The Farmhouse

As soon as the ink dried on the divorce decree, the Oak Ridge house was no longer mine. There was definitely freedom in that, but starting over was scary. I had no job, less than $2,000 in my bank account and I was looking for a place to rent with my new boyfriend and my two sweet kiddos that were still reeling from all of the change in their lives. Jer had a good job, but he was paying a lot of money in legal fees, child support and alimony. We were stressed, exhausted and stretched very thin. And now we had a deadline.

We went to look at a rental out in the country between McMinnville and Carlton. It was a beautiful old farmhouse with a big red barn. It looked like something out of a storybook. It was far enough out of town to feel respite from prying eyes but close enough to zip to the grocery store. It had a huge yard for the kids to run around in, complete with apple trees perfect for climbing. Sage was thrilled that it had two staircases- a feature she still insists is necessary in any good home. We loved the picturesque home and its surroundings, and it felt like a gift to the kids after all of the instability they had endured. Rent was on the higher end of our range, but I begged and pleaded with Jerry, insisting it was the one.

In many ways, the farmhouse was great. The kids did run and play outside, climbing trees, discovering birds’ nests, whispering in the forbidden shadows of the barn. Jerry even made them a tire swing that hung from a giant oak that I could see from the kitchen sink window. The house was beautiful, if hard to fill now that my belongings were halved. Jerry built a gorgeous dining room table large enough to seat our whole extended family. That December, I discovered the joy of having two Christmas trees. One for the kids to have free rein- and one that was just mine. After 10 years in an abusive marriage, things that were mine alone had a strong siren call.

Jerry teaching the kids to play caroms on his grandpa’s board, at the table he made.

The issues really began when Winter came in earnest and heating the place was nearly impossible. The rent was already high and when the first heating bill hit, it was quite the shock to the system. We also had to make the drive to Portland every weekend so the kids could have reunification therapy with their dad. I was not emotionally ready to be near him and hated those drives. I wanted my precious babies at home with me, safe in my arms, not spending time with my attacker. I had no choice in the matter. The kids were just happy to see him, and they gushed about the gifts he gave them, or the things he said. The cost of fuel and food and precious weekend time was insult added to injury.

Jerry was angry much of the time. He was working so hard, and we were still failing to make ends meet. He was paying for legal fees while divorce proceedings drug on, feeling shortchanged and misunderstood. He watched as I fought to keep the kids happy and healthy at the expense of my own mental health. He felt helpless to fix the situation we were in, and sometimes the anger overflowed and he lashed out verbally or raised his voice in frustration. He was a hundred times gentler and kinder than my ex-husband, but I was so raw and traumatized that every elevated decibel sent me into a panic. I remember many evenings after the kids went to bed where we’d lie in each other’s arms on a hideous green couch from his past life, whispering apologies and vows to be better, to love each other better. Two broken people trying to be whole.

Spring came and rats (yes rats) from the adjacent field started eating the wires in my car, causing insurance rates to skyrocket from 3 separate claims before we finally gave up and paid out of pocket for the 4th and 5th incidents of rat vandalism. The landlord did nothing. After the last car repair, we knew we had to get out of that house as soon as our lease was up. I’ll spare you the boring details but the property management company tried to keep our deposit despite our excellent care of that place. We had to fight them in court to get it back- and while that seems extreme, we desperately needed every penny. We needed some financial breathing room. I was tired of the shame of borrowing dishwasher tabs from a friend, and my mom tucking grocery gift cards into my pockets. The only thing I missed from my old life was the bank account that never ran dry- being able to peruse the aisles of Target or go to the mall for fun. Still, it was a small price to pay for safety, the freedom to be myself and the joy of falling deeply in love.

Looking back on our time in the farmhouse, I cringe at our struggles but I am so proud that we survived that time. What would have broken many more seasoned couples taught us to work together and that cold, drafty, expensive, rat-infested house became the cement foundation of our relationship. Even with all of the financial and emotional struggles, I wouldn’t trade it for anything.