(Hunter)

December 5, 2008 marks the fourth anniversary of the Homesteader family's first visit to the property we would eventually buy and move to. We observe this day, which we've come to call "First View," as a family day of "little T" thanksgiving. It mirrors August 11, the anniversary of the day we moved to the property, a day for which we have yet to coin a name.

To honor First View, here is the story of our first visit to our new home:

We learned of the property through a newspaper ad clipping my brother saved for us. Our sister and I owned land in common in a different town, and planned to sell it to buy new property that better suited our needs. We had gathered to look at islands for sale in my brother's area.

I promptly lost the clipping. I wasn't concerned until much later, when the possibility of buying the island we chose disappeared, and we began looking for other properties. I recalled enough information to run an Internet search. What I found amazed by me. We've described the homestead elsewhere. The photos and descriptions I read seemed too good to be true! I emailed the link to my sister. She was less impressed—the property didn't suit her needs. My family couldn't stop thinking about it, though. Eventually we decided to take a trip to see it. We had to at least take a look at the place, even if it eventually led to dissolving our plan with my sister.

We contacted the Realtor and arranged a tour. We could make a day trip by arriving at the nearest town on an early ferry and leaving on the next one south about three hours later. By choosing a day when the tides allowed crossing the bay within that window, we could spend almost two hours at the property.

These conditions occurred on December 5th. We packed lunch and extra clothes in our knapsacks and dressed for cold weather, including rubber boots, which the Realtor stressed were absolutely necessary if we intended to hike to the property. As an added bonus, we would be taking one of Alaska's new fast ferries for the first time. We thoroughly enjoyed the short trip. Our Realtor met us at the terminal, and we drove out to the bay. The season's first snow had fallen the night before. It shone in the watery sunlight as we crossed the bay, sloshed through the creek and hiked into the woods. I took photos right and left with our camera—excitement made it hard to take everything in. Soon we passed along a steep trail, and buildings appeared in the forest below us. The trail dropped down close to sea level, and we arrived on the homestead.

I tried to view everything objectively, careful to gauge condition, quality, and potential. The buildings looked forlorn and neglected in the snow. We saw obvious potential problems everywhere. The family had moved away almost two years before, yet had left so much behind that it appeared they'd just stepped away for the day. I worked at finding fault, looking for reasons why we should not buy the property, even as my excitement grew.

Apprentice made no such effort. Her enthusiasm only increased as she surveyed the cozy little rooms, the two half-finished tree houses, the rope swing!—all with a grin that could glow in the dark. Gardener and the Realtor went to inspect the shed while Apprentice asked for help testing the swing. As we returned to the cabin, she asked, "So, can we make the dream a reality?" It broke my heart to express caution, but I told her a lot depended on how her mother felt. I reminded her that such a big decision should not be made quickly, and that many, many factors had to be carefully weighed.

Carpenter ants caused a lot of concern. Most of the peninsula's top soil is organic material, and ants thrive in it. The front of the cabin had, over time, become saturated by sea spray, leading to an ant infestation that destroyed the wall. It had been repaired with pressure treated lumber and plywood. Much of our conversation with the Realtor dealt with past and potential ant damage.

When we visited the boathouse/guest cabin we learned that the walls were paneled with wormwood, planks cut from driftwood bored by wood-boring teredo worms. I loved it, but when Apprentice saw it, she grew quiet. When we pulled down the fold-up stairs to view the half story above, I had to coax her to join me. She climbed halfway up and stopped, leaning away from the wall. Watching her, I suddenly realized what had scared her.

"You know that these holes are made by woodworms, right?" I asked, "Ants didn't make them!" She immediately relaxed, greatly relieved! She understood that carpenter ants were big, but never having seen one, her imagination and the evidence around her unsettled her. As an aside, when I told the original owner this story, he recalled giving a tour to a tax assessor, who, when he saw the paneling, asked, "Did you drill all these holes yourself?"

As we took stock of the homestead, the situation was taking stock of us. The Realtor told us honestly that we had passed the first crucial test by arriving dressed to view the property. She described turning away potential buyers who came expecting to see the land wearing dress shoes and pantsuits! The nearest neighbors came over to run the wind generator for awhile, and stopped to chat. Apparently, word got back to the owners of the impression we made. Eventually we understood that the owners and the Realtor were anxious to find the "right" buyers—people who would appreciate the homestead and its environment, and fit well in the neighborhood.

As I snapped photos around the boathouse, one of them caught Gardener, and I noticed the odd expression on her face. She frowned in a way that means she's lost interest in what's happening at the moment. As I watched her through the viewfinder, I told myself that it didn't matter: we'd had a great day trip on the ferry, and enjoyed a rare opportunity to tour a really great homestead. I saw no reason to be disappointed.

Before long we had to hustle back over the trail to catch our ferry home. We said our goodbyes and thank yous to our hostess and boarded the ferry. As soon as we found a quiet place to sit, and settled down for our trip, Gardener looked me and said, "Okay, how do we make this happen?"

As pleased as I was, my confusion didn't fade until I downloaded the photos of the visit onto our computer. When I saw the one I'd snapped of Gardener, I realized that she too had tried to remain objective. A subtle yet unmistakable twinkle in her eyes betrayed her excitement.

We did make it happen. By the second anniversary of this first view, we had moved to the homestead, where, with luck and effort, we'll be celebrating First View for many, many years to come.