Today’s blog post is from Kathy Satterfield, a Bridgeport-based writer and mom with a desire to make Fairfield her home.
I’m writing with a business proposition of sorts, an idea I think is quite ingenious considering the current state of real estate. Keep in mind while you read this: I once tried to charm my brother-in-law into giving me Park Place for Baltic Avenue, in Monopoly. First, let me set the stage. My husband, son and I live in a cozy (not in the Manhattan apartment-listing way) colonial with a good-sized yard and a white picket fence. There is a detached garage and an open-air tool shed and a back deck where you can sit and watch the sunset. A rose bush in the back yard has consistently rewarded us with copious pink blooms without requiring any care in return.
We have three bedrooms, one of which is huge and could be the master bedroom but for the wood floor and my cold feet. The third bedroom is ideal for a child or for an office, especially if you plan to work in the mornings—the sun pours into that room first. The third bedroom is part of the addition, built two owners before us. There is a roomy closet, a refreshing ceiling fan and an alcove where you could put a desk or a reading chair.
The kitchen is updated, with terra-cotta tile, spacious granite countertops and an island with a sink. A working fireplace in the living room, small mudroom at the front door and intimate (again, this is not code for cramped or tiny) family room, which has attractive built-in shelves and drawers as does the dining room. It’s a superb place to display Grandma’s china or family photos. Every room but the dining room and bathrooms has recessed lighting.
We fell in love with the house right when we saw it. We could imagine ourselves starting a family there, in part because there weren’t Bibles on every bed or a locked room to intimidate us (true story—one of several duds in our search for a place to call home). We made an offer, considered a counter-offer that was extended as “If you meet this price, then the house is yours,” decided to meet it—and then they asked for more. My husband suggested we rise to the occasion. Now, I am not usually the Voice of Reason, especially when it comes to matters of money and shopping. But this time I refused to budge. Maybe it was because we were dealing with sums I’d never carried around in my wallet or couldn’t cover with a credit card, who knows, but I was determined that we wouldn’t pay once cent more. They backed off; we got the house for our drop-dead price.
Problem is, a starter home it’s not. With walls painted in modern, muted colors, crown molding, polished wooden floors and an updated kitchen, it was move-in and live-in ready. It’s a great house, with a not-so-great school district. We knew this, and we planned to sell for a modest profit when it was time to think about our future child’s education.
Now that the economy is in the toilet, our grand plan doesn’t seem so grand. Sure, now’s the time to buy—in Fairfield, ideally—but NOT to sell. But I’ve come up with a solution: We trade houses with a couple looking to downscale now that their kids are out of the house, or to a couple who don’t have kids and don’t plan to. If education is not a concern, there are numerous reasons to live in Bridgeport, particularly in our house: Trash pickup is free! Taxes are lower, as are expectations—the standard we’ve set for our yard is so low that just owning a lawn mower will make you look like an expert landscaper. Another low, turnover: The man across the street grew up in that house and is raising his family there. And then, of course is the low, low bargain-basement price—half of what you’d pay in Fairfield, but with all the perks: access to Fairfield’s libraries, beaches, programs at the Y, doctors and emergency healthcare clinics, Audubon centers, golf courses, churches; the list goes on and on. All this, and the opportunity to say that you are a benefactor of the Bridgeport Renaissance—the highly anticipated train station that has been in the works since the beginning of time; the gleaming promise of Steelpoint Harbor; the SoHo-like art scene that is set to restore downtown to its former glory. Oh, and most importantly Two Boots—the New York City-based restaurant that chose Bridgeport as its first non-borough outpost (before Los Angeles!). The hip haunt offers food with Cajun-Italian influences and pizza—what’s cooler than varieties with names like Big Maybelle, Mr. Pink, Earth Mother and Bayou Beast?
The floor is now open for bidders.
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