The nicest thing I can say about the garage is that it came with the house.
The house itself was a seventy-eight-year-old two-story that would be classified as a fixer-upper. As young marrieds, we thought we had the chutzpah, to not only tackle the issues of the house, but of the garage as well. Having rented a nearby home with a garage, we actually were looking for a property with a garage, or at least a driveway.
The detached garage already had some improvements from the previous owner. Our half had electric lighting, outlets, and a phone line. Notice that I mentioned the term “our half”- it was a two-car garage, but our purchase of the home only came with half the structure. Apparently, back in the day when neighbors were more chummy and trusting, the adjoining property owners collaborated on a plan to build a driveway and garage crossing the property line.
So, even though we hadn’t met the neighbors we’d be sharing with, or even seen the other side of the garage, the SOLD sign went up. We moved our meager belongings into the house and garage, and parked the car in the driveway. Not in the garage, because there was a floor-to-ceiling shelf in the way.
Fast forward twenty years. The property next door changes hands a few times, but other than attempting to paint the exterior of the garage and periodic cleanings (removal of accumulated junk) it remained languishingly useful. The doors on neither side closed completely, we both had to use a heavy object (ours was a log) to push the doors closer together after locking. The roof line sagged like an old horse’s backbone, and eventually it was evident that there was leaking during a rain, we had to move items from “wet spots” to “dry spots”. Opening the garage was like entering a cave, damp, moist, and dark. A perfect habitat for the local snails, slugs, and cave crickets- it was getting pretty gross.
The problem was money and cooperation; years ago it took money and cooperation to build the structure and the same process would have to take place to maintain it. But after a heavy rainfall, the water-logged roof timbers could take no more and a section of the roof fell in- on the neighbor’s side. Since their portion of the garage would need the most repairs, we decided to leave the decision to repair or demolish up to them.
Turns out the the neighbors hated the old garage and were only happy enough with a simple decision to take it down. My reaction to its impending demise was much more heartfelt: I found that I was emotionally attached to that rotting old structure. Built in 1923 for a mere $100, its history went along with the house and my growing family. The kids had played in front of its mismatched paint job since they were toddling tots; its crooked doors the backdrop in so many snapshots and home videos.
With a heavy heart, I began dragging waterlogged, dirty items from the garage into salvageable piles. It was then that I realized the last time I had really cleaned out the garage was when I got divorced. What I needed to do was divorce myself from the garage, and make a clean start. Just like a marital divorce, it would be messy, but a good thing overall.
I managed to haul some items down to our dungeon-like basement, but some things were just too big. Relatives were helpful in letting us store toys and the lawn equipment over the winter in their basements. I procured the demolition permits while the neighbors handled getting a dumpster.
It was a chilly day in November when the garage came down. My neighbor provided her father, brother-in-law, husband, a Bobcat, and a Sawsall. I provided a crowbar, sledgehammer, my husband, and teenage son. My youngest son provided the musical entertainment, the Bob the Builder theme song.
