Pinehaven is life on the back road at the end of the Twentieth Century. It is joy of place even within a century-old farmhouse that has a few faults: leaky roof, frozen plumbing, quirky furnace, cracking walls, flooded basement, perhaps a ghost. But it's a perfect spot to begin anew: plant a garden, observe nature from a rural vantage point, turn over a few stones, gaze at a winter-clear sky, find where old fences are laid and new constraints might be torn down. Pinehaven has an edge that's often sharp. Living with the past, the author weaves his opinions, observations, and philosophies into a narrative that contains both poetic prose and nail-it-to-the-wall directness. There are past lives and future hopes in this book. At the edge of the millennium, Pinehaven speaks of old ideals rekindled and trust that the good of the world is still to be had.
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About the Author
William G. Schmidt "retired" at age 45 determined that no more than half his life would be devoted to "getting a living", bought Pinehaven with his parents, and has been living the good life on a two acre plot of land in Farmersville, Ohio. A graduate of Miami University (Oxford, Ohio) with a degree in English Education, he does freelance work for both the Dayton Daily News and Midwest PC-Review.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Introduction: Sometime in the fall of 1986, house-hunting, my father happened upon this old place by happenstance. It had been seen by both he and my mother many times before and they say now that they had wished to find it for sale from the very first. On one of those drives, when he happened to be alone, my father was quite surprised to find just that, a "For Sale" sign planted in the front yard.
Hurrying home, telling my mother of his good fortune, he quickly called the real estate agent. She said she had just returned home herself, had just an hour before pressed the sign into the soil. As too much enthusiasm for a house one wants to buy is not of great benefit - especially in front of an agent or the seller - my father tempered his excitement, asked for a few of the amenities, questioned the price.
As for amenities, there were few. No city water or sewer, an old furnace which seemed bent on belching the last warm smoke it might ever produce, no air conditioning, and a leaky basement. As for the price, it was more than we could afford. In other words, it was perfect.
It was not until we'd had an appointment to see the place, had a walk through the house that we were fully aware of the work that would be required. But mostly, there would have to be a concession to sell the house with less than the 40 acres advertised.
While the real estate agent told me - for I had taken over the position of bargainer for the family - that she didn't think the owner would be in the least interested in dividing the land. "I don't think we can hope for much there," she said. She left the conversation as depressed as I.
Still later, when I walked the owner to a spot north of the property, showed him where I must own to, and where I could not afford to own beyond, he showed signs of interest. He knew what I was talking about: protection from someone building nearby. A divorce was pending. He wanted out with the same enthusiasm we wanted in. Thus our footing became equal once again.
Suffice it to say that we bought the place, put our city house up for sale, sold it even more quickly than we'd have liked, and were country-bound within sixty days.
My first night here, New Year's Eve 1986, was, as you will read, spent on the bare living room floor. The intervening decade provided much of the material here and while the bulk of these pages were written in 1997, they are actually the compendium of a lifetime of thought. They are that year no more than any other.
Myself, "retired" at age 45 from almost 23 years in the retailing field, I had decided in college - had literally been ruined by the thought - that I might well spend the first half my life doing what I must and then the second half doing what I wanted. I thought the natural dividing line between those two states to be somewhere near the age of 40. I missed it somewhat.
More importantly, I cannot know whether my half-life is at forty, was sometime quite before, or has not yet been lived. Whether the money holds out, I suppose, is partly dependent on how long I do.
And while the natural state of young adulthood is to leave the nest, go out and get married, get on with one's own life, I knew the answer to that early, too, that I never would, that the nest that had been prepared for me years earlier was all I ever needed, that I was perhaps too satisfied as it was, or perhaps simply lazy. But more likely, in my own analysis, I thought that nothing might be materially improved by it.
And so, when we bought Pinehaven, I became third owner, my parents, then in their early 60's, sharing equal parts, so that I no more lived with them than they with me. When we left the city, moved to this place that harbored idiosyncrasies that we had not considered, we bought one kind of freedom and lost another. We have spent the better part of ten years fixing what we could and making do with the rest. We've learned to hate a few of them (wet basement, cold kitchen, leaky roof) but to love even more (squeaky floor, wavy wall, inside doors that won't close or pop open under their own pressure, the sound the house makes settling on cold nights). An old house is a balancing act.
We accept the faults. The house is nearly a century old.
Yet Pinehaven is place, backdrop, stage for this book. It is the meeting place of souls, protection from the wind, a spot to lay out the papers and pour thoughts out for examination. They'll blow freely enough with no more than a sigh.
Sometimes one buys merely a house, finds shelter. Sometimes one finds home, home for body and soul.
This is it.
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4 of 4 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars
Pinehaven contains history and many stories about rural Ohio,
By A Customer
This review is from: Pinehaven (Paperback)
"Pinehaven" by William G. SchmidtWilliam Schmidt and his parents bought an old home in 1986. During the next year, they named it Pinehaven. This is the story of life in rural Ohio, just west of Dayton, in the town of Farmersville. Old homes need work, tender loving care, are interesting to explore, and Pinehaven is no exception. The book has two interesting photos of Pinehaven, the first from near 1900, the second (an aerial photo) from 1990. Nearly 300 pages long, there are 12 chapters telling of life at Pinehaven during each month of the year. You will find this to be more than a story about Pinehaven, though. Pinehaven is a collection of short stories and one can read about Montgomery County and of William Schmidt and his family. You will find out how the name "Pinehaven" came about. Don't miss the first New Year's Eve, the daily walks down a country road with dad, the "Pipe Brigade", the "Bottle Farm", Schmidt's love of Michigan, diaries and journals, Comet Hale Bopp, the milkman, and William Schmidt's account of each season of the year as they come and go. William Schmidt is quite observant and shares his findings and opinions about mother nature, religion, government, and of life, too. William Schmidt's writing is very descriptive and closely resembles that of Laura Ingalls Wilder in her "Little House on the Prairie" series. Those of you who are Laura Ingalls Wilder fans will find the "A Little House Sampler" to be quite similar as Laura and her daughter, Rose Wilder Lane, wrote similar stories of an earlier time. Without waiting until the end to write an autobiography, I find "Pinehaven" a great way to describe life presently, tell your personal history, and share your thoughts and feelings. It is like visiting the author and listening to him talk to you. "Pinehaven" is one of the best books that I have ever read. I strongly recommend "Pinehaven" for your reading pleasure.
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