Hunt Country Colonial was the bold-faced lead in to the ad that caught my eye in the Pennysaver.  I was checking listings for some place closer to us for my husband's aged aunt and uncle who lived way out on Long Island, one hundred and fifty miles away and it was just too far.  It was becoming evident they needed regular looking in on now.

Clara and Jimmy never had children and ours became the apples of their eyes.  They were always there for them - the great aunt and uncle who replaced the grandparents who had been called away too soon.  I was supposed to be looking for an apartment for them but oh, that listing was seductive.

Across the dinner table I recounted the features of the ad: "6ac; 5 bdrms; 2 fplcs; scrnd pch; 4-stall barn."

"What can it hurt?", he said, "Go look at it."

There had been no thought of moving and the house, mind you, was 60 miles and two counties north of where we had been living happily for twenty years but indeed, what could it hurt?  I needed a break from an intense project and it would be a pleasant afternoon's adventure.

It was 1987 and the real estate market was flying high.  A call placed to the listing broker brought no response.  The second call went unanswered, as well.  Finally, when a third call growled, "Look, I really want to see this house and somebody better damned well call me back.", a salesperson did.  The appointment was made and off I went.

We met on a main road in a restaurant parking lot and I followed her several winding miles climbing up all the time.  She pulled into the driveway and I was right behind her.  When I stepped out of the car something strange happened.  It was as if electricity came from the earth through the soles of my feet.  I tingled all over and a voice from somewhere said "You are home." (Sounds like a trite B movie except that's the way it was.)  The house and grounds needed work and you could see the stars through the barn roof but it had the potential to be everything we had ever wanted in a house.

At dinner that night, I described it all to him omitting my metaphysical experience.  I didn't want to exert any pressure or undue influence.

"Well, I guess we're moving."

"But you haven't even seen it."

"I don't have to.  You know what I like."

When I managed to convince him to see the house with me, he came and subsequently announced it was a total waste of his time because it was exactly as I had described and he hadn't needed to see it and we should put in an offer.

Put in an offer we did and after some drama and imaginary competition dreamed up by the broker, we raised it a bit more than intended and the owner said "yes". We then did something sane people should never do.  An intelligent, well-educated, savvy couple signed a contract to buy a house before they had even put their current house on the market.  Love makes you bypass reason and do crazy things.

But the Force was with us.  We advertised the house (in the same Pennysaver) and three weeks later it was sold at our asking price with no contingencies.  We found a lovely apartment in the village six miles from the new house for Clara and Jimmy and although moving two long-term households at once plus three horses, three dogs and four cats was a nightmare, we all survived.

For the rest of his life, not one day passed that we didn't say to each other across the table, "I love this house."

Over the years many people have asked in one way or another, "So what brought you to this neck of the woods?"

My answer is always the same - "Providence".