Day One, Saturday: Do I even want to be here?

The back yard that would hold parties (my parents would throw "Build Your Own Sundaes on Saturday" parties for friends and family) is now unrecognizable. The sense of loss I felt when I saw the property was staggering.

When my husband relayed to me what my father had said about the state of the property I admit that I wrote the idea off as impossible and scanned Craigslist multiple times a day looking for a small place with a landlord that might be willing to go by references instead of credit. My husband's response to my doubts was to tell me that our schedule for the weekend was to spend it at the 58th Street property. Despite all of my misgivings there were two factors on my husband's side: 1.) I trusted him completely and if he felt something was worth doing I would gladly throw everything I had into the project and 2.) I have for years missed East Sacramento. Talk to some of the people living on 58th street and they will tell you, there is something about the area that has a kind of magic. It isn't fancy, the houses aren't McMansions, but there is an energy there that once it welcomes you, you just can't forget it. It always seems to call me back, a sirens song that I can ignore for only so long.

With our last $100 bucks and our first credit card we had just got in the mail (complete with a very modest limit and outrageous interest rates) in our pockets we packed up the kids and as many tools as we could shove in to our stripped down mini-van and drove down to East Sac. It was all so hurried and last minute. We had no idea what we were going to do with the kids or how we were going to tackle the property itself. Luckily, not many folks move away from a place like 58th Street and so many of my neighbors were still there. We knocked on a neighbor's door, the same one who mowed  and watered the front lawn for my parents, and asked if we could drop the kids off there. For $20 we got a full day's worth of babysitting for three kids! With the kids settled with toys and snacks and friends my husband and I went to face what may well be our greatest challenge.

Driving up to the property I felt a powerful wave of fear that was so unexpected it took my breath away. In reality the front didn't look that bad, a bit unkempt but not bad and nothing that should have triggered that strong of a response. I wanted to leave and forget the whole thing but one of the things that I have learned in the past few years is to make decisions based on love, not fear. It was fear that was telling me to run but it was my love for my husband, my trust for him that first made me stay. After getting out of the car I was struck by how wild the energy of the place felt and I realised that this property needed my love too. Through the caring of this property I knew I would be caring for my parents, relieving from them a burden they could not carry. My love for the wonderful people on 58th Street who deserved to live by a house that was well-cared for and in good repair. It was love for my children and the wonderful life they could have in the magical garden where I grew up that finally cemented my resolve to build a life for them, a home where they could stay and feel safe and happy. As the weekend wore on I would feel the fear and hopelessness of our situation again and again but I reminded myself that this was a decision based on love and it was worth the risk.

However, I had limits to what I could handle physically and emotionally and so restricted myself to caring for the front of the property while I allowed the continuing inner debate to run it's course in my mind. My battle of doubts raged; was it even possible to salvage a neglected property with no funds and ridiculously little credit? Would the water damage from the flooding have harmed the integrity of the structure? What about mold? Would the 30 year old roof hang on long enough for us to figure out how to finance it's repair or even (heaven help us!) if we could re-do it ourselves? And on and on. Of one thing I was certain, if it wasn't safe, my children would not set foot in it. Would all this planning and soul-searching and hard work be just in vain if the house was too old and too neglected to be saved? Like my father, I threw myself into working with the grass and the dirt and the trees and allowed the hard work and the sounds of the neighborhood to lull me into a quieter mental state. Today I would let the question of the house go and spent the many hours between my work and the visits of neighbors.

Stella was already in her 80's when we moved in
but she was a friend to me for many years.

It was the visits from neighbors that brought a smile to my face as I worked. When someone you haven't seen in years comes rushing up with joy shining bright on their face and say, "Are you coming back?" it does something funny to your insides. It wells up in your throat and presses on your cheeks until your mouth splits open in a toothy grin and you find yourself speaking excitedly of your hopes to return. You get all the news of the neighborhood in rushes. Who has died, who has married, who has moved in and who is still there. It repeated many times that day as I worked and I almost felt like crying. I always had good relations with neighbors wherever I lived but nothing could compare to the warm arms of the old neighborhood welcoming me and my family back.

By the end of the day I was tired, hungry and aching terribly and yet I was more joyful and sure of my path than I had been in a long time.

Neighbor brings a pile of snow down from the mountains for the neighborhood kids to play in. (late 1990's)

Tomorrow: Day Two, Sunday: How can we even do this? (with lots more pictures)

LEARN MORE ABOUT WHAT WE ARE DOING AND SEE MORE PICTURES OF THE PROJECT AT OUR WEBSITE: WWW.GROVETRIBE.COM