My goodness, we've had a chaotic couple of weeks.
To let readers know, we've sold our homestead. We close on November 20, but until our property closes, we don't have the cash in hand to purchase another home. The timing of this closing is awkward. Why? Because every rural and suburban property in the Inland Northwest has been snapped up by urban refugees desperate to get out of the cities.
We can't blame these people -- we'd do the same thing in their shoes -- but because we don't yet have cash in hand from the sale of our homestead, we've been unable to find a place to live.
As the weeks went by, this became an increasingly urgent matter. We have a household, a woodcraft business, and a farm to move -- but nowhere to move to. And winter is coming.
A couple weeks ago, Don and I took an overnight trip and looked at a few properties. We had it in our minds to purchase a little suburban fixer-upper in a small town, a place we could live in over the winter, fix up, then sell in the spring.
However we discovered two problems with this idea.
One, even fixer-uppers are being snapped up rapidly, and we still don't have the funds from the sale of our homestead to make an immediate purchase unless it was based on a contingency (closing after our home closes). Banks have made it clear they're not making loans, even temporary ones. Sellers realize they don't have to bother with something as absurd as a contingent offer when they know someone with a full-cash offer will be right behind.
And two, such a plan would tie up our money if and when an interesting homestead should suddenly come available.
On this exploratory trip, we actually viewed a home on acreage that at first didn't much interest us -- until we viewed it in person. Yowza, it was lovely. The house was "meh," but the property was beautiful. We made an immediate offer...contingent upon the closure of our home.
Sure enough, another buyer outbid us within hours (with a full-cash offer), and that was that.
Frustrated, and increasingly desperate, we had a "Screw it!" moment and made a full-cash immediate offer on a really really cheap 1970 mobile home in an RV park. The outside looked like ca-ca, but the inside was in fairly decent shape. We could be satisfied there for the winter -- especially since we could fix it up and probably sell it later for a small profit. And it would give us a base to live in while we searched for property in the spring.
This was a terrific decision, and it brought us great peace of mind. We worked with the realtor, signing paperwork and getting all the i's dotted and t's crossed. We worked with the property management company to transfer the lot rental to us. We called and reserved a storage unit in a nearby facility. In short, everything was falling into place.
Until yesterday morning.
The realtor, a very nice young man, called to tell us the seller -- who had been cagey during the entire sales process -- suddenly and capriciously withdrew his offer to sell the trailer. The realtor was very apologetic and frankly sounded weary. I gather the seller has pulled this stunt before.
This suspicion was confirmed when Don called the property management company and explained the situation. "Let me guess, it's Lot X," said the woman. When Don affirmed it was, she let loose a very frustrated four-letter expletive. She immediately apologized for her language, but Don laughed grimly and said he felt the same way.
Back to square one. We were going to be homeless in three weeks unless we could line up a place to live. We embarked on a frantic online search for a short-term rental and finally located a Craig's List posting for a pet-friendly apartment by a student who wanted to sublet his lease. I called the young man and he explained his lease was in student housing. We said we didn't mind, so he gave us the contact information for the property managers. However when I spoke to that organization, I was informed the sublet was for one bedroom in a three-bedroom apartment. In other words, Don and I would be sharing a three-bedroom apartment with two other students. Um, no.
(Though we later joked this could have a profound influence on the other students renting the apartment to suddenly have two old fuddy-duddies living with them. Can't you see it? "Young man, does your mother have any idea what you're doing?")
At last, Don got wind of a rental house in a nice neighborhood with a lease that only lasted until July, which is all we needed. We called and talked to the property manager and explained our circumstances. She promised to expedite the paperwork. We filled in the application form, then took a trip to deliver the application in person. She said everything was acceptable except we needed to verify our monthly income, which had to exceed two-and-a-half times the monthly rental amount.
No problem. We're self-employed and so our income varies, but we have documentation up the whazoo. The property management rep said the first page of our tax form should be sufficient. We came home and pulled together tax forms, affidavits from freelance sources, and other necessary proof of our monthly income.
Not good enough. The tax forms showed our net income, not our total gross income, and we were told that "Word documents" (with affidavits from our freelance sources) "can be forged" -- even though we provided contact information from these freelance sources (editors, etc.) for verification.
"Oh for Pete's sake," Don exploded. "After November 20th, we'll have enough money to buy the house outright if they were selling it." But we scrambled and found the Schedule C forms for last year's taxes, which showed our gross income. We offered a massive, massive security deposit. We even offered -- and this is really jumping the shark -- to have my elderly parents co-sign for us. C'mon, folks, throw us a bone!
"Hell is bureaucracy," Don growled at one point. But we got the additional paperwork submitted and finally -- at last -- signed the contract to rent the house.
In short, it's been a roller coaster over the last couple of weeks.
So that's our status. Now that we have a place to live temporarily, we'll start moving things into it so the new owners can take possession of our homestead by closing.
It's an adventure, we keep telling ourselves with gritted teeth. That's it, an adventure.