. It has weathered through so much – storms, people, urban development, disarray and decay, revival. Despite the passage of time, an old home stands tall and proud, a time capsule, a glimpse into the past, into what once was. And yet it stands ready to make new memories, ready to be passed from family to family, holding within its walls countless memories yet to be made. A firm enough foundation can withstand the test of time.
My home before this was older – built in the 1950s. I enjoyed it, but knew I wanted something older, something closer to downtown, something within the “urban core” of Oklahoma City. The opportunity presented itself last year when my boyfriend and I decided we might just try living together. Neither of our homes were big enough for the two of us plus his 90-pound German Shepherd and my tubby little tabby cat, so we set out on the quest of looking for that perfect home. Sticking to the Mesta Park neighborhood I’d had my eyes on since childhood, we finally found that perfect home for us. Four bedroom, two and a half bathrooms, a garage large enough for both of our giant vehicles, and an upstairs master suite with a one of a kind walk in closet for my endless wardrobe and shoe collection, we knew we’d found it. (In fairness, I visited it on a whim during an open house, fell in love, made an offer, and then had Griffin and our realtor look at it. Sometimes when you just know, you know…you know?)
Living in the heart of Oklahoma City in a century old house has more than its fair share of perks. We are walking distance to nearby local shops and restaurants, we are a short 10 to 15-minute drive to most of Oklahoma City, we can both jump on the highway when we need to get somewhere for work, and there’s always someplace new to see, to visit, to explore. Not to mention the perks of the home – solid wood floors, big windows, quaint rooms, a beautiful yard, quiet street, and that perfect. front. porch. I pinch myself all the time. How did I get so lucky?
There is something to be said for buying a brand new home out in the suburbs. You know (or at least there are better odds) that everything will work properly. You’re close to good schools, hopefully a really nice grocery store, and the neighborhood probably already comes with an added perk like a club house, a pool, a park, and/or sidewalks that are new. More likely than not, the neighborhood is safer, there are more families for you to get to know, and it’s a place that will make a perfect forever home. Living in the heart of the city in a 100-year-old house has it’s downsides – you’re less likely to know your neighbors (ours are all great), perhaps there are more porch robbers than usual (never had anything stolen off our front porch, btw), maybe the schools are hit and miss (we happen to have a phenomenal elementary school a few blocks away), and things in your home will probably stop working more often than not (so far so good here). But is it all worth it in the end? Abso-positively-lutely. I don’t ever for one moment regret the decision to move into the core of Oklahoma City. Griffin and I have both said we can never picture ourselves living anywhere but in the heart of this city. Even if this home isn’t our forever home, we know wherever we would move surely can’t be but a few blocks away. I’ve spent more time outdoors, walking or running through the neighborhood, enjoying my front porch, walking over to the park just three houses down, visiting local restaurants, than I have in a very long time. I’m better acquainted with my neighbors now than I was in the four years I lived in the suburban neighborhood I first lived in after college in Norman, OK. All in all, I know this is the place I was meant to end up.
I feel comfortable here, like this home has been waiting for me for all of these years, just readying itself for me like I was preparing for it. I have fallen head over heels in love with this home. There isn’t another one like it, just about anywhere.
