established1754
re-established 2014
Back in 2014, we had only a tiny inkling of what it would take to begin the re-awakening of this place we call Hurricane Hill. What we had instead was a big dream, a lot of determination and some decent experience with old places. Still, what we had imagined while we negotiated price and sought financing paled in comparison to what we learned once the property became ours.
The land was neglected and overgrown, the soil heavily compacted from years of horses on untended trails. Trees had healed around old sections of fencing, lengths of discarded hose held gates shut-or permanently open. Piles of tires and car parts littered the woods. Swathes of the property were literally impassable. Some neighbors had taken to using our land as a dumping ground for old Christmas trees, yard waste and their dogs’ needs.
The timber-framed, 19th century barn was filled with trash and broken equipment. The rental cottage was neglected and, as we came to learn, inhabited by a robust population of mice. The main house, although well-restored in the first half of the 20th century, needed a total reset. Every single building needed a coat of paint and new gutters.
We knew the farm had been loved before us, and we believed it would rise to the occasion of being loved again-but it was hard to see the path.
That first winter (among the worst either of us had experienced in our time in Rhode Island) was memorable. We tackled the rental cottage first to enable the farm to produce income by the spring. Shag carpeting, stained wall paper and what seemed like miles of greasy pine paneling greeted us every morning. Each intervention seemed to lead to more bad news: buried junction boxes, mouse nests, a suspect pipe, sodden insulation. Any tradespeople we hired had to reschedule as the snow piled up and our governor closed the roads.
We stood inside the gutted cottage, listened to the howling wind and watched deer come in silent numbers to the back field, raising high up on their hooves to eat any and every bit of any evergreen they could reach.
It was the starving time outdoors. Indoors, we were feeling a bit worried ourselves.
But there were also surprises: a hidden cache of love letters from World War II, an attic time-capsule with still more correspondence (this time from the Vietnam War), racks of vintage clothes, a box of Beatles memorabilia and a few lovely oil paintings. And of course, the best surprise was how much difference it made as each surface was stripped, cleaned and refinished.
Slowly, but surely, the path cleared.
Since that first winter, we have continued to experience ups and downs, continued to find ourselves fixing one thing only to see another one break. Sometimes we curse the place, sometimes its beauty brings us to tears.
What has been a constant throughout is the miracle of the farm returning to life-of land being given back to its wild self and to bird life and to us. And all those creatures (and we) have become part of this place. Today, we marvel at the diversity of birdsong, the density of native bees and other insects, the return of native plants to our meadows and even the seasonal migration of frogs across the land (and sometimes through our buildings).
Even on the hardest days, we feel gratitude. There could be no better metaphor for life.