"That place is such a piece," Alban said last spring as we were looking for a place to live, "let's look for something else." Three months, four sponges, two trips to the dump, and one dead mouse later and his attitude has changed. "This place is such a piece, but it's also awesome at the same time."
The House in darkness
It's a humble structure. Some might call it a dirty double wide, a fancy box with chipped paint and moldy potential. Others might call it a tribute to life itself, a symbol of the American dream. Still others are unsure.
This blog is designed to confound the confusion. It was specifically bred to dig through the mounds of false rumors covering The West Whitman Estate to uncover the skeletons of truth that lie beneath the crawl space.
Creepy skeletons notwithstanding, the point is ... no one knows; you can't tame nature. Sure you can destroy it and dam it and what not, but the minute you stop respecting it ... boom! You're neck deep in human sewage. Kind of like The Estate. It never ceases to surprise. As David so eloquently put it one night at family dinner, "Living here is like constantly being on the verge of a tickle fight." And no one wants to be on the wrong side of that exchange.