The Old Homestead

Well, I guess the old adage is true; you can never go home again (or something like that). At least not to the house you lived in as a kid expecting it to be as good as you left it.

The White Rock house I grew up in is currently vacant, and is poised to be demolished. It sold again probably a year ago or so, and I was hoping against hope that the new owner would actually live in it. How quaint.

In this geographic location our housing market is still hot. It seems more common that an old house (in this case, built in 1957) will be bought for land value. You should see the new neighbouring monster house! In Vancouver you'd likely get 4 condo suites per floor, plus an underground parking garage in a building that size. Seriously, I’m sure there’s well over 4,000 square feet of living space per floor. Our old family home by comparison is about 900 sf per floor.

But back to the ol’ homestead. My Mom still keeps an eye on the old place from time to time, and about a week ago she told me there was a dumpster in the driveway. I happened to be in the ‘hood today so I stopped by. It’s funny what a magnet imminent destruction can be. Because once a house is gone, it’s gone for good.

I walked up the driveway, and sure enough the garage cladding has been stripped. It used to have hardboard panels, but over the decades they’ve been banned because they contain asbestos. Apparently they’re fine if you just leave them be; just don’t drill into them or take them down and handle them much. I would imagine a crew of hazmat guys removed them. I wonder if the current owner knows the whole house is clad with asbestos panels under it’s brilliantly bland grey vinyl siding.

I continued my site tour by walking along the front sidewalk to the front entrance door. It’s quite amazing how quickly a place can fall to ruin. I copied and saved the internet real estate listing photos last year, and the place actually looked quite presentable then. Now, not so much. What a dump!

To be honest, I walked through the yard about a month ago too. I thought that’d be my last chance to get a few photos before the wrecking ball fell. Today the house looked even a bit worse. I was standing at the font of the house and was about to leave when I noticed the front door was ajar. Evidence suggested it had recently been kicked in. Again I thought, “Once a house is gone, it’s gone for good.”


I went in, if for no other reason that I knew I’d forever kick myself for not seeing what my old room looks like now, 18 years later.

The only item I’d thought I might like to keep as a momento if given the chance, a decorative wrought iron emblem with a small hinged door that one would typically open to identify a visitor prior to opening the big door, had been smashed in, likely as a first B&E attempt prior to kicking in the door jamb.

Once in the house the first room you enter is the living room. Usually rooms tend to look much bigger when devoid of furniture, but this one looked smaller than I remember. The hardwood floors are still intact. I hope salvagers are employed to remove them. Old-style hardwood is still a classy find these days. I remember fondly logging (no pun intended) many miles with my Lego-built trucks along the "roads" formed by the black walnut (I think) perimeter accent wood strip of the hardwood creating the "guardrail" of the road.


On to the kitchen. To my surprise I discovered it has never been re-modeled over these last couple of decades. The ceramic tile floor is new, but that’s it. I remember I designed a new kitchen for my Mom when I still lived there and worked for a cabinetry supplier. It was mostly a design exercise for me, but it looked pretty cool on paper I must admit, especially the perspective views.

Down the hall are the 2 bedrooms. My immediate impression was that my old room reminded me of a circus tent. One wall is now blue, another pink, and another is a striped combination of the previous two. Ugh. And the view out the window into back yard is quite striking too, for all the wrong reasons. It used to have a lawn. Now it’s been completely overtaken by some sort of weedy vine, probably Morning Glory.

For some reason, all these years I thought interior renovations had been taking place. Apparently not. Aside from paint (and bad paint at that), nothing much has changed.

And as much emotional attachment as I once had for that house, I’m finding it surprisingly easy to let go and accept that it’ll all be loaded into a series of dump trucks pretty darn soon. But I do feel a twinge of guilt with that thought. It’s not like there weren’t any good times in that house. There certainly were. And yet quite simply, I’ve moved on. And rightly so; it would be weird and a bit sad if I persisted in yearning for the past. I’m happy with my position in life.

And just for anyone (i.e., Mom) that may have been thinking while reading this blog post that I was foolish to enter a vacant house, especially after having viewed previous signs of forced entry, I did have the briefest of thoughts of not doing so. However, I do believe there’s another old adage, something about curiosity...

However…I didn’t venture into the basement. The basement has always un-nerved me, even as an adult. Too few windows down there, and the few that are present are too small. Upstairs has an airy feel to it, with reasonably big rooms and no dark corners, but that basement has always creeped me out. I hated going down there at night (even as an adult). Therefore nothing was to be gained by going down there this day.

I’ve now exorcised my curiosity thoroughly. Last time I was at the house I’d been wishing to see the inside one last time. I even took some grainy photos through a dirty window. Now I’m OK with the re-development.

As long as it’s not a monster house.