No matter how many times I brought it up, Epiphania always gave the same sad answer in her cadenced, Italian accent: “No, you can’t buy it! The house is not on the market!”
I knew the instant we walked into the Connecticut farmhouse that this was the place for us. Initially, we were there looking for a place to rent because my husband, Bob, had been offered the directorship of a museum nearby. Our plan was to get to know the area and eventually buy a place. This would mean a long commute for me back to the Hudson Valley, but this was a terrific new opportunity for him. Even though we were only there to consider renting the place, in those first few moments in the grandma kitchen, with its tiny-apple wallpaper and vintage wood stove, I had an uncanny feeling that this was where we belonged.
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