Nacogdoches is where I learned to appreciate old houses, really old houses from 19th century Victorian to Queen Anne: large covered porches furnished for sitting outside rain or shine, a foyer with a second entry door so the interior of the house stays warm during cold weather, squeaky wood floors and fireplaces with grand or rustic mantels, large rooms with tall ceilings, steep stairs and dark corners, cedar chests and antiques used by modern families in the 1980s. Fresh from a childhood within a suburban concrete jungle and urban sprawl, from the 1970s when as a know-nothing kid I assumed ‘new and improved’ and ‘bigger is better,’ I grew into a young adult who learned to respect old things like antiques and old houses. Always wanted a Tudor design with rounded doors or a cozy cottage—most significantly: built before World War II. The quality is visible with every detail such as molding and craftsmanship. All I knew before venturing into the Piney Woods was cramped cookie-cutter houses, laid out almost bureaucratically in dozens of rows as far as the eye could see. They were built practically overnight when the men came home from the war (and started making the Baby Boomers).
In 2003 I started looking for my first house, my own piece of Texas. It took a year, but I finally decided on a prairie-style brick home, pier-and-beam, with front porch pillars, built in 1946. Close enough. Wood floors throughout and the original windows, with ropes, that can hardly open without a few knocks on the frame. It was modernized with central heat and AC, utility ‘mud room,’ converted two-car garage to spacious carpeted bedroom with bath, and a new amp box with more than sufficient power as we use a lot more electricity than families in mid-20th century.
A very, very, very old house
When my husband and I first moved from apartment life into our first house, we stayed in the back bedroom, the one that had been the two-car garage in the ’50s. I think it was because the cable wasn’t connected in the living room for a couple of weeks. But the truth is we didn’t know how to spread out and LIVE in our very own house. Soon he started gardening, planting all sorts of flowers and vegetables and grape vines, and laying down grass to grow in the backyard. The front yard was already covered in clover with two huge oak trees! I love it.
The first thing I did once officially moved into the house, with a good-size wood-fenced backyard, was visit the animal shelter for a dog. I brought home the smallest they had, a 19-pound black and tan dachshund mix named Susie. She was one year old and big for a dachshund. I thought a dog and an alarm system would ensure security. Our former apartment was broken into a year prior, and all the important things were stolen.
When I move into a new place, I stay up late at night and play some of my favorite music while decorating my new home. Here I strategically placed above the fireplace a Picasso print, The Three Musicians. It goes well there, the Harlequin’s outfit in the painting matches perfectly the tile décor around the fireplace.
When my parents drove down for Thanksgiving in our new home in 2004, I rushed to Walmart to buy whatever curtains would go with the house, choosing an off-white plain curtain underneath a sheer tan material decorated with leaves and vines. An aunt who traveled with my parents complained my old house was too drafty. I gave her a blanket to wrap around her shoulders and tried to move her away from the window. I’ve learned to live quite comfortably in my old house. The AC and heating system work fine. Just wear more clothes in the winter and less in the summer.
That first year, whenever it rained, we had to place lots of big buckets and cook pots in the fireplace and other areas wherever a new roof leak occurred. Spent years getting roofers to patch the roof. Got the chimney sealed too to prevent water from pouring into the fireplace.
When our house turned 60 in 2006, we threw a big party. I played music from each decade: starting with the Big Bands then country swing, early rock n roll, Texas garage bands from the ’60s, then disco and the latest pop and country. A long-time elderly neighbor from across the street stopped by to see what was going on in our house. She was 90 and when she saw it was a party for the house, she returned with a big pot of home-made beans she’d been cooking all day. When she passed away a few years later, I picked up her American flag from the estate sale. We installed it on the front porch for patriotic celebrations even though it was tattered.
During those early years of home ownership, I shopped for items needed like floor lamps, shelves and a leather chair and sofa. I was keen on furniture that fit the age of the house. My parents, who also appreciate old houses, gave me a couple of antiques that fit this house perfectly: a cherry wood buffet and a blond wood vanity. Both feature a curved mirror.
I’ve hung pictures from our various world travels, presenting them in the dining area—which we never really used unless for company. A good twenty years of apartment life runs deep; we never did stop sitting in front of the living room TV while eating our food on separate standing trays.
Old house, take a look at my life
As homeowners we were responsible for all maintenance and repairs. That first night in our new house, we had to call an electrician because the power suddenly went out. He crawled underneath the house and fixed something that got disconnected. A couple years later, I had the house thoroughly inspected and was told it was in pretty good shape for a house built in 1946. The home inspector enjoyed going through this old house. He understood why it was built the way it was. The history of the house is a physician had it built and lived here for decades until death. Then his daughter kept the house for rental property. In the early 2000s, a renovator bought it then flipped it to us. I loved the textured olive walls of the living and dining areas.
One time the AC didn’t work. The repairman reported one of our dogs, Tommy, chewed through an important wire probably thinking it was a grass snake which he liked to catch in the backyard. Another time, a neighbor on a walk just happened to notice a constant water stream from the grassy median in front of our house. We called the city, thinking it was their problem to fix. We were wrong. The water bill was more than $1,000. We had to replace the front water line, with insurance paying a share, and I had to send the bill to the city to show we paid to repair/replace our water line before the bill would be reduced.
A few years later in the dead of winter, we had to replace the original sewer line. The clay pipe was stamped 1946. The front yard had to be dug out to install the modern pipe that supposedly will not crack or break from tree roots, the source of our problem. Well, what’cha gonna do? We’re not chopping down the oak trees. That would be a sin.
There was another winter we spent with racoons in the attic. We heard a racket every night at dusk, like a big party was going on right above our heads. I heard something above the bedroom ceiling and small footsteps walking across. We opened the attic, turned on the light, and were met with several pairs of eyes, two were babies. We couldn’t do anything about it. We called an animal removal business, and they came out and placed some humane cages with marshmallows because racoons love marshmallows. That night, we heard the family entering again and then the cage closed. We caught one. We called the service to remove it, but no one would venture out because it was February and all the roads were iced. It stayed that way for several days. Susie the dog went berserk, knowing a racoon was just a few feet above her in the living room. She took to climbing the walls with pained howling. We had to move a bookcase to keep her off the walls. We kept her out of the living room, too. Finally the captured racoon was removed, looking sad its party in our attic had come to an end. We were advised to keep the tree limbs trimmed and the house plugged up so that sort of thing won’t happen again.
A day before moving into this house, when I knew it belonged to me, I took some sage and set it afire till it smoked. Then I walked through every room and blessed it, all who enter and live here. Through the years with all the strange and unexpected things that have occurred in and around my house, I’ve slept well at night. My husband recuperated from cancer here as well as from other illnesses and surgeries. We both recuperated from Covid here. We’ve watched the children of our neighbors grow into adults. We bonded together during the pandemic and when our dogs grew to old age and needed a lot of assistance such as an IV drip for renal failure. One cold night close to Christmas, all us neighbors stood on my big front porch and somberly watched a house across the street burn while firefighters worked to put it out. Our fire station is only a minute or two away. Every year we were big supporters of Halloween and enjoyed handing out candy to all the little creatures who dared ring our doorbell. We were sad when another longtime neighbor, a recent widow and good friend, decided to sell her modest house across the street and move away from Dallas. Her home was worth an amount she never could have imagined when purchased three decades ago.
I have fought the tax appraisal board only once, and we agreed on a reduction. Property taxes remain a shocking surprise every year. I suppose the inspectors notice improvements like a new roof, storage shed, paint job, wood fence, AC unit, not to mention the new water and sewer lines buried beneath the yard and 21st century water heater. I don’t know what they base the appraisal and tax figure on, but I’ve been told it’s not about the house or its condition but more about the property lot, one with two huge oak trees. I figure after selling this old house—where I installed an original iron Texas heritage marker at the front door—it may be razed and a similar yet modern house built in its place. I understand. Everything changes, and we live through many evolutions. So many improvements and necessities as we proceed in this century, an old home may not suffice. Still, living in my old house (granted, easier in summer than winter) has enriched my life as I knew it would. It’s been an honor calling this place my home for the past twenty years.