Real estate

We've been house-shopping, off and on, for the last 18 months, while at the same time trying to sell our own house. This came about from several gradual realizations: that four boys need land on which to play and work, that being rooted in nature is an essential component of the lives we want for ourselves and our children, and that living in an accidental community is in some ways worse than living where our nearest neighbor is half a mile away. I have allergies, I hate snakes, and I don't know the first thing about heavy machinery, but somehow I'm still convinced we need to live in the country.

This process has afforded me some interesting insights into what prospective home buyers want, and into how many prospective home sellers live. Today's home buyers want luxury--palatial bedrooms, and everyone with his own bathroom and cable connection. It would hit too close to the truth for each family member to live in his own tent on a piece of property, so instead we build bigger houses and pitch the tents inside. Big bedrooms, big garages so that everyone has a place to park -- because everyone has somewhere separate to go -- and smaller dining rooms, because family meals are a declining feature of American life. Nowadays people eat when their schedules permit, often standing at the bar that has become a ubiquitous kitchen feature in newer homes.

Perhaps because I am a writer, the thing that grieves me the most, when I wander like a cultural spy through other people's homes, is the paucity of books. When there are bookshelves, they are more likely to be filled with pictures, decorative plates, fake flowers arrangements, trophies, and other modern tchotchkes than with books. Where once families proudly displayed whatever small quantity of leather-bound books they could afford to own, now people display rows and rows of DVDs.

The DVDs are essential, you see, because the centerpiece of many homes I've seen is the television. Most homes have at least a couple, many have more than that. Nearly every "living" or "family" room has a television that is taller than most of my children, with all the furniture oriented toward it like pews before an altar. It's strange what we call these rooms, given that their primary purpose seems to have so little to do either with living or families. But we have made the television part of our family, without realizing it. I can look outside my window at any time of day or night, and see my neighbor's big-screen television playing, often cartoons, because he has small children. When I drive past his house, I can see another big television playing in an upstairs room. These chatterboxes are part of the family, I suppose, just like a cat or a dog or a child might be. If you think I exaggerate, call your local cable company and ask a customer service representative how panicked and furious people are when there's an outage.

So we're looking at a house on twenty acres, ten miles outside the city. The house needs a lot of work, the property is covered with trees, and I don't even know how to work a chain saw. Maybe we won't buy this property, but I think we're going to buy something like it. It will probably lead to a series of hilarious disasters, and any number of injuries. I'll make a darn fool out of myself to boot. But for all my inexperience, I have the sense of moving toward something more real, something my children need. I'm willing to be a fool for that, and for the hope that maybe, by virtue of being spared some of the luxuries of modern suburban living, my sons will emerge better men than me. Any number of experiments are worth that, don't you think?