Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Monday, June 11, 2007
It's official..
and it's ours.
Barring a survey that reveals it to be much larger than what we've been told, or that the soil is toxic.
Barring a survey that reveals it to be much larger than what we've been told, or that the soil is toxic.
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Property Search, week 4
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| From property20070425 |
(As always, click on the photo to see the whole series)
Today we went back to the last lot we talked about, to meet with the owner, Veazy, and verify the borders and get more details. The borders on the property are the road to the east, a barbed wire fence to the south, and the middle of the creek on the western and northern edges. We also mapped out what we could on the GPS. We still haven't gone into the northeastern section and the property already seems huge.
Basically, we are guilty of that first rule of real estate: never fall in love with a potential purchase.
Things are getting closer. Cross your fingers for us.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
Property Search, week 3
 |
| From property20070415 |
Oh my.
That WAS all I was going to say, but really, I should say more.
We visited a lot today that I really didn't have any expectations about. We were actually supposed to go look at another 300+ acres just a few hundred yards from here, that the owner was willing to divide, but first we visited the initial lot we had heard about. It was 47 acres of land that was really very affordable (because otherwise 47 acres would be out of our price range). The reason? A planned power line bisecting the lot diagonally. But after some discussion we agreed that, with 47 acres total to deal with, the planned lines and their easement would still leave tons of land available, without even needing to worry about giving birth to flipper babies.
Even so, from the photos we had it was easy to tell the land was sort of barren, not many trees. Loggers had cleared most of it back in 2000. I think Sarah was more excited than I was about this lot before we saw it, just because there was so much land so cheap. Also, a lack of trees is actually better for her plans, since it means, rather than needing to clear off a bunch of space, all we have to do is plant where we want. I wasn't terribly excited at the prospect, though, because I was hoping for at least some of it to be woodlands.
Well, forget all that. The property had more than one "oh my GOD" moment, things we weren't expecting or were so much more than we had expected. I don't think we had any conception of what 47 acres would look like. It's huge. We're still sort of curious about the western border of the property... by all the maps we have it appears to be the creek that runs along the western side, but we came across a marked line stretching across the property before we hit the stream. But the area around the line had been cleared (about a two foot wide line) and we haven't come across anything like that before. So we're beginning to think the line may be for the proposed power line.
And as far as the lack of trees goes, I was taught a valuable lesson when we got home, where the strong winds had knocked a huge tree into the house next door.
So, at any rate, we've got an appointment for a proper viewing next Wednesday. If that confirms what we believe, and assuming we can arrange the finances in time to nab it, this may be it.
EDIT: Sarah just got off the phone with someone in the Georgia Transmission office about the power lines. They will, unfortunately, be the giant metal 500-kilovolt lines. We were, however, right about those markers marking the location. So now we REALLY have to debate.
Monday, April 2, 2007
The Verdict, week 2
Well, the last lot was a big disappointment, though I really do think we dodged a bullet in having it happen. We were so excited about the lake we really weren't thinking about how tough the land might be to work with. We were already vaguely talking about creative financing, because we were quickly heading toward buying it as fast as we could. So, I think we're very lucky in the long run to have had that little run-in.
The first lot, though, which I'll call "33-D2," was a surprise from the outset and in posting the photos today it's really grown on me. So far I think it's the only lot on our list. But then again, we've only been at this for two weeks and there's a long way to go.
Even the process is a blast
The first lot, though, which I'll call "33-D2," was a surprise from the outset and in posting the photos today it's really grown on me. So far I think it's the only lot on our list. But then again, we've only been at this for two weeks and there's a long way to go.
Even the process is a blast
Population: ME. Saaaaaa-lute!
I know I have mentioned my "Master Plan" online before. I have consciously not spelled it out in all its peculiar glory for several reasons, not the least of which I find it difficult to express it one on one to people let alone to a whole audience of folks the strange import of it all. I admit to frequently using a huge amount of information to shield myself online and it strikes me that my plan is so utterly personal to me that often after telling people about it I feel distinctly as if I have taken all my clothes off.
What I CAN tell you for the upcoming narrative, however, is that in order for me to bring my spectacularly frivolous ideas to fruition I need about 40 acres of land in rural Georgia zoned either "agricultural" or "we don't care a crap what you do with it."
So to this end I have worked a job I dislike for nearly a decade and socked away 25 percent of my anguished pay towards its conception. Well, the day has finally arrived that I can finally go searching for my piece of rural pie (*disclaimer: I did not intend that to sound as much like Appalachian porn as it did). I remember when I worked for Zaq way out in the middle of nowhere he used to tell me that it didn’t matter to country folks how weird you were, as long as you were polite and honest about your weirdness and didn’t bother anybody else whilst you went about it.
I remain hopeful that is true.
Too early in the morning last Saturday we packed a lunch and giant maps and headed off down I-20 towards several tracts of property that a realtor had sent us to. The first set was nice, although only one 30 acre section was usable for what we needed it for. It had a long straight swath cut through the forest that someone had seeded with grass that was about knee high. It led to an unassuming little creek that gurgled like a newborn and I loved it. There was a clearing with about three trailers from the seventies rusting away around a covered area with bbq grills, smokers and a generic bunch of garbage. We assumed that this was a run of the mill hunting area where manly men got together and shot things and then ate the shot things and then drank a whole lot of beer not necessarily in that order. Then we noticed one of the trailers had giant daisies painted on it with the words "LOVE SHACK" scrawled boldly underneath. We left a little unsure of our previous notions.
The second set of property was about an hour from the first via country roads and little towns with populations in the triple digits. The first few tracts we looked at had too much wetland to build although I thought they were lovely. The last section was exquisite. We walked down dirt road that connected two large chunks of property and ended perfectly at the narrow end of a very large lake. The smaller property that we were looking at butted up against the shore line and Paul and I looked at each other like we had stumbled across the Lost Dutchman's gold. We moved excitedly from one orange property marker to the next discussing creative financing techniques and snapping photos. Paul gazed out over the lake, "This is too good to be true."
We went back to the truck and tried to figure out approximately where the last corner of the property lay facing the road. I noticed the same truck passed us twice and then pulled up beside us. This is where the novel takes an unexpected turn from "Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm" to "Deliverance."
Two men roll down the window and ask us very sternly what we are doing there. We explain that we are looking at the property that is for sale and they ask us the names of the "people who said it was okay to come down here." I rattled off the names of both the realtors, they said they had never heard of them and one of them got out of the truck and approached our window. Now I have lived in scary urban areas before and due to some events that have taken place in my life I can smell a situation with a person about to turn bad like milk about to turn sour. The man wanted to see the maps we were looking at and he stared at them expressionless with tight lips. I noticed he and the man in the truck with the very large gun behind his head were both wearing camo from head to toe. There was a homemade patch on his hat that said "Security Team." A bitter taste crept up onto my tongue when the adrenaline hit. "Which one of these were you on?" asked the man angrily standing a little too close; Paul pointed out the lot - "The one that backs up to the lake."
"That don't back up to the lake!" snapped the man in the truck, the man standing near us appeared to get agitated and claimed ownership of the lake and the property we were currently on. He then said that this was hunting property and that all the lots we were looking at had been sold and we didn’t need to stay. They did not outright threaten us but they made it clear that we needed to go. They waited until we left.
The realtor was furious when I told him what had happened. He said the owner was one of those people who had held so many acres of land and had little to no idea what was happening on most of them. He asked me not to write off the property altogether. I told him that I appreciated his optimism but that having that piece of property was not worth whatever sort of vengeance would be issued from those two men for ruining their hunting property.
The world is a big place and I know my spot is out there somewhere - I just have to find it.
What I CAN tell you for the upcoming narrative, however, is that in order for me to bring my spectacularly frivolous ideas to fruition I need about 40 acres of land in rural Georgia zoned either "agricultural" or "we don't care a crap what you do with it."
So to this end I have worked a job I dislike for nearly a decade and socked away 25 percent of my anguished pay towards its conception. Well, the day has finally arrived that I can finally go searching for my piece of rural pie (*disclaimer: I did not intend that to sound as much like Appalachian porn as it did). I remember when I worked for Zaq way out in the middle of nowhere he used to tell me that it didn’t matter to country folks how weird you were, as long as you were polite and honest about your weirdness and didn’t bother anybody else whilst you went about it.
I remain hopeful that is true.
Too early in the morning last Saturday we packed a lunch and giant maps and headed off down I-20 towards several tracts of property that a realtor had sent us to. The first set was nice, although only one 30 acre section was usable for what we needed it for. It had a long straight swath cut through the forest that someone had seeded with grass that was about knee high. It led to an unassuming little creek that gurgled like a newborn and I loved it. There was a clearing with about three trailers from the seventies rusting away around a covered area with bbq grills, smokers and a generic bunch of garbage. We assumed that this was a run of the mill hunting area where manly men got together and shot things and then ate the shot things and then drank a whole lot of beer not necessarily in that order. Then we noticed one of the trailers had giant daisies painted on it with the words "LOVE SHACK" scrawled boldly underneath. We left a little unsure of our previous notions.
The second set of property was about an hour from the first via country roads and little towns with populations in the triple digits. The first few tracts we looked at had too much wetland to build although I thought they were lovely. The last section was exquisite. We walked down dirt road that connected two large chunks of property and ended perfectly at the narrow end of a very large lake. The smaller property that we were looking at butted up against the shore line and Paul and I looked at each other like we had stumbled across the Lost Dutchman's gold. We moved excitedly from one orange property marker to the next discussing creative financing techniques and snapping photos. Paul gazed out over the lake, "This is too good to be true."
We went back to the truck and tried to figure out approximately where the last corner of the property lay facing the road. I noticed the same truck passed us twice and then pulled up beside us. This is where the novel takes an unexpected turn from "Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm" to "Deliverance."
Two men roll down the window and ask us very sternly what we are doing there. We explain that we are looking at the property that is for sale and they ask us the names of the "people who said it was okay to come down here." I rattled off the names of both the realtors, they said they had never heard of them and one of them got out of the truck and approached our window. Now I have lived in scary urban areas before and due to some events that have taken place in my life I can smell a situation with a person about to turn bad like milk about to turn sour. The man wanted to see the maps we were looking at and he stared at them expressionless with tight lips. I noticed he and the man in the truck with the very large gun behind his head were both wearing camo from head to toe. There was a homemade patch on his hat that said "Security Team." A bitter taste crept up onto my tongue when the adrenaline hit. "Which one of these were you on?" asked the man angrily standing a little too close; Paul pointed out the lot - "The one that backs up to the lake."
"That don't back up to the lake!" snapped the man in the truck, the man standing near us appeared to get agitated and claimed ownership of the lake and the property we were currently on. He then said that this was hunting property and that all the lots we were looking at had been sold and we didn’t need to stay. They did not outright threaten us but they made it clear that we needed to go. They waited until we left.
The realtor was furious when I told him what had happened. He said the owner was one of those people who had held so many acres of land and had little to no idea what was happening on most of them. He asked me not to write off the property altogether. I told him that I appreciated his optimism but that having that piece of property was not worth whatever sort of vengeance would be issued from those two men for ruining their hunting property.
The world is a big place and I know my spot is out there somewhere - I just have to find it.
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