I've been planning to move since I first came here 19 years ago. My move to Maine was forced by circumstances. More house and less land than I wanted. Closer to civilization than I wanted, and it turned out not as close as I needed to find work. Anyway, the long term plan for retirement was to downsize the house & location, and upsize the land, by moving north to downeast or aroostook.
To that end, since 2008 or so, I've tried 3 or 4 times, over the years without success, to sell. Until this past year, I chalked it up to a dead market and, in a couple cases, sabotage by realtors.
Finally, my time came (or so I thought) with a hot, hot, hot market, with houses selling in a day, bidding wars, an influx of cash buyers first escaping California wildfires, then escaping California and New Jersey and New York and Pennsylvania and Massachusetts covid tyranny.
I didn't think I'd start a blog before winter, when I expected to be nestled into a new safe haven, warmed by a wood stove, with plenty of hours to fill in the long, dark winter.
Instead, last fall, the realtor suggested not listing until I was sure I had a place to go, since she'd just had a scare when a kickout offer was kicked out. My last resort — if all else failed, move in with my sister — apparently was not good enough. Then, once the contract was finally done, with listing date tbd, she morphed from down to earth, easygoing to prima donna, contemptuous Karen bitch. My bad — her first name was literally Karen and her last name matched a local museum. Funny, my gun class was with a Bean (of LL Bean fame) and she was down to earth and dogged, no longer how long it took til I filled those 4 little circles with 5 holes each, and an extra hole on the edge between 2 of them. But this Museum Karen turned her royal nose up once the contract was done, and successfully tied me down for 6 months while not listing my house or returning calls. In the meantime, possible destinations came and went, practically overnight.
That contract expired last March, so I decided to just try one last shot with a local agency, with a beginner agent who came from a farming background and still worked a team of oxen. I'd had good luck with a beginner agent when I escaped Massachusetts; she kept her head down and mouth shut, brought me an above asking price offer the 1st day on the market from a divorcing woman as desperate to escape her mother's house as I was to escape the registered sex offender and his gang of thugs who'd targeted me for harassment 25x7x365 for 3 years. “You need to get out of town”, the cops said, “We can't protect you.” So git I did.
Maybe it was the desperation of the situation that caught God's or my guardian angel’s attention, but that sale and move went like clockwork and I moved my entire household, including 2 dozen birds, a bunny and a horse with no losses, after virtually no sleep for 3 years. Everything just fell into place.
Anyway, this agent turned into a royal disaster. Too many atrocities to list, but the final straw was when she announced she'd refused to let a man who'd called the evening before see my house because of a minor, easily resolved scheduling conflict. He could only see it the following morning *Before flying back home,” she announced, importantly.
She then added, nonchalantly, with a shrug, “He was a cash buyer.”
What the goddam fuck?!?!?
When I finally did get an offer, it was through a state program with a horrible set up that added another bureaucracy of people confirming eligibility of buyer, property, etc. to the tail (without) end. Also dependent on how much, if any, money was still available and how many applicants were waiting in line for whatever money was or wasn't left. She called an agent who'd made one of those sales the previous November. It still hadn't closed…in June.
I wanted to make a counter offer specifying a normal mortgage (after all, the buyer *was* pre-qualified for a conventional mortgage) and use that window of time to flush out any of the 18+ other parties that had been through here and might be sitting on the sidelines waiting. But all the bimbette could do was scream “ I need an answer NOW!” So she got my answer.
And the agency CEO got an enraged phone call asking for a reassignment to a former coworker I discovered was at another office. Actually, 4 calls, because her voicemail kept cutting me off mid-sentence. When I didn’t hear anything back, I wrote a detailed, scathing review in realtor.com, where I did list the sequence of gross incompetencies plus verbal abuse I periodically received as a reward for giving this ungrateful wretch her first listing. And mentioned since the ceo hadn't responded to my phone call, I was considering legal redress to terminate the contract. A week later, I received a contract termination letter.
All I can say is, if you're considering a move to Maine, think carefully because you may not be able to get the hell out of here!
In any event, I have had some manna dropped from heaven. First, a local, big farmer cut their 1st crop of hay a tad early. They normally get premium prices through the feed store, but because this hay is very dusty, its offered at last year's prices. I'm grabbing as much as I can use through November, as I can easily soak it. It's still very palatable ..my morgan leaves the grass and eats the soaking hay!
Second, my neighbor Richard has produced a huge pile of pine sawdust from his lumber-making, which I am free to take as needed. It looks like as much as a year's worth of free bedding for the ponies!
And I was happy to see Richard out and about again 2 weeks ago, when he cut down 2 trees. A few days later, he was back to making lumber for 5 days in a row!
Anyway, for now, I’m hunkered down here, and have been busily carting in hay and shoveling up bags of sawdust. Hopefully there'll be something of a housing market left in the spring, if I make it through winter. I have found another former coworker who is now a broker. Or I may just try Craig's List.