Well, it's official. I took a look at the bank accounts today and the mortgage on our house in Fort Liard is gone.
I guess I can't call it "our house in Fort Liard" anymore, because we sold it and everything finally went though, which is why the mortgage on that house is no longer there.
On one hand, I'm happy because it means we're no longer carrying two mortgages and I don't have to wake up in the middle of the night after having a bad dream about the house burning down or the furnace dying.
But, on the other hand, it makes me really sad to think that it's not ours any more. It's not because it was our first house. It was because we love that house (note present and not past tense). It was an old log home with character. One of the oldest houses in the community, in fact. It was on a beautiful lot, not too far from the Liard River, in a community that we loved to live in. We had wild strawberries growing in the lawn that we would pick in the summer and a great potato patch out back. We had fixed up the gazebo, which was the greatest place to enjoy a meal on a summer evening. Not too far from the gazebo were the two birch trees that we used to string up the hammock.
Ah, we had it so good.
Owning the house meant that we could go back any time, and now that it's no longer ours, it's like closing a door.
Fortunately, we have the hospitality of friends for when we visit, which I hope will be frequently. It's only twelve hours of driving away. And who knows, maybe one day we'll own that house again...