Chapter 24: Cloudrest

One of the things about being born rich is that your analysis is different from other people's thinking. For example, I never considered the cost; I considered the value. Every buying decision was a "Should I?" question, not a "Can I?" question. That attitude took a hit when I considered buying the house. I was a millionaire. I had been since my trusts vested at age twenty-one. A mid six figure check would put a bruise on my balance sheet. Worse, the purchase would be only the first of the costs. Look up an old Tom Hanks movie, The Money Pit. Better yet, Cary Grant's Mr. Blandings Builds his Dream House.

I consciously put Dr. Richards in charge of the decision. Any way I looked at it, it was an outright gift, attached to a very reasonable land purchase. When you boiled out the excess, the offer was for a large, hand built house, almost a mansion, outbuildings and water rights. All of this was under $300,000. The land itself would be $4000 per acre. Some of the land was once harvested for timber and could be again. Centuries old maple trees grew wild. I had visions of Amish tenants growing apples and berries, with syrup in the winter.

What tipped my hand was the river frontage. The offer included a little over a 'cable' (220 meters, 720 feet) of almost unrestricted access to the Merrimack River. There had to be some use for that. The irony was that the land was once owned by the Gregg family. They held it during their lumber days, though the main house was older. Some parts, chimneys, foundation and front facade, were from native stone, likely quarried from the property.

The rest was hand cut and hand shaped wood. The more utilitarian rooms, such as the kitchen and storage, used wide board pine flooring, covered with slate. The entrance, great room, parlors and main staircase used hand cut maple. No one did that. Still, the detail was not isolated. Throughout the house, better than the usual quality of wood was used. Often, more than the usual quantity was used as well. I suspected one of the Greggs was involved early on, since that whole family went into wood and finished wood products.

Regardless, it was an empty shell. There was not even glass in the windows. Forget electricity. This house predated wood stoves. Wherever a shutter had fallen off a hinge, weather damage, sometimes severe, was the result. At some point, the whole house had been cleaned and swept. Not even the usual trash was around. I would have preferred the trash. Something interesting might have been tossed.

The worst thing was that you could not get to the house. The closest road was almost half a mile away. The hiking trail meandered for three times that far. One fair autumn weekend, I walked that trail. In the fading light, I took a ream of pictures. After dusk, I laser mapped all the rooms of the house and outbuilding (workshop? wood shed? cabin?). It had a large fireplace. I gathered fallen wood and built a fire. I was never in Scouts. This seemed an appropriate place for my first experience with s'mores. Lord Almighty they were good.

In the morning, the house was obscured by dense fog. Since it looked like a cloud was sitting on it, I christened the house 'Cloudrest' (I must have been in a strange mood). It was a turning point. From that day on, I identified with the house. It was rough, and uncultured, by even contemporary standards, but there was strength. The hill on which it stood was solid granite. The foundation was stone on stone. After three hundred years, the foundation would be the least of my worries.

Close to the house, the soil was so shallow trees would not grow. This eliminated one potential problem. Yet, there was water. A spring boiled from a fissure, barely a hundred feet from the house. There was a pair of spring houses downstream. Further down, there was evidence of former beaver dams. Nearby was a thicket of apple and cherry trees, likely a family orchard gone wild. Sugar maple was everywhere. It was early for the best fall color, but the leaves were already spectacular.