A Case for Buying the House for the Neighborhood
Or, Why You Shouldn't Judge a Book by Its Vinyl Siding
Last year, we bought a house in De Pere that many of our visitors have politely described as a "project.” It was outdated in a way that was almost impressive - part time capsule, part cruel lesson. Not discounting the potential and not haunted per se, but it has the energy of a place that has seen some stuff. After looking at it, I couldn’t stop thinking about the street. It's a street that I had been down many times before but I was noticing it through a different lens, the lens of a prospective resident. I noticed the immortal trees, the neighbors walking and waving like it was a film set - perfectly timed, almost suspiciously. That impossibly nostalgic and constant rotation of kids on bikes. I was sold before I even walked in the door. The energy was easy. Welcoming. It felt like the kind of place where good things happen quietly.
I am always reminded that you can change the house. You can completely gut the kitchen (ask me how that's going), replace the floors, move plumbing, and make the basement slightly less scary (don't ask me how that's going). But you can’t move it. You can’t manufacture the feeling you get when you turn onto the street. You can’t add character to a block or DIY your way to a sense of belonging.
Here is the part where I tell you don’t just fall in love with the house, fall in love with where it lives. The sounds, the smells, the small talk with someone walking their dog donning a knit sweater. That stuff matters.
People get really caught up in the house-hunting checklists (and to be fair, I've written lots of those checklists), but sometimes the magic isn’t in the quartz countertops, sometimes it’s just outside the front door.
When you’re choosing a home you’re designing your daily backdrop. You’re choosing where your Sunday morning walks happen and where you order takeout on Friday night. You’re choosing the street that’s quiet enough to hear crickets, or vibrant enough to hear music on the deck. Let's remember to zoom out, beyond the kitchen, and think about what's nearby that fills your cup.
How do you feel when you put your car in park?
Are there people casually enjoying a glass of wine on front porches? Are there even front porches?
Can you walk to get an ice cream or forget your bad day at the plant shop?
Does it feel like people live here, or is everyone just passing through?
Are there sidewalks full of chalk drawings? Does it just feel like you, like home?
In the Green Bay Area that might mean choosing a super cute fixer-upper, knowing that the short walk to the bay or river are worth the sweat equity. It might mean buying the modest ranch (or not so modest ranch) in Ashwaubenon so you’re always close to the farmers market and late-night tacos. It could be finding a house with some quirks near absolutely everything, because maybe for you quiet coffee walks through Target matter more than bathroom finishes ever will.
We get so used to real estate being about square footage and trends, but sometimes the right choice is about feel. The sense of community. The hidden beauty in the daily details. I want the snowblower advice, the basil cuttings, and the unsolicited opinions about my landscaping.
Want help finding where your perfect place might be? I know the corners, the nooks and crannies, and the vibes - and I'm here to help you find your own little pocket of “yep, this is it.”
