Friday, June 15, 2007

Caretaker Adventures


Photo by Evan Sklar

Follow Your Dreams (for Next to Nothing)

By Judith Reitman, January & February 2006

Imagine staying in some of the loveliest locations on earth—and all you have to do is feed the cats



When the early morning sky sears pink and the moon recedes south toward Toulouse, I follow the gravel path to the hen house. Lulu, my feline companion, trots alongside me on the stone wall. At the shepherd's hut we pause to gaze at a view of pastures that has remained largely unchanged since the Middle Ages, when the stone structure was built. The foxes and wild boars that roam the night have returned to the deep woods, and the hens are ready to begin their day. I open the hen-house door, toss corn feed onto the ground, and the hens strut out their brilliant plumage. In their nest are two warm eggs for my omelet.

A northeasterly wind carries the clatter of Raymond Leris's sheep as they clamber from his stone barn. At 7:00 a.m. the bells of L'Église de Saint Leonard toll.

It is my second week in Escamps, a cluster of medieval farms and impossibly narrow roads in southwest France, a region known as The Lot, in the Midi-Pyrénées. There are no shops in this hamlet, only a church, an ancient cemetery, and a tiny bibliothèque whose librarian, Monsieur Dubillion, I nearly ran over in my tiny rented Renault. Still, word of my housesitting at Sophie Dumont's farm, Piepalat, has preceded me, and on my daily walks residents often invite me for a cup of espresso or a slice of their goat cheese. In the language I learned from my French mother, I chat with farmers and masons whose ancestors have lived here for centuries.

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I came to Sophie's 200-year-old farmhouse through HouseCarers.com, an Australia-based website that posts housesitting opportunities. I had spent a rainy winter in North Carolina, and with the prospect of another birthday, I was ready for an adventure. My first choice was France, where I had spent many childhood summers. But the dollar was weak, and my trip could cost thousands. There was, however, a less costly and more interesting alternative. Friends who had participated in home-exchange programs—swapping their home for one in Europe for a few vacation weeks—suggested I try that route. The likelihood of finding a home exchanger who would also take on my active hound dogs was slim, I thought. Still, I logged on to one of those websites, which led me to others that post worldwide housesitting and caretaking opportunities. In exchange for taking care of someone else's pet and home, I could stay for free in hundreds of amazing abodes, from a villa in Tuscany or a rustic home in the Scottish Highlands to a Hyde Park flat in London or a bush compound in Zimbabwe. It didn't solve my dog problem, but I was intrigued.

During the day I drive to vineyards and red-roofed villages built on the walls of Roman fortresses.

One opportunity seemed ideal: taking care of cats in a French farmhouse for a few weeks. I e-mailed the homeowner. Remarkably, she replied within days. Sophie Dumont spends extended time in London, where her husband works, and her four cats and five hens need tending at her farm in Escamps. For years she has relied on European or Australian house sitters; I would be her first American. We immediately connected as impassioned animal lovers, and Sophie mailed laminated photos and personal histories of Lulu, Bijoux, Chouchou, and Mia. She also offered me some advice: avoid a local dentist ("We call him the butcher") and "Don't fall in love with a Frenchman!"

My French housesitting experience began when the train to Toulouse labored to a stop at Cahors, a 12th-century town five hours from Paris and 20 kilometers (12.4 miles) from Escamps. An energetic former Parisian in her late 30s, Sophie Dumont meets me at the station with the customary French three-cheek kiss. In the Renault I follow her SUV along narrow roads bordered by medieval ruins and rocky pastures. Sophie's limestone farmhouse is tastefully renovated. White shutters, which I must latch on these cool March evenings, frame the many tall windows. Inside, the walls are also stone, with beamed ceilings and terra cotta tile. I notice clearly defined cat paw prints and others that look web-footed embossed on those tiles. Sophie explains that farm animals had scurried across the tiles when they were freshly baked in the 17th century. That would make those footprints about 400 years old. I consider my own home, circa 1900, historic—but my perspective is changing quickly.

Sophie is well organized and has a definite standard of care. Her housesitting contract requires a 1,000-euro deposit (about $1,300), payment of utilities, and seasonal groundskeeping. Most important, she emphasizes, is the well-being of her cats. Lulu, Bijoux, Chouchou, and Mia observe me suspiciously as Sophie explains their menus: alternating days for tuna, pâté, fresh steak, and cod. I must defrost the steak and fish the prior night, then sauté the fillets in the morning. "Can I prepare these meals in advance?" I ask, eyeing the microwave. Sophie looks horrified. "Absolument non! They will only eat freshly cooked!" We move on to housecleaning and hen feeding. Sophie graciously introduces me to her artist friends and farming neighbors, and then drives off to London, about ten hours away, with her young son, Zac.

Sophie, the homeowner, also offered some advice: ‘Don’t fall in love with a Frenchman!’

My official housesitting begins with a morning downpour. I prepare cod pas bien cuit ("lightly cooked") for wary cats, pull on rain gear, and head to the hen house. The hens take one look at me and flee to the farthest field. Eventually I earn their trust with the help of ample vegetable remnants. That the Midi-Pyrénées region is the foie gras capital of the world presents a distinct problem for a vegetarian like me. Menus read like a textbook in duck anatomy, from foie de canard ("duck liver pâté") to confit de canard (which turns out to be preserved duck thighs). Perforce, the lively outdoor markets in nearby Lalbenque and Limogne, where vendors offer me generous samples of their cheeses, fruits, and favorite recipes, and locally grown vegetables of every sort abound, quickly become my favorite destinations. Thick, tasty soups, local goat cheese, and bountiful salads are my new mainstays. For their part, the hens enjoy my salad remains, and in turn provide me with fresh eggs for savory soufflés.

During the day I drive to vineyards and red-roofed villages built on the walls of Roman fortresses. I spend hours in Saint-Cirq Lapopie, an ancient cliffside village that has been an artists colony since the early 1900s. At cafés in Cahors I sip vin noir de Cahors, the local dark red wine, and observe town life. I envision myself an expatriate and even enlist a real-estate agent to show me village houses. At dusk I share Piepalat's courtyard bench with Lulu and Chouchou, and listen to the day end in Escamps—its sheep clattering into barns, the shrill cries of peacocks at a neighbor's château, dogs barking. Evenings, I dine with Sophie's friends, Claire and Catharine, or savor a vegetable stew at a family-run restaurant in the hamlet of Bach. I also indulge in one breathtaking five-star dinner.

The night of my birthday I awake to what sounds like a train crashing in the courtyard. A fierce wind is banging the shutters, and an icy rain pelts the French doors. The electricity is out, and there is no heat. I can't find the fuse box, and the phone is dead. I hastily light a wood fire at the massive hearth, pull a day bed close to the flames, and plunge under the duvet with Lulu for a medieval sleep.

It is hailing in the morning when Jean-Pierre Kerambrun appears at the back door. When she could not reach me by phone, Sophie dispatched Monsieur Kerambrun, who will assume housesitting duties when I leave. A former gendarme who is caretaking another of Sophie's properties, Monsieur Kerambrun investigates. He discovers the fuse box recessed in a stone wall in a bath-room. Confidently, he flips a switch and—voilà!—lights! The kitchen, though, remains dark, and the radiators are quiet. Daniel Dumont, Sophie's father, suddenly arrives from his home in neighboring Cremps. Sophie, it seems, has summoned the troops to my aid. Monsieur Dumont surveys the kitchen. He frowns, sighs, then gives a Gallic shrug. I'm envisioning another freezing night when Sophie's carpenter, the dashing Laurent Moles, sweeps into the house. Laurent winks at me through a mop of blond hair and announces, "Allez!" ("Let's go!") We are filing back to the fuse box when, miraculously, the phone rings. It is Sophie calling from London. In rapid French she instructs Laurent on the vagaries of the fuse box and, within minutes, the house is ablaze with lights. We applaud our success.

My caretaking stint winds down in mid-April, but it is difficult to leave. On my last morning I toss the hens extra grain and cook a cod fillet for my feline friends. I still pose a vehicular hazard to Escamps residents, but I have also made new friends. Their world, so different from mine, is inspiring in its richness of community and shared history.

I hand Monsieur Kerambrun Piepalat's key and make my way back across the centuries to my home and a $250 pet sitting bill. Within days I am planning another housesitting adventure, this one in England. I log on to a few websites and post my own ad: "House sitter needed for four happy southern hounds…" Any takers?



My caretaking sojourn in France was idyllic, and caretaking enthusiasts I spoke with afterward were not surprised I was smitten. "Once people discover caretaking, they often make it a part of their lives," says Gary Dunn, publisher of The Caretaker Gazette, a Texas-based bimonthly publication, many of whose 10,000 subscribers are over 50. Indeed, boomers and retirees in particular appear to have taken to housesitting in a big way, attracted by rent-free living in some of the world's most beautiful and exciting locales. Ian White, founder of Australia-based HouseCarers.com, reports that retirees have become his biggest market in recent years. "Retirees are at a prime time in their lives to follow their dreams and move to a location that would be considered an impossibility in years past," White says.

When I placed ads in The Caretaker Gazette and on HouseCarers.com, asking how other house sitters had fared, the response was also nearly uniformly positive.

Wisconsin retirees Shelly and David Hamel were in their late 50s when they fell in love with life-off-the-grid during their first assignment on the Aleutian Islands. Now in their 60s, they are caretaking at an inn in San Miguel de Allende, Mexico. "Caretaking is a great way to see the world on the cheap for retirees, if you happen to be fit," Shelly enthuses.

Some caretakers reported glitches, from an exorbitant heating bill in an Italian farmhouse to finding that their nearest neighbor was a kennel of barking dogs. In some cases the homeowner's ad was not quite representative of the assignment. A "guy Friday" posting for a Caribbean compound lured retirees Pat and Larry Hilliard from their home in Falls Church, Virginia, to the tiny Netherlands Antilles island of Saba. According to the homeowner, he needed only "a few hours' help Monday-Friday, gardening and odds and ends." Before leaving, the Hilliards, both in their late 50s, speculated with great excitement about their Saban routine. "We'll grow a garden, do a lot of walking and hiking, try out all the restaurants, read," Larry wrote in their newsletter, The Saban Sun.

Not quite. What sounded like paradise turned out to be a sort of tropical work camp. During the several weeks the homeowner was present, he set an arduous schedule. The Hilliards mulched and mowed more than two acres of gardens, watered the owner's private jungle in a drought, and cleared vegetation during unexpected torrential rains. In the absence of car rentals, grocery shopping in the village of Windwardside meant trekking on foot over mountainous terrain. By the end of their first month, Larry had lost 13 pounds.

The simply furnished one-bedroom, one-bath cottage was less luxurious than the Hilliards' condo, but its view was of the spectacular Mount Scenery range. The island's beauty notwithstanding, the Hilliards left in July, well ahead of the year commitment requested by the owner. "I guess our 'surprise' had more to do with our own expectations and preconceived notions," Larry readily admits. Would they caretake again? "Definitely," says Pat. "But I'd be sure to ask how much and what type of heavy manual labor is involved."

Above all, it takes adaptability and resourcefulness to make caretaking work. "You have to be able to think creatively," says Harry Denkers, 55, whose family weathered rugged living on an island off the coast of Maine. When they first set foot on Seguin Island, the Denkerses marveled at the scent of bay leaves—and life's unexpected turns. Land-bound Canadians, they would be caretaking a lighthouse on this rocky island three miles from the shore.

The Denkerses had been among hundreds of applicants for the summer position that was advertised in The Caretaker Gazette. They were the first family with young children chosen by the Friends of Seguin Island, which manages the isle. In summer 1996 Lawrene, now 44; Harry; and their two preteen daughters honed skills they had developed on their Ontario farm. They replaced shingles, repaired walkways, laid down flooring, and maintained the 64 wild acres that are home to seals, sea birds, and a 19th-century lighthouse. They also greeted thousands of visitors to the island.

The Friends of Seguin Island clearly detailed the caretakers' duties. "There were no surprises as to our responsibilities, only the surprising beauty of the place and how attached to it we became," Lawrene says. For three months the family lived in the spartan caretaker's quarters that adjoin the small museum. Once a week a boat took them to the mainland for provisions. They were enchanted by the remote beauty and became lifelong friends of mainland residents.

For one week every summer since then, the family returns to Seguin Island to prepare the grounds for its new caretakers. There is always winter's damage to undo: shingling, painting, checking for water-line leaks, fixing the overworked sump pump, and rebuilding outdoor stairways.

Last year a sea storm delayed the Denkerses' departure and the arrival of the summer's caretakers, a Pennsylvania couple in their 60s. "You have to be a family that takes things in stride, and we discovered that we are," Harry says. Lawrene also learned something about herself. "Taking three months off in the middle of our lives seemed irresponsible, but it became the best decision we could have made at that time. I learned that you don't need much stuff to get along, and that people are more important than place."

Judith Reitman is the author of several nonfiction books, and her award-winning articles have appeared in The Atlantic Monthly and The Village Voice. She is spending increasing time in France.



Check Out My Other Blogs (click on blog name to go there) = / 1.3rd Eye Blog / 2. Favorites Blog/ 3. Vita Excolatur (Living Well ...) Blog/ 4. Humor Me Blog/ 5. News and Current Events Blog/ 6. Consider This ... Blog/ 7. Consumer Warnings Blog/ 8. New Orleans Pentimento Blog/ 9. We Constant Gardeners Blog/ 10. Chaillot Family Blog/

posted by Joe Paris at Friday, June 15, 2007 | 0 comments

Thursday, June 14, 2007

Park Model Homes


A Resort Cottage to Go

Jodi Hilton for The New York Times

Great Escape Luanne DeMatto, above, at her park model home in Rhode Island; it offers “country club living,” she said, without the cost.

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By KATE MURPHY
Published: June 14, 2007

WHEN it became unbearably hot and humid last month in Houston, Jane Moore, a 60-year-old primary school reading consultant, left her house to stay in her park model trailer in South Fork, Colo. “It’s very cool and beautiful here,” she said in a telephone interview, snug in her park model, which looks like an elongated cottage, is surrounded by a white picket fence and overlooks the Rio Grande. She bought the land and the park model in October. “People don’t understand what park models are,” she said. “They’re not tacky.”

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John Gress for The New York Times

Away From It All Pam Schaefer has a park model on the Illinois River.

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John Lacko for The New York Times

Jennifer Hawkins with her sons in their unit on an Indiana campground.

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Jodi Hilton for The New York Times

Luanne DeMatto in her unit’s living room.

Say trailer home and many people think of low-income housing or temporary quarters for those displaced by natural disasters. But in the last decade an upscale version has emerged, in various architectural styles.

Called park models because they can be parked anywhere, they are a maximum of 400 square feet under federal guidelines and therefore not taxed as permanent dwellings, making them an attractive option for beach, lake or mountain retreats. Manufacturers say they are having trouble meeting the demand for park models destined for private property, gated communities, resort campgrounds and even marinas.

“It’s like having a million-dollar home but at a fraction of the price,” said Luanne DeMatto, 54, the director of consumer lending at a bank in Mystic, Conn. She and her husband, Enrico, 61, a retired school administrator, placed their park model in a woodsy camping resort in Westerly, R.I., in 2002. The DeMattos pay $3,550 a year for a shaded and grassy 100-by-60-foot lot that is walking distance from the beach. “I couldn’t rent a place in the area for a week for that amount,” Ms. DeMatto said.

Though they are considered recreational vehicles, they look more like small houses. Lumber or a brick skirt around the bottom can hide their wheels, and additions, like a screened porch, can effectively double the square footage. Floor plans can include a wet bar, an island kitchen and a media room.

Smaller and less well insulated than manufactured houses, park models are intended for temporary or recreational use and are therefore considered personal property like cars and boats. But they can be winterized for use in all seasons. Costing $20,000 to $80,000, they are subject to sales tax when purchased, and depending on the state or the municipality, they may require annual licensing and registration, for fees from $30 to about $300.

Park models’ affordability and their improved design from the generic boxy look of 20 years ago have resulted in a 46 percent increase in sales since 1997, according to the Recreational Park Trailer Industry Association. They can look like English country cottages, log cabins and even Modernist glass houses.

The association reported that 10,100 were sold last year. Growing demand in the last couple of years has caused manufacturer backlogs. “We’re in a real boom period,” said Roger Byce, sales manager for Trophy Homes, a park model builder in Elkhart, Ind., the Detroit of park model manufacturing.

Their popularity led to the publication of a new magazine in March called Park Model Living, which highlights design trends and reviews resorts, communities and developments that sell or lease lots to park model owners. “It’s a growing and a very upscale market that we thought deserved coverage,” said Kaeth Gauthier, who edits and publishes the magazine with her husband, Frank, once a park model owner.

Ms. DeMatto said her park model was custom-built by Trophy Homes with demilune and dormer windows. She specified the interior layout, down to the placement of electrical outlets, and added a 400-square-foot screened porch. The camping resort where it is situated has a clubhouse, a pool and a golf driving range. “It’s country club living,” said Ms. DeMatto, who spends almost every weekend there from May through October.

The campsite fee includes water, but the DeMattos are billed separately for electricity and cable television service, which were hooked up the same day their park model arrived five years ago, towed by a heavy-duty pickup truck. The unit has central heat, air-conditioning and all major appliances except a stackable washer/dryer, which is an option in many models. There is Berber carpeting in the living room and bedroom and ceramic tile in the bathroom and kitchen.

Kristine and Peter F. Kilmartin’s park model is on oceanfront property in Point Judith, R.I., about 25 miles east of the DeMattos’. It has hardwood floors, track lighting, two sliding glass doors, a bay window seating area and a large kitchen with an island and stools. The unit also has surround-sound speakers inside and outside, where there is a deck and patio.

Although many owners buy furniture from park model manufacturers because it is sized to fit, Ms. Kilmartin furnished hers with items from Ikea, including sofas, chairs, tables and a bed. “I wanted a different look than what they offered,” she said, referring to the park model manufacturers.

“We know people who have bought beach cottages just up the way and can’t afford them now because of the property taxes,” said Ms. Kilmartin, 46, a database administrator for the Rhode Island State Legislature who lives in Pawtucket and spends holidays and spring and summer weekends at her park model. Mr. Kilmartin, 45, is a police officer and a state representative.

“We couldn’t have afforded to build” in the area, she said, much less pay the resulting higher property taxes on their Point Judith land. Their $150,000 lot, bought in 2005 and measuring 30 feet by 50 feet, is one of 33 in a gated park model community that opened three years ago, after years of being a trailer park.

The number of park model communities is growing. They charge monthly co-op fees of $150 to $500 and are being developed throughout the country, but particularly in areas that are attractive for vacation or retirement homes, like Maine, Rhode Island, Florida, Arizona, Colorado, North Carolina and Texas.

Families often buy several lots together to create vacation compounds. Ms. Kilmartin’s parents and Mr. Kilmartin’s brother and sister-in-law have lots and park models in their Point Judith enclave.

While the Kilmartins and the DeMattos have traditional houses as primary residences, it is not uncommon for people to divide their time between two park models. For example, Sue Cantara, a secretary, and her husband, Roland, a carpenter, took early retirement in 2005, when she was 54 and he was 58, and replaced their 2,100-square-foot three-bedroom ranch-style house in Allenstown, N.H., with two park models.

One, a clapboard-style unit manufactured by Woodland Park, with sliding French doors and surrounded by daylilies, sits on a resort campground in Contoocook, N.H., where they spend May through October. The rest of the year they live in one made by Chariot Eagle in a park model community in Hudson, Fla. It has more of a beach-house look to it, with storm shutters and a wooden deck.

They pay a total of $6,000 a year to rent the two properties and $35 a year to renew the registration for the unit in Florida. They are not required to pay registration fees on their park model in New Hampshire. Utility costs at each place average $40 a month.

“It’s a great lifestyle,” Ms. Cantara said. “We’ve cut our expenses so much we are able to do more,” like travel to San Diego and Providence to see their sons. She said the size of the living space did not bother her because “we spend 90 percent of our time outside anyway.”

Her husband fishes most days, in a pond when he is in New Hampshire and in the Gulf of Mexico when he is in Florida, and she likes to shop and to read on the screened porch attached to each house.

Pam Schaefer, 41, a pharmaceutical representative who lives year-round in a park model floating on the Illinois River in Channahon, Ill., said 400 square feet was more than enough space for her. Her home is attached to a buoyant base, which is moored to a dock at a marina. Having lived in a 7,200-square-foot house and a 1,800-square-foot condo, she said, “larger just means more to clean and take care of.”

“I’ve always wanted to live on the water and couldn’t afford to otherwise,” said Ms. Schaefer, who bought her place last year. “This is the perfect size and no hassle or maintenance.”

For families, the space can be tight, but it’s all relative. Mike Hawkins, 45, the director of business development for a mail order tire company in Elkhart, used to travel with his wife, Jennifer, and their family in a camper. But five years ago he bought a park model and put it on a resort campground in Howe, Ind., where there are miles of hiking trails and a lake for swimming, fishing and canoeing.

“For the money, park models are much more comfortable and nicer, and you save a ton on gas,” he said.

With a full-size bathtub and shower, a complete kitchen and satellite TV, Mr. Hawkins said, “it’s not quite camping but we still feel like we’re getting away from it all.”



Check Out My Other Blogs (click on blog name to go there) = / 1.3rd Eye Blog / 2. Favorites Blog/ 3. Vita Excolatur (Living Well ...) Blog/ 4. Humor Me Blog/ 5. News and Current Events Blog/ 6. Consider This ... Blog/ 7. Consumer Warnings Blog/ 8. New Orleans Pentimento Blog/ 9. We Constant Gardeners Blog/ 10. Chaillot Family Blog/

posted by Joe Paris at Thursday, June 14, 2007 | 1 comments