Way back in the day, the Englishman and I purchased a vacation home on an island, overlooking the ocean. It was an exciting, as well as daunting, purchase at a very busy time in our lives. Daughter #1 was then three and #2 was about six months. My father had only recently passed away and I was still trying to come to terms with that. Purchasing the house was a good distraction and something to look forward to. And while there was much to be excited about, there were some aspects that would prove quite trying at times.
Like having renters.
While in high school and college, I had a few experiences of being with families or friends who were renting houses at the beach. My recollection was that keeping the place clean damage free was of paramount importance to everyone. After all, you were "borrowing" someone else's home so to speak, and well, it is just what one does. That, and the cleaning fee that would be charged when you handed the keys in if there was anything out of line.
So I was unprepared for what turned out to be our experience as "landlords".
We closed on the house in late April, which meant I only had a few short weeks in which to ready the house for renters in June. This included not only buying the furniture and beds, but also all the necessities for the kitchen, right down to the wooden spoons. During one of my many shopping excursions for the house I must have been quite a sight while in a large department store, holding an infant in my arms, admonishing my toddler to hold tight to the handle of the carriage and loading up said carriage with pillows, blankets, pots and pans. (and no, no one offered to help me.) I began to feel like I was commuting to the beach during those weeks but was very proud of myself for pulling it off and making the deadline. The house looked fabulous, right down to the bedspreads which matched the dash of color in the middle of the mini blinds in each bedroom. Hence, we had the blue, red or green bedrooms, etc.
The realtor who sold us the house did caution that renting it out could pose a few problems. He specifically mentioned doctor's wives. He said they were used to having full time help and that we might find they didn't take as good care of the place as we would hope. I thought, "Silly man. I'm sure they are just as careful as everyone I've seen rent."
No, silly me.
I won't make this post longer than it needs to be. Suffice it to say there were some good and some not so good (awful!) renters. And that's when I would do my "dance" as the Englishman and the girls called it.
Anytime we went to the house after it had been rented, the family would make sure I was the first one in the door. They would follow, but hang back and allow me to have my little moment. I would go from room to room, shouting "Look at this!" or ""Can you believe this?" noticing footprints on the walls, a broken drawer or window screen. After a few minutes I would get it out of my system, calm down, and allow the Englishman to point out it wasn't worth getting upset over.
He was right. The income from the rentals helped with all the costs. My mistake had been in thinking of the house as our home. And thinking other people would see it that way. I must say there were two lovely couples who rented the house for a week every September and wrote me the nicest notes saying how much they enjoyed being there and how pleasant it all was. It meant a lot to me that they took the time to do that.
Oh, and if you are thinking that we should have charged the nasty renters the extra fee for the added cleaning or damages, I agree. And we did try to do that. Only the realtor fought us on it. They always returned the deposit as soon as the tenants turned in the key. We switched realtors. Same policy at the next one. They obviously wanted the repeat business. So we finally just stopped renting it out.
Lessons learned. Experience gained. House sold years later.
Was it worth it? Yes.
Every moment. All part of this wonderful, amazing journey I have shared with the Englishman.
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