Dear 33 Evanson Street

 What to say to the house that made our family a home?

I've been processing what to write to our old house. The new owners take possession on Wednesday and it hasn't really hit me that we won't be going back to what feels like home for the five of us.  

Dear 33 Evanson Street,

We have loved living with you for the last 16 years. We never considered we would live with you this long. We fell in love with you the moment we saw you. We dropped into Winnipeg for the Easter long weekend in 2007 with the hopes of buying a house and when we saw you we knew we found what we were looking for. The beautiful carved newel post in the front entry. The brick chimney in the middle of the sunny maple kitchen. The spiral staircase up to the loft was incredible (even with it's dangerous lack of railing) . We were so smitten. We were terrified we would lose the bid to the competing offer but so happy when we heard the news that we were successful. Despite our happiness in that moment I don't think we could have ever imagined the happiness you would bring us. 

The first few years it was just the two of us. We used the extra rooms for board games and overnight guests. My dad set up an unreasonable amount of shelving in the old basement. We had a housewarming party where Keith literally turned the heat off in November cause we warmed the house. We mowed the postage stamp of grass in the backyard and tried to get a handle on the beautiful shade garden in the front yard (a feat I never conquered). We had so many dinner parties and Guitar Hero nights and endless boardgames. We started our annual Thanksgiving tradition.  We hosted my grandparents and their last big trip was out to visit you.

Then we were lucky enough to start our family with you.  In the dead of January 2009 Cian came home and nestled into the bedroom upstairs. No longer the boardgame room with the faux brick wallpaper - it had transformed to the blue and green nursery with the "Around the World" quilt made by his Omi. He was the tiniest thing tucked under that blanket - all 6lbs 12 oz of him. His room was showered in monkeys and buckets of love. His Opa had made him a beautiful cherry cradle that rocked him on the uneven hardwood floors with the saying underneath "Dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing".  He rested his head on the cherry wood while his Opa ripped the kitchen apart in January and installed a dishwasher (the one we had for 13.5 years actually).  Mennonites are "acts of service" kind of love language people. The kitchen was the first of the "with a kid comes a renovation" projects you endured.

Our first stumbling steps of parenthood you were with us. We spent hours in the living room feeding Cian (he was not the best at that) and binge-watching Veronica Mars.  Countless hours rocking in the rocking chair in front of the inset bookshelf looking at my classic favourites and books I may read one day. We loved the pure joy of bath time in that old clawfoot tub. 

A few years later Emily was on her way and like the women in her family before her she was bringing drama. We knew with two kids the two useable kid floors were going to get really tight. We were desperate to figure out a way to stay with you and it made sense to go down. Two kids were going to need a place to play and without a railing to the loft the basement seemed the best solution. Trouble was that no one was interested in this project. I found the one concrete company willing to take on the unknowns of a 100 year old basement.  We dug down the foundation to make sure our tall loved ones didn't smack their heads chasing the littles who built their play space in your cocoon and replaced all of your most important insides. You were the welcome distraction for my dad during one of the hardest parts of his life as he pounded nail after nail, 300 screws in the stairwell so it didn't squeak, buckets of drywall mud and an ambitious overnight project of building an entire oak railing. Emily's impending arrival meant new laminate floors on the main floor and staining every piece of oak in the living room by hand - three generations at work. 

We celebrated your 100th birthday when Emily was born - the 0/100 party.  It was a good one. You looked great for 100. And you had a new buddy who ran the show. She walked before 10 months all over the white tile kitchen floors even when her brother tried to throw trucks at her feet and she extinguished her first birthday candle with her fingers in the darkness of the dining room to the harmonies of "Happy birthday" that can only be achieved in an Irish/Mennonite family.

There was a year I spent studying for my royal college exam in the loft. What a beautiful space to spend such an incredibly difficult time. Lifted into the treetops those sunbeams and moonbeams through the skylights carried me through the tears of frustration, unyielding stress and hours of studying. 

When we got the fellowship spot in Australia we never considered selling. You were our house and we figured someone could enjoy you for the year we were away. We tucked all of our belongings into all of your extra spaces: in the attic, under the front porch, in the crawlspace and the college students took good care of you while we had our Australian adventure. That's until there was a leak in the bathroom and we decided on the big renovation. 

When we returned and I was a grown-up doctor we figured we could do a real face-lift and stay with you as a family of 4. That was the big upstairs bathroom renovation, the big kitchen redo and the addition of the mudroom, powder room and garage. We decked out the front and back too (literally!) just for good measure. You looked amazing. I think even in our new space I will dream of kitchens with brick backsplashes and cork floors. I planned that whole kitchen around the backyard sunbeam and it never disappoints - it kisses your face at the perfect time for a weekend cup of coffee.

We knew it was coming. It's like when your favourite sweater doesn't fit quite right anymore and you tug on the cuffs wishing against the inevitable. The kids were getting bigger and it was hard to find enough space. The corners we used to tuck friends and family for overnight visits didn't have as much space. We would occasionally look at other houses and feel like we were cheating on you. Nothing could feel as good as the house we loved so much. We stayed and poured more love inside your walls. There isn't a wall we haven't painted or a baseboard we haven't stained. We hosted big outdoor thanksgiving dinners and Halloween trick or treating on the front porch. We chased rainbows in the living room from the stained glass prisms. We filled the house with song top to bottom from the piano in the heart of our home and the kids would open their doors and flip around on their beds so they could hear the music. We got on with the business of living our life and loving our family.

But then came Sam. 

You always have room for one more and our little family was no exception. Sam entered the world as the little Morris Manta Ray with his older siblings SO excited for his arrival they could barely stand it. He was dragged in his little vibrating chair or in the cradle all over the house by them - there was no corner that could escape him. We were so grateful to have all 3 of our babies come home safely to your embrace.  So many people were worried Sam would feel left out because he was younger but he always believed that the world didn't begin until he descended that old wooden staircase, rounded the newel post and yelled "surprise!". 

In the pandemic we were so grateful to be in a place where we felt so safe. When everything felt like chaos you were the steadfast anchor in our lives - we had no doubts we could retreat into your walls since we had been doing it for years. And just like the best relationships we found new ways to love you. We organized how I would quarantine in the basement and slide food across the shelf at the top of the stairs to avoid infecting my family with this unknown virus. We orchestrated elaborate routines at the beginning to minimize infection coming into our safe haven. Our kids learned how to do school from their rooms, they learned how to be responsible for their brother and bake pies and cook Sunday dinners. Keith and I started Saturday night date nights in the loft and rediscovered a new way to love that space - I'm so grateful for those evenings together where our kids would pop their heads up through the floor to say good night.  

In the midst of loving you in the pandemic Keith found the rumblings of a new dream.  We had looked at houses on the river before but hadn't found anything that seemed to fit and here was an opportunity to make something ourselves. It wouldn't be perfect for us but we could maybe make the space we needed and grow to love it as much as we love you.  We thought about this so much because why leave where we love? But deep down we knew that as these babies you cradled got bigger we would need more space. If we really honestly looked at it we knew. We were staring the heartbreak of a break up in the face knowing it was inevitable and being given the gift of something that could be a new start. We were like kids leaving the nest but knowing that the nest wouldn't be ours to return to. We took the leap. But not without hyperventilating (and from Keith not from me let it be known). Transitions are hard and though our heads were ready our hearts were not. 

Designing this new house I found an ad that said "The house was designed to hug you" and that is what you did to everyone who entered your"womb-like living room" as Katie would say.  You aren't just loved by us - you are loved by our friends and family. So much of what we love about you we incorporated into this new family home. We are beyond grateful to have loved and cried and laughed and lived with you over these 16 years as a family. We hope that the new owners who are lucky enough to share part of their lives with you understand the tremendous gift you are and that you are loved by them for many years to come.  You were our "heart's longing" and you will be loved by our family forever. 

"That house was a perfect house, 

whether you like food or sleep,

or storytelling or. 

singing, 

or just sitting and 

thinking best, 

or a pleasant mixture of them all.

Merely to be there was a cure for weariness."

 - JRR Tolkien