This is lovely. We bought our house in Boulder from a quirky 82-year-old as well. He and his wife were British expats. George was a retired geology professor, although when he described his life and travels, we began to wonder if was actually a British spy. He'd built the house 30 years earlier with materials that "will last 200 years." It included a bomb shelter built into the granite that "will withstand a 2-ton nuclear bomb dropped on Denver."
From his time in India, he imported a half dozen antique wooden doors, including the intricately carved entrance doors to a 400-year-old fortress he designed the entire house around. The doors alone were worth as much as the rest of the house, at least according to what he'd paid for them. The house was on the market for nearly two years because he was asking so much for it, and right when a real estate agent convinced him to drop the price to something closer to market value in 2015, we came along.
When our agent brought us to look at the house, George kept us there for more than three hours. He described everything about it. He took us on a walk around the property, describing his favorite spots, his favorite trees, his favorite rocks. He was loathe to leave, but his wife Claire had developed breast cancer and they were moving to Houston to be closer to their adult son and her care. We put in an offer and he accepted it immediately, telling us that "you're the right folks to take care of the house."
We received postcards from their travels for several years afterward, but haven't heard anything since 2020. I should look them up, see how they're doing, but I fear an end to the story similar to yours may be what I find.
So good. This may have been discussed before, but I'm patiently waiting for your book or a screenplay or something, something long form that might take days to read. That would be excellent. Maybe you'll surprise us readers? Until then we've got the stack. Be well and happy new year!
This is such a special tribute, especially having read memorials in the local paper to Dick.
Your description of how you care for the plants reminds me of how my husband cares for and chronically tinkers with our irrigation system, or how I shovel manure and groom the horses. Some things shouldn't be outsourced to caretakers, and if they are, it means you're not fully living in that place.
RIP Dick and thank you for letting Kelton and Ben be the stewards they are. You have left a legacy. Great tribute, Kelton, to the place you now call home and how much your hearts are in it.
RIP handsome Dick. I can’t wait to be inconvenienced by a slow cabin life one day and send someone mint in an envelope. That’s everything I’ll really need in life. Also “deep with beans” really got me 😂
There’s something sacred in the way you write about care — not as a burden but as a kind of vow. A promise made in slow motion. Reading this felt like sitting beside a wood stove, listening to someone speak not just about a home, but with it.
The bit about being a custodian — not an owner — really stayed with me. That’s what so many people miss in a world addicted to convenience and "curated" everything. The ache, the creak, the splinters — those are the love notes. And your line, “the doing is the good part,” might be the mantra I didn’t know I needed.
Thank you for reminding us that a good life isn’t always an easy one. But it's often the one worth keeping.
Sometimes I read good writing that i know in my bones i will be coming back to again and again. This writing moves me in every way. I feel it deep in my soul.
I love the way your used your house to bring Dick to life. Your piece was like a eulogy to a great man (obviously with quirks). I also love how you are paying homage to him. The two photos were great - showing the wild young man and the aging adult who was leaving. You two are keeping his dream alive and living a full life! I enjoy reading about the inconveniences of where you live - I have similar - just not quite as far from town (30 minutes). What a great place to raise your feral child!
This is lovely. We bought our house in Boulder from a quirky 82-year-old as well. He and his wife were British expats. George was a retired geology professor, although when he described his life and travels, we began to wonder if was actually a British spy. He'd built the house 30 years earlier with materials that "will last 200 years." It included a bomb shelter built into the granite that "will withstand a 2-ton nuclear bomb dropped on Denver."
From his time in India, he imported a half dozen antique wooden doors, including the intricately carved entrance doors to a 400-year-old fortress he designed the entire house around. The doors alone were worth as much as the rest of the house, at least according to what he'd paid for them. The house was on the market for nearly two years because he was asking so much for it, and right when a real estate agent convinced him to drop the price to something closer to market value in 2015, we came along.
When our agent brought us to look at the house, George kept us there for more than three hours. He described everything about it. He took us on a walk around the property, describing his favorite spots, his favorite trees, his favorite rocks. He was loathe to leave, but his wife Claire had developed breast cancer and they were moving to Houston to be closer to their adult son and her care. We put in an offer and he accepted it immediately, telling us that "you're the right folks to take care of the house."
We received postcards from their travels for several years afterward, but haven't heard anything since 2020. I should look them up, see how they're doing, but I fear an end to the story similar to yours may be what I find.
Your writing takes care of my soul every week- like the plants.
Appreciate you being here 💛
A beautiful ode to a house that has become a home. Amazing how you can write a moving soliloquy every week!
Thanks, Dad :)
So good. This may have been discussed before, but I'm patiently waiting for your book or a screenplay or something, something long form that might take days to read. That would be excellent. Maybe you'll surprise us readers? Until then we've got the stack. Be well and happy new year!
Working very hard on this!
This is such a special tribute, especially having read memorials in the local paper to Dick.
Your description of how you care for the plants reminds me of how my husband cares for and chronically tinkers with our irrigation system, or how I shovel manure and groom the horses. Some things shouldn't be outsourced to caretakers, and if they are, it means you're not fully living in that place.
Exactly!
RIP Dick and thank you for letting Kelton and Ben be the stewards they are. You have left a legacy. Great tribute, Kelton, to the place you now call home and how much your hearts are in it.
I love this, Kelton. The care you take with everything — including and especially your writing! — is so evident.
Thanks Katie <3
Gorgeous, Kelton!
RIP handsome Dick. I can’t wait to be inconvenienced by a slow cabin life one day and send someone mint in an envelope. That’s everything I’ll really need in life. Also “deep with beans” really got me 😂
🫘💞
Love this so much!!! 😀
There’s something sacred in the way you write about care — not as a burden but as a kind of vow. A promise made in slow motion. Reading this felt like sitting beside a wood stove, listening to someone speak not just about a home, but with it.
The bit about being a custodian — not an owner — really stayed with me. That’s what so many people miss in a world addicted to convenience and "curated" everything. The ache, the creak, the splinters — those are the love notes. And your line, “the doing is the good part,” might be the mantra I didn’t know I needed.
Thank you for reminding us that a good life isn’t always an easy one. But it's often the one worth keeping.
Such a nice comment. Thank you very much.
Sometimes I read good writing that i know in my bones i will be coming back to again and again. This writing moves me in every way. I feel it deep in my soul.
Thank you for saying that 🙏🏼
Oh man, what a tribute! This is love.
I love the way your used your house to bring Dick to life. Your piece was like a eulogy to a great man (obviously with quirks). I also love how you are paying homage to him. The two photos were great - showing the wild young man and the aging adult who was leaving. You two are keeping his dream alive and living a full life! I enjoy reading about the inconveniences of where you live - I have similar - just not quite as far from town (30 minutes). What a great place to raise your feral child!
Here's hoping he likes it as much as we do!
This is so beautiful. Thank you
Rest in peace, Dick. What a wonderful tribute in more ways than one!