I had no idea how to buy a house — or own one. I lived three decades happily unaware of the meaning of the word “escrow.” I had never endured an inspection nor contemplated preapproval.
Then, suddenly, I found the topic of real estate impossible to avoid.
First, it was my grandmother trading in her home of 60 years for an apartment and a more convenient, accessible lifestyle. Next, my parents pulled the trigger on a beautiful lake house in Derry, N.H. — and said goodbye to the house I grew up in. My sister and her husband, recently in new jobs after years in school, were looking. And my wife and I, newly moved to Massachusetts after years in Baltimore, soon entered the market as well.
Within a year, three generations of my family, which had been anchored in Haverhill for a century, would buy and move into new homes elsewhere. The decisions did not come easily, but they reflected the ways our lives had changed over the decades, often without us stopping to take notice.
When the dust settled, we had racked up seven transactions in three New England states. Together, we moved hundreds of boxes, traded furniture, exchanged stories, and learned not just about buying and selling, but about what it really means to be at home.
Advertisement
Andy Rosen & Wife Emily
The real estate in my life always had an immutable quality. I knew houses changed hands all the time, but it has never been mine.
Long after I went to college and moved away, my childhood home remained a gathering place for friends and family, one to which I could always return. My grandmother lived a mile away. She always had.
My wife and I had been casually browsing real estate listings since we moved from Baltimore to Brookline in the summer of 2014. We had just gotten married, and I suppose we were in the mood for another milestone. Plus, I was eager to put down roots in the Boston area after having been away for so long.
It sure seemed like a lot of work, though, and an interminable, risky commitment. Summer became fall, and we still had not made it to an open house. Then, my parents offered to sell us their place at a significant discount.
My wife and I looked at each other, and surprisingly, it seemed like a real possibility. It could be ours without much trouble.
Just as quickly, we realized how impractical it would be. Neither of us wanted to drive an hour into Boston every day. And we liked living in the city. We did not want to buy my parents’ home. We wanted one that would be our own.
Advertisement
It really clicked for us one night in Roslindale. Good friends had recently bought a home there, and we did not know the neighborhood beyond its commuter rail station. My wife, who grew up in Pittsburgh’s East End, was charmed by the area’s resemblance to home. I was surprised that there was part of the city where we could afford a single-family.
We looked at only a few places before we made an offer on a stout, 100-year-old house with an open floor plan on a corner lot. We worried that we were being rash. Should we shop around more? What if we didn’t like Roslindale after a year?
It became clear that our outlook had shifted since we set out. This would be a good investment for us now. If it did not work out, we felt confident we would have options as the years passed. This is real estate, and nothing is forever.
Shaw & Joel Rosen
The first time we walked into our Victorian house in Haverhill, we heard our footsteps echo across the parquet floors of the great empty rooms and said, “This is a great place for a party.” And that is what it became.
We could easily fit 60 people in the living room and dining room once or twice a year for Halloween or Christmas Eve. At most gatherings, the action was in the kitchen.
Advertisement
It was the only house our kids had ever lived in, and it was the place where everyone hung out. Andy’s friends would climb over the eaves, across the roof, and into an attic window to play Nirvana covers in their practice room. Our daughter, Emily, found that she could fit eight kids on the leather couch in front of the TV.
There was always a party going on somewhere in the house.
When our kids went to college and then to work, there were not so many parties anymore. The gracious formal rooms were empty most of the time. We were heating 7,000 square feet of drafty, creaking grandeur, but using only three or four rooms to eat or sleep or go online.
We still had our annual Christmas Eve party, but half the year, the two of us were quite happy at our little cottage on a nearby New Hampshire lake. When the kids and our friends came on the weekends, it got to be a contest to see who could sneak away first at night to grab one of the two available bunk beds.
Eventually we realized that it was time to own just one house. It was hard to leave the big, old home, and even harder to leave a community of family and neighbors whom we love. But we sold both houses and bought a modern, year-round home on Beaver Lake in Derry, N.H., with plenty of beds for everybody.
Advertisement
The house is airtight and has a great view. For the first time, we have a garage and central air. Our parties are better than ever.
Emily Rosen Auger & Nate Auger
We purchased the third home we decided to buy. After moving to Providence for work and living in an apartment for six months, we started looking. Though we are not from there and did not have many friends yet, we felt a connection to Rhode Island. And mortgage rates were excellent.
We had first-time home buyers’ jitters, though, and it showed after we made an offer on a small ranch in a nice suburb. We lost that house in a dispute over the wording of the purchase and sales agreement.
Looking back, we are glad we did not get it. We were trying to be conservative, and had made a safe choice, but we were not in love.
One house I did love was my family home, which had open rooms and high ceilings but made me feel like as if I were being hugged every time I walked in the door. My parents had decided to sell, and I was feeling emotional.
That house is more than a century old, so I decided to start using the “50+ years” setting on real estate search engines. A few months later, we made an offer on a 300-year-old Federalist on two acres.
Advertisement
This one had a lot of charm but also asbestos, knob-and-tube wiring, and rotting sills. It needed $60,000 in urgent repairs, and we didn’t have that kind of money. We tried to work out a credit with the sellers, but they did not agree.
Back to the search engines.
We found a house in a small neighborhood in Cranston where several of our friends live. This house was built in the early 1900s, and the first floor is laid out like the home I grew up in.
My husband and I quietly agreed to purchase it before we even finished walking through. We had another bad inspection, but the seller agreed to make the necessary fixes. My mother removed my old bedroom doorknob and gave it to me as a symbol of continuity.
I am writing this story from my new living room, and it feels like home.
Esther Rosen
It was heart-rending to contemplate leaving the home in which I had lived for 60 years. It was the only home my husband and I ever owned, built just for us, and we raised three wonderful children there.
Even after he died, and once the kids were grown, I spent many happy years there, surrounded by people I loved. But recently I decided to stop driving, and despite visits and rides from close friends and relatives, my family and I found that I was alone too much.
With great regret, I resolved to leave for a retirement community in North Andover.
As hard as it was emotionally, it was also a daunting practical challenge. I was moving from a ranch with seven rooms in the main area and plenty of storage space to a three-room condo. I had to decide what to do with my furniture, the hundreds of books that I had accumulated over the years, and more clothes than I could cram into my new walk-in closet.
Many of the books went to the Haverhill Public Library or Jewish organizations. I was happy to share some of the furniture to help fill my children’s and grandchildren’s new houses, and I still have lots in storage.
But I was able to bring enough with me to make my new place feel familiar. I took a pair of designer chairs, a marble coffee table, and the antique chandelier I had splurged on with my prize money from a four-day winning streak on “Jeopardy!” in the 1960s.
The first few weeks were lonely, and I missed my beloved home, my friends, and my things. But over time, I made new acquaintances as I began to participate in the busy life of the apartment complex.
As a retired librarian, I am helping in our shared library. The staff organizes trips to cultural events, and I am part of several discussion and literary groups. There is so much to do that it is hard to keep up.
I will never replace the home that was such an important part of my life, but I am happy here. And after all, I brought along the thing that was most important to me: my store of wonderful memories.
Andy Rosen is the Metro producer for BostonGlobe.com. He can be reached at andrew.rosen@globe.com. Follow him on Twitter at @andyrosen.