I gave Andrea a call and rescheduled a visit to the acreage on Mount Carmel Road for Monday afternoon. By then Charlie should be well enough to go out again, and Marilyn should see what I had in mind. I also took her grocery shopping and we stocked the kitchen, and while we were at it, I had her pick up a few house design books. I had a few things in mind, but she needed to think it over, too. We spent the rest of the weekend playing house and looking at plans.
On Monday we drove out to Mount Carmel Road and met with Andrea. As I suspected, Marilyn liked the location as much as I did. “How big is it?” she asked excitedly.
Andrea looked down at the file in her hands, fumbling with them in her gloves. It had snowed lightly overnight, probably the last snowfall of the season, and it was chilly. Charlie was all bundled up, but he was sleeping and we had left him in the running car. “It’s 25.24 acres. It’s just under 1,000 feet of road frontage down there on Mount Carmel, and just over 1,100 here on the side we’re parked on.”
“How come it’s available?”
I looked at my wife and shrugged. “Good question.” We both turned to Andrea.
“The previous owner was a farmer, but after he died, neither of his sons wanted to become farmers. One of them lives in Baltimore and the other moved out west somewhere. The original farm was split, half on this side and a larger piece actually on the other side of Mount Carmel Road. The farmer down there…” she said, pointing towards the east, “… he bought the piece across the road, leaving this piece.”
“What’s the farmer raise?” I asked, curious about my future neighbors.
“Not completely sure,” admitted Andrea. “Sweet corn, probably.” Andrea turned and pointed up the hill slightly. “My understanding is that there are some apple trees over there.”
I looked where she was pointing, and made out several apple trees, looking bare and gnarled in the late winter breeze. I grinned at Marilyn. “Sold! You need to learn to make apple pies!”
“I already know how to make apple pies, and you know it,” she said with a smile.
I turned to the real estate broker. “Okay, this is looking pretty positive. I’ll give you a deposit today, but it needs to be contingent on a few things. Has a survey been done on this piece?”
Andrea nodded. “Just this past summer, when the property was subdivided. That’s current. What else?”
“I’m going to want a perc test run. I won’t close on the property until I know the land percs and the septic won’t cost more than the land.” I knew that out here, we weren’t near municipal water and sewer lines. We’d need a well and a septic system.
Andrea nodded, but a bit more slowly. “I can do that, but I don’t think the owners are going to pay for it themselves.”
“Well, we need to run it anyway. I doubt it will be a problem. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of drainage problems out here, but you never know. I’ll give you enough of a deposit to pay for the perc. Can you arrange it?”
“What’s a perc test?” interrupted Marilyn.
After thirty plus years in construction, I knew all about them, but Marilyn’s father would have never explained these details to one of his daughters, only his sons. “It’s short for a percolation test. It tests the soil for a septic system.”
“You need a perc test to get a septic system designed. There’s no sewer lines out here to tie into,” answered Andrea.
“Well, what is it?”
It took me a second or two to understand, but then I nodded. “Oh, it’s real simple. You dig a hole in the dirt and dump a bucket of water in the hole, and then time how long it takes for the water to drain. If it doesn’t drain, but sits there like a swimming pool, you fail the test, and you need a very expensive septic. If it drains quick, though, everybody is happy.”
“And here.”
I shrugged. “Probably pretty good. Maryland farmland is not noted for its clay. It’s mostly sand and loam mixes, I think.” I looked back at Andrea. “Do you want to do the paperwork here, or go back to the office?”
“We can sit in my car. I can arrange for a perc test, but I won’t promise the sellers will absorb the cost.”
I waved that off. I wasn’t going to quibble over the cost of the test, but I wasn’t going to buy the property without a test. We checked on Charlie (still snoozing happily) and then got into Andrea’s car and did the paperwork. She expected to be able to close between 30 and 60 days from now. John Steiner would handle my legal work. Finally, we shook hands and climbed out of the car. I wanted to look around the property some more, but Andrea wanted to get back to her office.
“One last question. Just curious, but which airport is closer, Philly or BWI?”
She smiled. “You’re not that far away from things. Philly’s probably over two hours away. BWI will be a lot closer, maybe an hour away. Why?”
“Just trying to figure it out. We’ll probably want to travel a bit, and with my bad leg, flying is a lot nicer than driving,” I explained.
“Well, maybe you can get a feeder flight out of Westminster.”
Huh? “Westminster?”
She pointed west, towards Hamsptead and Westminster beyond. “Yeah, maybe twenty minutes that way. There’s a small regional airport. It’s mostly small aircraft and some corporate type jets and stuff, but maybe you can catch a connecting flight to BWI.”
“Really! I had no idea there was an airport out here! That would be a lot nicer.” I turned to Marilyn. “Want to go exploring?”
“No. You can go explore. I want to get Charlie home and get dinner going.” Almost on cue, we heard our son start to fuss and cry inside the car.
“Okay. You take care of him. I’m going to look around a bit more.” I turned back to Andrea. “Andrea, thank you for everything. Get any of the paperwork and reports to John. Marilyn and I are going to be out of town for a few weeks, but I’ll check in with John at some point.” We shook hands again.
I left Marilyn with Charlie and wandered out into the field. I walked around it for a bit, trying to visualize placing the home, and even went over towards the apple trees. I was smiling as I got back to the car. “Happy?” asked Marilyn.
I smiled back. “Happy! I’ll do my exploring tomorrow.”
Marilyn snorted at that and leaned across the seat to kiss me, and then we loaded Charlie back into his seat and headed home. We looked through the books on home plans some more, trying to settle on a design. I already knew we were going to end up modifying the plans, but not by how much.
Tuesday morning I kissed my family and drove out towards Westminster. I had an address from the phone book, but otherwise was winging it. I figured I should be able to find an airport. It was not quite three quarters of an hour from where we were living, but like Andrea had said, maybe half that distance and time from our new place.
I found it easily enough, or at least easily enough after I stopped at a local gas station in Westminster and asked direction. The airport was a single mile-long paved strip serving light aircraft and business jets, but was surprisingly modern. A plaque near the door announced it had been modernized extensively just a few years ago, and everything still looked new. It was supposed to be a relief airport for BWI, Baltimore Washington International, between Baltimore and Washington. In case BWI vanished, it was long enough to send jets to in an emergency, I guess.
I walked in and found my way over to an information counter. A harried looking young girl came over and asked, “Hi, can I help you?”
“Maybe. Are there any charter companies here at the airport, or is it all private plane owners only?” I asked her.
“No, sir, I mean, yes, sir!” she replied. I simply gave her an amused look and waited. “I mean, yes, sir, there’s charter planes here. It’s not just private owners.”