She’s a Brick House!

The first brick house I fell for once belonged to my great Aunt Amantha.  I never met her, but my mother talked about her all the time.  She dubbed it Amaranth, and poured her heart and soul into it.  It was built in 1823, and was a mere shell when she and her husband purchased it in the early 1960’s.  They didn’t have the funds to “fix” it properly, but did their best with sweat equity.  Amaranth was filled to the brim with antiques (we have photos).  Mom always dreamed of living there, and I suppose after driving by for many years, I, too, wanted a chance to make it my own.  The house is on eight acres of partially wooded land.  A small creek runs through it, and my Mom’s childhood dog is buried there.  It came on the market a few years ago.  We were working with a realtor to purchase it when the owner abruptly removed the listing (RUDE!).  My hopes were dashed, and I thought I would never love again (a brick house, that is).  A year later, I have my brick house … admittedly, it’s smaller, no land whatsoever (barely a backyard!), and definitely not filled with antiques.  But – it’s mine (not totally, technically, but I’m going with it)!

Amaranth

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