The Mystique About Historical Houses – Part I

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The 96-year-old cottage that I’d moved into in 2018 was a California bungalow in its most modest form. The architectural features were understated: low-pitched and single-pitched roofs, clapboard siding, French doors, a small porch and multi-paned casement windows. The open floor plan of angular shaped rooms created a sense of more space than its 700 square feet. The air conditioner was a boxed-in fan located in the ceiling that when turned on, would draw warm air from inside and blow it outside.

I’d come from a townhouse built in 1986 with over 1,400 square feet, a modern heating/cooling system, a large wrap around deck, custom cabinets, and granite counter tops. I missed its spacious size and modern luxuries, but the simple charm of my latest home captivated me. With old houses come questions: Who built it? Was it someone’s vacation home or a permanent residence? Did they work in town? How many people have lived here over the past 96 years? How many celebrations and heartaches did these walls witness? How many souls have left their mark?

I was enchanted with the notion that this little cottage is a connection to history. Its characteristics may not qualify for historic designation, but it’s a link to the past. The cottage was built when Laguna Beach became established as an artist colony because of its stunning seascapes and lush canyons, and during an era when folks sat on porches and entertained themselves by singing songs and telling stories. The cottage echoes a time when connections with nature and humanity were mainstream. The imprints of lifetimes spent here sparked my curiosity. I may never learn about the heartaches and celebrations that occurred within the cottage, but I could find out who’s lived here, and possibly who built it. I worked (still do) for a title insurance company and knew a guy who conducted title searches that go way back. I put in a request to my colleague, Chris, to search the title records as far back as possible, telling him the bungalow was built in 1922.

A couple days after talking with Chris, he emailed me a stack of old recorded deeds dated from 1914 to 1949. He also provided a copy of the recorded tract map entitled, Map of Laguna Cliffs Number 2, recorded December 1, 1911, which subdivided the neighborhood property into lots. The cottage was built on Lot 5 in Block 30 of what is now known as the “Tree Streets” neighborhood. That evening, I cozied up on the sofa and read all the old deeds, connecting the dots leading to the couple that built the cottage, and was fascinated at what I uncovered.

Stay tuned for Part II!

About the Bathtub

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The back-breaking move was over, and the next chapter had just begun. I’d been in my new digs, a 96-year-old cottage for about five minutes, contemplating the unpacking I’d be doing for the next several weeks, when hunger pangs distracted me. It was 9:00 p.m. and I hadn’t had dinner.  Thank goodness for the convenience of a grocery store located a couple blocks down the street.  I could literally run to the store, although at that moment, I only had enough energy to saunter. I grabbed a hearty turkey sandwich and a bottle of red wine. Upon returning to the cottage, I rummaged through a box of kitchenware for a plate and glasses, one for wine and one for water. After guzzling the water, devouring the sandwich and sipping some wine, the excitement of the big move gave way to exhaustion. I barely had energy to put sheets and a blanket on the bed.

I woke at sunrise the following morning feeling well rested, but my body was racked with aches and pains. After a strong cup of coffee, I headed to the bathtub to install a shower curtain rod and curtain in preparation of a much-needed hot shower. Before I turned on the water, I noticed mysterious black specks in the tub. I thought the specks were dirt and washed them down the drain. But the “dirt” returned the next day. Black specks were scattered on the tub floor, some stuck to the tile, and a few were scattered on the glass block wall adjoining the tub. Once again, I rinsed them down the drain.

Over the next few days, the black specs continued to appear in the tub. My friend Wendy came over to help me unpack on day four of living in the cottage. I showed her the black specks in the bathtub. Wendy examined the specks and after a few seconds announced: “One moved!” I put on my glasses for a closer look and saw that the round specks had tiny legs. I had bathtub bugs. My lease had a legally mandated disclosure about bed bugs, but said nothing about bathtub bugs.  This was a nuance of vintage cottage living that I hadn’t anticipated. A visit from Terminix rid the tub of the bugs, and to this day, they’ve never returned.

 

A New Chapter – The Cottage

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“Our house is a very, very, very fine house / With two cats in the yard”
Lyrics from “Our House” by Graham Nash

The dark hardwood floors could barely be seen under all the boxes, which besides cluttering the floor space, scaled the French doors that opened to the back of the cottage. I surveyed the dollhouse of a house I was moving into, all 700 square feet of it. Where was everything going to fit? I still had two last loads to fetch—my cats, Lexington and Bobcat. I hoped they would fit into this new world away from the comforts of the modern and spacious condominium we’d come from. How would they fare living in a space less than half its size?

By the time I returned with Lexington and Bobcat, the movers had unloaded everything from the moving trucks and were organizing the boxes into a tidy maze. Don, the owner of the moving company helped me unload my precious cargo from the car. He put the cat carriers in what little space was left in the living room. I graciously thanked him for his hard work and he was on his way.

After a grueling eleven hours of moving, the cats and I were in our new home, the Laguna Beach cottage that first appeared in my dreams, complete with a porch, a yard, a picket fence and peek-a-boo ocean view. I opened the doors of the carriers containing the cats. They both cautiously stepped onto the area rug that was in my former dining room, now in my new living room. Lexington casually sniffed boxes and investigated all four rooms—bedroom, kitchen, living/dining room and bathroom then reclined on the hardwood floor by the kitchen. He nonchalantly looked up at me with a look of contentment. Meanwhile, a leery Bobcat hid under the sofa. “Hey, Bobcat, come on, it’s okay,” I coaxed. He slowly crept out from under the slipcover and jumped up onto the piano in front of the windows to get a look outside. Satisfied with the sight of his new yard adorned with king palms and patches of grass, he settled in on the perch of his cat tree as I plopped myself down onto the sofa, exhausted.

It was hard letting go of my condominium. I had cherished so many memories and dreams of a lasting future in the home I’d finally bought. But surrendering to a realization that I initially fought with all my might turned out to be the best course of action. The tears I shed as I downsized and packed-up finally dried, and a quiet excitement stirred my soul as I reclined on the sofa, ready to begin a new chapter in a vintage cottage by the sea.

Doubting the Dream

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I parked in the Tree Streets neighborhood on Hawthorne Road then eagerly got out of my car, excited to see the cottage, yet guarded. Was I about to meet my future home or would I find that it had undesirable features not seen in the photos? I remained hopeful.

***

Lush foliage hid most of the diminutive cottage from the street view. While I waited for Cherie to arrive, I peered over the entry gate to a flagstone walkway lined with jade bushes and birds of paradise plants. The walkway curved around a king palm tree ending at the front door opposite a verdant shade tree. A small rabbit appeared on the walkway then hopped into the jade bush. Captivated, I opened the gate and entered the enchanted domain.

I approached the tiny gray house with teal trim to see an expansive yard to the right and a paver patio enclosed with lattice fencing to the left of the entry. A porch was off of what appeared to be the bedroom with steps leading to a patio shaded by a tree with sprawling branches blooming red flowers. Ficus trees lined the picket fence facing west. And just beyond the ficus trees, past the intersecting streets, over the old picket fence, I could see the ocean.

Cherie arrived shortly after my self-guided outdoor tour of the property. She lead me inside to an open living space that connected to a small kitchen with a heart-shaped sink, rundown counters and a 1940s Wedgwood oven. A broken ceiling fan hung adjacent the kitchen and bulky outdated canned track lighting lit up the living area. The bathroom was fairly roomy with a block glass wall next to the tub and the toilet in its own alcove with block glass accented walls.

The small bedroom had French doors opening to the porch and a tiny closet missing a dowel on which to hang clothes. The wall opposite the French doors had three flip-out windows that opened inward from the bottom up, but they were barricaded with shelving. Overall, the place need a good cleaning and some fixture replacements and minor repairs.

Yet, a desire to make it my own began to stir within me as I sized up the tiny cottage that needed some TLC and in which I could only fit a third of my furniture and clothes. The place was enchanting.

When I expressed interest, the rent went from doable to out-of-budget. The other hitch: the owners planned to tear down the cottage and rebuild, which was projected to happen in one to two years. Cheri negotiated a deal with the owners—keep the rent down, and I’d pay for repairs and replacement of appliances. That would work, but I didn’t want to uproot again so soon. Cherie encouraged me to focus on the present. Then I recalled hearing about how arduous and lengthy the city of Laguna Beach building approval process was. I took a leap of faith and signed the lease.

Let the packing begin.

 

 

The Dream Cottage

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I woke from a lucid dream in which I was standing at French doors inside a room in a house with dark hardwood floors. The multi-paned windows with white wood muntins gave the doors a look from the past. Sun shining through the windowed doors brightened the room. Through these doors, I was gazing at a yard with several trees, smiling at the tranquil scene. Now wide-awake, I thought, if only I could find a place like this.

***

Life’s plans don’t always play out the way we want them to. After living in apartments all my adult life until I reached midlife, I finally bought my first home—a spacious townhouse-style condominium. It was supposed to be my forever home; yet after eleven years, I was hit with unexpected financial hardship. Unable to refinance, I came to the hard conclusion that the only way to gain financial stability was to sell.

After putting my condo on the market, I put into motion finding another place to live. Real estate sales prices in Laguna Beach had become out of reach; yet I loved Laguna’s artsy vibe and small-town way of life, and I’d become rooted in the community. I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. After signing the listing agreement, my realtor, Cherie, offered to help me find a rental. She suggested I make list of must-haves for my next place.

My despair began to lift as I pondered the possibilities. I’d always had a passion for charming older homes.  I thought about the historic houses in neighborhoods surrounding downtown that oozed with charm. Maybe I could start over in a vintage cottage within walking distance of downtown! I went big with my list: A house or apartment built in the 1930s to 1950s; lots of windows; hardwood floors; a yard or patio; a porch is a plus; must allow cats; quiet neighborhood; rent within my budget; and within walking distance to downtown and the beach. Cherie smiled. She already had a few places in mind.

Cherie showed me a few apartments that were charming, but not right. I didn’t expect to attain everything on my wish list, but certain elements, such as my own outdoor space and location were critical. Then a house came on the rental market and the tenants were moving out the same time my escrow was closing. Cherie had been the rental agent for this property several years prior, and described it as perfect for me—a cottage in the historic “Tree Streets” neighborhood located a half-mile from downtown. Every street was named after trees. The neighborhood was quaint, but I was holding out for a place a little closer to downtown. I told her I’d pass.

I’d still not found a place and escrow was closing in three weeks. Cherie kept nudging me to look at the house in the Tree Streets neighborhood. She emailed me photos of its interior that she’d taken the last time it was on the market.

The image from my recent dream was captured in these photos of a tiny cottage built in 1922 with sun-lit rooms and dark hardwood floors, casement windows and French doors that opened to a porch. The porch stairs led to a paver patio and a yard adorned with several trees.

We scheduled a tour for the next day. I had to find out if dreams do come true…