Now, a new thread will be added to the warp and weft of my byline throughout my years as a Beacon Journal columnist − the process of transforming my beloved family home, the Dreisbach House, into a jewel. I owe less than $8,000 on the mortgage and, like its first owner, that puts me in a position to remodel the home without sparing many expenses. I decided to stop renting Dreisbach House when my most recent tenants moved out. In 2020, I moved into what we call Cressler House. Claire had been a widower for three years when I first met him. In 2014, I bought that house, too.įor more than 60 years, it belonged to Claire and Gloria Cressler. And because the home remained in one fastidious family for 94 years, it is in remarkable shape.ĭreisbach House shares a driveway with its next-door neighbor to the south. The Arts and Crafts interior includes quarter-sawn oak columns and panels, a fireplace with decorative tiles from a renowned turn-of-the-century manufacturer, multiple pocket doors and two original light fixtures. Like a manufactured cave, all that brick keeps the house, which has hot water heat and no air conditioning, remarkably cool in the summer and warm in the winter. The exterior walls of the home are two layers of brick, which is why to this day none of the stairs or floors creak. Little expense was spared when a maternal uncle of Mr. Still, my heart hurt when tenants were not gentle with the house. But I soon learned that messes can be cleaned and damages repaired. No tenant kept the house as clean as I did. (At the back of the driveway is Hoover, the world’s sweetest Sheltie, who died in 2016.) Dreisbach House when I first rented it in 2011. Then, for several years, I lived with the father of my youngest two children in his home and rented out Dreisbach House. My first three children spent the bulk of their childhoods in the home, and my fourth son was born there. I’ve now owned what we call Dreisbach House for over 20 years. Dreisbach took my hand in both of his, and with tears in his eyes, he told me: “I hope you’ll be as happy in this house as we were.” He died nine months later. Unperturbed by youngsters touring his tidy home, Mr. Dreisbach’s upper back and neck stooped forward from osteoporosis his slow gait belied muscles that had weakened with age and bones that ached.Įach of the three times I visited his house, the final time with the home inspector, I had small children with me. His wife of 60 years had died the previous February, and he was selling his house to move to Atlanta, where his son and daughter-in-law lived. I met Herman Dreisbach in February of 2003 when he was 88 years old.
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