Harbour's Edge History

By Gil Dares

After a midday fire in 1990 had caused severe structural damage to the building, it had stood empty for years with the first floor windows covered with plywood. With numerous holes in the roof and just as many broken windows, the house was exposed to the elements. Situated such as it was at the very head of Yarmouth Harbour on more than two acres of land, it was one of the best known homes in the area. Unfortunately, a large part of that recognition came from the state of disrepair that at one time had even prompted neighbours to petition the Town of Yarmouth resulting in a notice of "Unsightly Premises" being issued to the owner. And so it was on that evening in May that we came to be wading through the foot-high grass in the back yard to view a magnificent cluster of beech trees. Up to this time, it had only been the trees that drew us here. But standing in the back yard, one was awed by the fabulous view of Yarmouth harbour. And this feeling of awe was compounded when, upon looking back at the house, it appeared to be some four stories high with a Scotch dormer and four significant chimneys. My wife Esther, being curious by nature, couldn't resist an attempt at finding a breach in the boarded windows from where she could catch a glimpse of the interior. As she approached a sun porch at the rear of the house, she discovered that the back door had been kicked in by vandals, allowing easy access. Now, I've already explained that I'm a police officer, so since that day I've used my "sense of duty" as an excuse to check the inside of the house for intruders. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. And while my explanation for entering the house is at least plausible, Esther and our two friends have maintained all along that they only followed me to ensure my safety.

Upon entering the house, it took a few minutes for our eyes to adjust to the darkness. While this was happening, other senses detected the strong odour of mildew while under foot; the debris from fallen plaster caused us to choose our steps carefully. At this point, depending on your point of view, you would be impressed by one of two things; either the past grandeur of this once stately home, or the devastation that the house had suffered during the years of neglect. It is likely important at this stage to attempt to provide both perspectives.

Entering as we did through the sun porch door, we then crossed the threshold of an eight foot French door leading to a room that was a full 33 feet long with two fireplaces and ten foot ceilings. A large bay window was positioned so as to catch the morning sun, something it had not done in years. As we continued through the house, each turn, each doorway presented us with yet another discovery. There were five well-appointed bathrooms, several large bedrooms, a rear-curved staircase leading to servants' quarters and a banister that wound and twisted to the third floor. The wooden window and door casings featured prominently in each of the first and second floor rooms. High ceilings with plaster crown moldings drew the eye upward, highlighting the size of the rooms and hallways. Dish and linen closets of solid oak in the formal dining room were testimony to the fact that this had been a very prestigious home at one time. In total, there were eight fireplaces, and although several of these were destined to become merely ornamental, this number would be mentioned over and over in our later conversations with family and friends. Toward the end of our unscheduled tour, we came upon the large country kitchen that had been modernized in 1950s fashion with stainless steel counter tops and sinks, wall ovens and countertop stoves. It had indeed been a marvelous home.

And yet, there was also the "half empty" point of view. In most rooms, the plaster had fallen from the ceilings and lay shattered on the floors. In several others, despite the warm spring weather, two inches of ice had formed over the plank flooring and there was not a single intact light fixture. The fire, which had ravaged the home in 1990, had virtually gutted the kitchen and then, probably due to the balloon construction that was the preferred method of building in those days, had easily traveled to the second and third floors. Numerous holes had been cut in the roof to allow the firefighters to battle the blaze and each of these provided access for the snow and rain. Five years of total neglect coupled with repetitive acts of vandalism had taken their toll. It would take a miracle to save this house.

In the days that followed, my wife and I were constantly engaged in conversation about the house. And with each conversation, we found ourselves a little more enamoured and a little less uncertain. A plan of action slowly developed whereby we would purchase the house at a reasonable price and then restore it, opening a Bed & Breakfast as a means of making the project affordable over time. It became an obsession and over the next several weeks we made frequent trips to the house. At first the real estate agent would accompany us; however he soon tired of the routine and gave us blanket permission to visit at our own discretion. Eventually we made an offer on the property only to have it promptly rejected by the owner.

Over the next few months, we alternated between borderline depressions caused by the realization that the home was doomed, to periods of optimism as yet another scheme was concocted, which would allow us to purchase the property. Throughout this time, we repeatedly visited the home and it was during one of these visits that we sought out professional advice on whether the project was feasible. The short answer was "No!" In fact, I recall that the advice offered was "Run for your life and don't look back." Although my wife was inclined to accept this advice, I was of the opinion that there is nothing that cannot be fixed, and it was only a matter of time before she was once again examining ways to finance the project.

Just as we had all but given up on the idea, we noticed that a fence had been erected around the house and it was slated for demolition. Although we were devastated by the prospect of losing this beautiful old home, we finally decided that we had to accept the inevitable. Ironically, as we were finally coming to terms with our disappointment, circumstances had turned in our favour. It turned out that the bank through which we had attempted to arrange financing were also the mortgage holders. Realizing that they were more likely to recoup their investment with the house intact, and armed with the knowledge that there was an option to demolition, they ordered a halt to the process and strongly suggested that the owner explore that option. Within days, we received a call from the real estate agent soliciting another offer on the property. This time we compromised, and on December 31st, 1994 we became the proud owners of the most dilapidated home in Yarmouth County.

I would be remiss if I neglected to mention that our pride in ownership was only exceeded by the fear experienced by our friends and family. With few exceptions, almost everyone we knew thought we had completely lost our minds. We became the talk of the town in some circles, and thankfully most of these conversations took place outside our earshot. Although we had a few of our more candid acquaintances question our sanity directly, most of the skeptics were kind enough not to diminish our optimism. Our three children, whom we have frequently claimed are completely different personalities, naturally assumed completely different stances when it came to the house.

Our oldest, Matthew, who was just about to turn 16 when we acquired the property, quietly accepted, as was his custom that Mom & Dad knew what was best. Throughout the project, he worked shoulder to shoulder with me, never once complaining that his weekends and school breaks were being spent at hard labour. Although he probably wasn't aware of it, he was very often the source of inspiration that we needed to complete our dream home. The work ethic he displayed, particularly during the demolition phase of the project was more than could be expected from a youth of his age.

Our oldest daughter Sarah was convinced that we had ruined her life. And although she pulled her weight by looking after the household whenever we asked, she had a real aversion to so much as visiting the work site. She just could not understand how two relatively reasonable people could commit such an unreasonable act. It was only after we were well into the project and she realized that she would have the nicest room with the nicest view did she begin to bring her friends by for a tour. In a way, Sarah was also an inspiration to me as I realized all she did to help in spite of her vocal opposition to the whole concept.

Finally there was Mykal, who at the time was only 8 years old. To her, it was like a big adventure. She would more often than not accompany us to the house on our daily treks and with the innocence of youth take delight at the very things which caused us the most concern, such as gaping holes in the roof and floors. On one occasion she discovered a pigeon's nest in one of the bedrooms and the dilemma that presented itself was finding a way to rid ourselves of the flying rodents that she wanted to adopt as pets. Although we had wrongfully assumed that entertaining Mykal would become a real distraction for us, it turned out that she was continually providing us with much-needed breaks from the many monotonous tasks as she happily dragged us away to point out yet another flower or some interesting debris on the shoreline.

But now I'm getting ahead of myself. As we welcomed in the New Year in 1995, all our attention was focused on the house. The very first thing on the agenda was to ready our present home for sale. Before we could even begin to do any major renovations, we would need the proceeds from this sale. And as we waited for a buyer we began the "de-construction" of 12 Vancouver Street. As I recall, the very first thing that we accomplished was to remove the boards from the first floor windows. We had hoped that this would prove to be encouraging. However, the light of day did not improve the condition of the interior but on the contrary allowed us to see the extent of the water damage that had occurred subsequent to the fire.

In February of that year, we demolished the wing of the house that attached it to the very large garage. This necessitated the positioning of the first of some fifteen dumpsters that we would eventually use to dispose of debris. Not your average dumpsters that you see everyday, but the 22 foot variety that resemble the back of a dump truck. This wing of the house had suffered most severely from fire and water damage and was beyond repair. Although its removal was unavoidable, it is one of the areas of future expansion that we hope to someday replace with a large, open family room. This first foray into the framework of the house was a good indicator of the strength of design and the integrity of the structure. For although I have stated that it was beyond repair, it seemed also to be beyond collapse. In a vain attempt to demolish this section by hand, all the interior support walls were removed. In addition, the beams supporting the trusses were either cut or removed and then several of the trusses themselves were weakened. And yet it seemed no amount of pulling, not even with the assistance of a four wheel drive truck, could cause the roof and exterior walls to collapse. The job was finally completed by a backhoe, which itself met with some resistance.

Throughout the spring, we worked tirelessly on the removal of debris and the clean up of the property. Bucket load by bucket load, we carried broken plaster and any number of other materials to the dumpster. And yet, financially we were in no position to invest in any improvements as we were now paying two mortgages. Spring also brought a number of welcome surprises as we began to discover the many varieties of perennial flowers that graced the property. Esther takes great delight in listing them all when describing the yard. I on the other hand have come to the conclusion that I am a tree person. This was decided based on my inability to remember for even the briefest period of time the names of any of the flowering plants. Trees are so much simpler. We decided that we should reclaim the back yard and lawns from the invasion of thorn bushes and alders and the first attack was led by a farm tractor with an attachment called a bush hog. This latter implement worked well in cutting the bushes to ground level. Unfortunately, several weeks of backbreaking work with an axe and shovels were to follow as the roots were unearthed and hacked away. At the end of this entire process we had several large hills of grass and tree parts stacked in the yard and to this day, despite employing such tactics as composting and chipping, there remains a large mound at one side of the property as evidence of the battle.

As we toiled relentlessly, we awaited the sale of our other home. Esther appointed herself the "general contractor" and began the job of finding just the right contractors to engage once we were able to begin the job of rebuilding. With the closing of the deal on the sale of our residence in September, things began to happen quickly. The very first thing that happened of course is that we moved. With the help of our real estate agent we were able to rent a century old home in the center of town which provided us with a real insight into the experience of occupying a large old house. As soon as we were relatively settled, the job at the "big house" was restarted with a new fervour.

With winter fast approaching, the first order of business was to weatherproof the house. Esther had worked out all the contractual arrangements and work began without delay. Some eighteen months had passed since that first visit to the property, and it is difficult to describe how we felt as those initial improvements finally commenced. The carpentry crew, under the direction of Eric Vacon, had a mammoth task on their hands. Over the years, layers of roofing shingles had been added over the original cedar, and each of these layers had to be removed. It was during this process that one of the carpenters discovered the birch bark that had been used as flashing around the chimneys and windows. Incredibly, after 130 years of service, it appeared as though it had only just been stripped from the tree. As the roofing materials were removed, it exposed the extent of the fire damage and a significant area required replacement, including some of the beams and trusses. It was also a time when several of the exterior walls were
replaced. And as these were being removed and rebuilt, portions of the main sill were found to be heavily damaged as well. This would tend to be the trend from this point on. Each job that was undertaken would lead to the discovery of yet another that had not been anticipated. We realized very early on that our contingency account for cost overruns would not only be rapidly depleted, but was probably not sufficient. The true meaning of "sweat equity" would soon be quite clear.

As the cold months passed, we were constantly at the house. And although the only visible improvement was the new roof, our presence there seemed to spark an onslaught of curiosity seekers. Without any fear of contradiction, I can confidently say that more than a thousand people arrived unannounced at the front door wanting to know if they could come in and look around. For the most part, they were local people who had always wondered what the house looked like. But there were also a fair number who were visitors to the area. Esther was the perfect tour guide. She would put down whatever implement was the "tool of the day" and provide a complete tour of the house, answering questions and explaining the process of rebuilding. Only photographic evidence can attest to the risk involved in conducting these impromptu tours, as guests gingerly walked a plank in one hallway to avoid plunging all the way from the second floor to the basement. I recall on one afternoon when my son announced that the tour bus from the local hotel was outside. As it was common for the bus to pass slowly by the house on a daily basis, I paid very little attention until a knock at the door was followed by a request from the passengers for a "peek" inside. Their curiosity had been piqued by the bus operator's commentary and they had implored her to make the unscheduled stop. And although this ritual of providing tours was extremely repetitive, we found ourselves unable to refuse. After all, we had once felt the same way.

This was also the time when we began to discover some of the history of the property. This information came from a variety of sources, not the least of which was the archivist at the local museum. However, a number of our uninvited but welcome guests were also able to provide us with some interesting details. The historical significance of the property would eventually prove to influence several aspects of the completed project, such as replacing rather than removing the rear staircase. We had already decided to restore the house to be as historically accurate as finances and common sense allowed, and the resolve to do so was bolstered by the knowledge that we would be making a contribution to the community by preserving this piece of history.

Throughout the winter and early spring, we continued to work on the demolition of the interior of the house. The days were long and filled with drudgery, and for the most part the only relief came at the end of a long day when a hot bath enabled us to wash the plaster dust and soot away. Whenever anyone asked if we were doing the work ourselves, we would simply say "only the dirty work". This probably wasn't fair to the various contractors we had engaged, but honestly from the time we arrived in the morning attired in our old clothes until we left at night, it was nothing but dirt and dust and more dirt and dust. I was most amazed by the way Esther swallowed her pride and made numerous public appearances during this period. As a town councilor, she is fairly well known and easily recognized. And yet, whenever she was asked to play the "gofer", and this was a frequent occurrence, she brushed off some of the dust and set off to the local hardware store to purchase another tool or some other needed item. Truthfully, her appearance on some days was nothing short of comical and those of us who remained at the work site had more than a few laughs at her expense. She proved to be a really good sport about the whole thing.

During this stage, we were also helped from time to time by some friends. However, it was common for them to show up, work an afternoon and not be seen again for months. This was easily explained by the fact that the job was totally overwhelming, and we completely understood their failure to return. After a full days work by several people, you could look back and reflect on what a very small dent had actually been made in the progress. To many it must have been very discouraging. We had no allowance in our time budget to be discouraged and so we trudged onward. We were not abandoned however, and once the project reached a point where we were actually rebuilding and every day made a difference, our friends returned. One exception was Kathy, who had been one of the original quartet who came to see the trees. She is a teacher, and during her March break in 1995, she spent day after day attempting to scrape layers of paint from one of the fireplaces. This is noteworthy mainly because although she spent many days at the house in the interim, during the March break in 1996, she was working on the same fireplace. We tell this anecdote to give people some insight into the extent of our undertaking.

Time also worked in our favour. We had been challenged with the task of finding a suitable place to construct a fire escape from the second and third floors. This requirement was imposed upon us by the Fire Marshall and my own experience as a fire investigator. However, trying to determine the appropriate design and location that would not distract from the elegance of the house was proving to be difficult. Had we merely proceeded to do so at the outset, we would no doubt have wound up with one of the same type that awkwardly descends from many other older buildings, an obvious and unattractive addition. We had delayed this decision and in so doing, we had unintentionally allowed necessity to nurture innovation. The stairs between the second and third floors were positioned where the incline of the roof prevented an average person from standing erect. I had uttered more than one mild oath as I struck my head while climbing these stairs and Esther had frequently complained of the lack of light in this area. After receiving one rather nasty bump on the head, I had among a few choice expletives, loudly remarked that I wished we could raise the roof. We immediately saw the answer to all three of our problems. By raising the roof and installing a French door, we could gain the much-needed light, provide additional headroom, and install a fire escape that would blend in with the existing structure. Although it meant cutting a huge portion out of our new roof, we were elated to have finally resolved these issues.

There were other more moderate changes to the house that would be made. From an old photograph, we were able to determine that the sun porch through which we had first entered the house had originally been a verandah. Since it would require a fair amount of attention at any rate, we opted to restore the open verandah. This would, in turn present us with the dilemma of having the eight-foot French door and sidelights having only single pane glass. Our contractor, who had at first suggested replacing the entire entrance, eventually struck on the idea of removing the glass and the outside portion of the framing. This allowed for the installation of double pane glass without distracting from the appearance of the entrance. Inside the house, we had agreed that although we would do everything we could to maintain the integrity of the original floor plan, in the area that had unmistakably been the servant's quarters, we converted two small bedrooms and the dividing hallway into one large bedroom. This decision not only resulted in having one of the nicest rooms in the house, it was also the bait that lured our eldest daughter back to the property.

Early on in the renovations, I had been questioned about the magnitude of the project. Every inch of wiring, the suspected culprit in the fire, was removed and replaced. All plumbing, much of it lead, had also been removed and the black steel pipe that provided hot water for the heating system was discarded in favour of copper. A new furnace was installed and for the first time sewer connected to the town sewage system. As the sewer hook-up required excavation, new water mains were installed as well. All the windows on the second floor and many on the other floors were replaced with thermal pane inserts. Although we managed, with a lot of hard work, to save almost half of the plaster in the house, we still installed 308 sheets of gyproc. Much of the woodwork had been removed, repaired and reattached, including numerous door and window casings. Several floors, including the joists that supported them, were also replaced. And yet, at a time when the only part completed was the roof; we were able to state emphatically that we were halfway to our goal. Since one of our main objectives was to prevent the demolition, we felt that the new roof alone was sufficient to eliminate that as an option.

Once the warmer weather arrived, the property took on the appearance of a beehive. Along with a variety of trades people, the unpaid workers and the drop-in guests resulted in a virtual flurry of activity. The crew of masons, under the guidance of Peter Hilton, began the tedious job of repairing brickwork and lining chimneys. Esther had a habit of setting up a portable barbecue in the driveway and cooking hamburgers and hotdogs for lunch. Although the workers no doubt thought that she was a most gracious employer, it was really a devious plan to keep them at the work site so she could extract the maximum amount of work from them on any given day. One of the unexpected and most pleasant rewards of this was that we made some new and lasting friendships. Surprisingly, to us at least, was the sense of pride and almost ownership that these people took in the project. In some cases we got a lot more value than we paid for and for that we would be eternally grateful.

We were now getting to the point where we had to complete enough of the renovations to make the house habitable. Esther was given free reign to design the kitchen area and the result was a most efficient and attractive use of colour and space. My contribution was the suggestion of erecting a stone fireplace once the dated blonde brick had been knocked down and hauled away. This feature has now become the focal point of family life as many hours are spent in a rocking chair near the woodstove insert.

There had always been a small window in the kitchen that faced the harbour. Divided into many smaller panes, it offered only a fractured view, and one day I took it upon myself to remove it. This was done much to the dismay of both Esther and Matthew, who were both convinced that I had taken leave of my senses. After all, it was a perfectly good window. I was instantly redeemed, however, when they both stood for the first time and gazed at the post card beauty of the harbour. A salvaged picture window would subsequently be installed, and this became a preoccupation for our local building inspector who would make daily visits to enjoy the scenery.

Above all else, there was the scraping. In spite of numerous experiments to determine the best way to remove one hundred and thirty years of paint, it was concluded that the only way was to roll up your sleeves and pick up a scraper. Literally a dozen various models could be found laying about the house. It was the most difficult, time-consuming and thankless part of the entire project. Days would be spent scraping the paint from one side of a door, only to repeat the experience on the other side. And there were doors, and windows, and baseboard, and moldings and so on and so on. It seemed as though it would just go on forever. Esther was the one who displayed the most patience and determination in this regard, and her tenacity was noted many times by other people. On one particularly tiring day, we received a visit from a friend from New Brunswick. Ralph March was to offer us some of the best advice that we ever received. He suggested that every so often we drop everything and do a feel-good job. Paint a porch, finish a small room, accomplish something. From then on, we went from feel-good job to feel-good job, and as each of these was completed, the work that was finished slowly outweighed that which remained to be done.

Another prominent figure in the restoration of 12 Vancouver Street was our soon-to-be next-door neighbour, Vern Whitney. Admittedly, he had been amongst those who at first had serious doubts as to the viability of the project. And yet, since he had to live next door to the mess for a number of years, he could also be counted among those who sincerely hoped we could make it happen. When we first became acquainted with Vern and his wife Carol, it was during one of their several trips a day past the house as they walked their two dogs. Although he offered his services very early on in the relationship, I was very reluctant to impose upon a new neighbour in such an endeavour. I guess Vern finally came to the conclusion that I wasn't going to ask for his help, and so he just one day started helping. And help he did. He would show up every Saturday, every Sunday and lots of evenings in between. I was getting to the point where the work had taken its toll on my endurance, and if it hadn't been for Vern, I'm pretty sure we wouldn't be living here yet. He not only provided time and talent, but at times I think his entire collection of tools was scattered somewhere in the house. Esther has joked that we would have paid a lot more for the property if we had only known Vern came with it, and although it always gets a laugh, we are convinced that every project like this needs at least one Vern.

Throughout that summer, we were desperately attempting to get the house to the point where we could move in. Had it not been for our friends, we would have failed miserably. But by the end of September, we had finished or at least half finished enough rooms so that we could take up residence. It was similar to living in a construction zone, but we were so happy to finally be here that there was very little complaining about the inconvenience. The exterior of the house had been painted in heritage colours that Esther had chosen. Since I am afflicted with colour blindness, I was excluded from any involvement. This gave rise to more than a few blank expressions when I would respond to a question about the colours of the house by saying it was "Windsbreath & Creekbed". Truth is, to this day I'm not sure what colour it is. It was this component of the project where we had made the biggest mistake; grossly underestimating the costs when putting together the financial plan. Neither of us can recall how or why we had committed such a grave error, especially since it was one of the known factors. But it has proved to be an important lesson for others who have considered such a venture.

Now that we were in the house, we began to set goals by upcoming events. The first of these was Christmas. We needed a room to set up a tree, and so we set about to finish the den at the front of the house. We wanted to show our appreciation to all those who had helped us and so we decided to host a party on New Year's Eve. The big room was unfinished, without power, unpainted, and overall an eyesore. But we were determined to have a party, so all the tools and ladders were hidden under a tarp, extension cords provided power for the stereo system and candles provided sufficient light to enable us to recognize one another while disguising the pealing paint. The party was a tremendous success and has now become a tradition.

I have not yet mentioned the family contribution. Both Esther and I are originally from Dartmouth and most of our siblings still live in that area. We had received periodic visits from several of them and each time they would pitch in and help out with whatever was the job of the day. However, it was my two brothers who made the biggest contribution. Several times while we were working on the house, they would arrive for a weekend towing a trailer full of tools. And as if they were participating in a barn raising, they would work from dawn till dusk, making the most out of every hour, every minute. These weekends were so productive that I was always sorry to see them leave. But that very productivity left us with a feeling of accomplishment that was totally refreshing. It seemed that each time we faced an obstacle or became discouraged, someone or something would come along and pick us up again. Those weekend visits by my brothers were so timely that it seemed almost as if they could sense our despair from hundreds of
kilometers away.

During the second winter, we were frantically trying to meet the deadline for the opening of the "Harbour's Edge Bed & Breakfast". Once again, our friends were there for us and our biggest fear was that we would wear out those friendships in very short order. It is one thing to impose on a friend to borrow sugar or lend you a tool, yet another altogether to assign them the task of stuffing fiberglass insulation in between the studs of an open wall. It is a wonder that they kept coming back. As for Esther and me, in spite of our employment and many other commitments outside of the home, we found time almost daily to do something constructive, often working into the early hours of the morning. There were hundreds of small jobs to do and relaxation was out of the question.

I have hinted that the property has some historical significance and perhaps this would be a good time to expound upon this relevance. Yarmouth itself was founded in the eighteenth century. The first settler, Sealed Landers, chose this site at the head of the harbour due to its close proximity to fresh water and access to the ocean. It had previously been the summer camping grounds for the Mi'kmaq who took advantage of the excellent fishing as the "kiack" headed upriver to spawn. The house itself was built for the Honourable Stayley Brown in 1864. Brown had succeeded Alexander Keith of brewery fame as the Provincial Treasurer. Known for his vocal opposition to Confederation, he had also been the co-founder of the Bank of Nova Scotia in Yarmouth. He was a very successful merchant and had the home built for his second wife, Ellen Grantham Farish. A number of other prominent persons had subsequently owned or lived in the home and these included Clara Caie and Lucy Jarvis. Miss Caie was well known as far away as our nation's capital for her philanthropic endeavours. It was during her tenure as the owner of the property that she rented the home to a local banker, Mr. Jarvis. His daughter Lucy would become a renowned artist, and there is some indication that it was while living in this house that she first began to paint. Other important persons would occupy this home over the years, and each would ensure that the structure would endure the passing of time.

As the projected date for our grand opening approached, we were contemplating a theme for the house. It seemed that having someone spend the night in "Room Number One" would somehow diminish the experience. It was actually the many stories that had been related to us about the property that led us to the decision to make the theme "The Women of The House". It seemed that the truly romantic tales always featured the women as the main character, and so we have four rooms that are each named after a woman with some connection to 12 Vancouver Street. Three of them have already been mentioned, Ellen Brown, Lucy Jarvis and Clara Caie. The fourth is the only one who is still alive.

Audrey Kenney had passed by this house with her husband Seymour on a daily basis and had frequently commented on what a lovely home it was. One day Seymour arrived home to announce he had a surprise for her. He had managed to get a key to the house that at the time was unoccupied. Together they wandered throughout the house as she imagined the many aesthetic and practical renovations they could make. As they were completing their tour, Seymour proudly handed her the key and announced that he had purchased the home. Sadly, Seymour Kenney passed away while I was writing this story. Audrey, who is a true lady, has her portrait hanging above the fireplace of the nicest room in the house, the one that bears her name.

Once the house had reached a point where the exterior work had been completed and the majority of the interior was well underway, we made application for heritage designation. Both the Town of Yarmouth and the Province of Nova Scotia accepted the applications and in June of 1997, the home was plaqu. A reception was held on the day of the provincial designation and a short time later, we decided to have an open house for anyone who wished to view the progress. More than 300 people visited that day, and we were pleased and honoured to receive each of them. That same year we offered our home for the Christmas Home Tour, a fundraiser for the Yarmouth County Historical Society. It was once again viewed by several hundred appreciative visitors, and once again we felt privileged to be their hosts.

The visitors to our home have provided us with the motivation to continue and in some cases, comic relief. For those who witnessed the interior in the very early stages, they are absolutely overwhelmed by our achievement. Still others have posed questions such as "Was the furniture here when you bought the house?" The true extent of the restoration only became obvious to us when we sat down one evening and looked at the many photographs we had taken during the entire process. Jobs that had taken us upwards of a week to complete had been totally forgotten, absorbed in our memories amongst a thousand other details. And yet, there is still more to do. There will probably always be more to do.

We have received a number of accolades for the work that has gone in to the preservation of this house. In 1996, the Yarmouth County Historical Society presented us with the Heritage Award in recognition of achievement in historic activity within Yarmouth County. The following year, the Province of Nova Scotia awarded us first place in the category of historical restoration during the Nova Scotia Home Awards. The house was featured in a special documentary segment during a provincial news broadcast and has been featured in varying degrees in newspapers, magazines and other publications. I recall that it was during an interview that we were asked how it felt to own a house like this. The funny thing is, you never feel as though you own it, more as though you are taking care of it for your community. Are we glad we did it? That goes without saying. Would we do it again? Not on a bet.

As the work continues on the improvement and restoration of the house, we are now also extremely busy with the operation of the "Harbour's Edge Bed & Breakfast". This has proven to be quite a challenge, and yet in some ways has helped us to maintain our enthusiasm in regards to the property. Esther is the perfect hostess and is frequently distracted from her duties by engaging in lengthy conversations with the guests. Inevitably, the story of the restoration unfolds, complete with a guided tour through the rather extensive photographic record of the entire project. We have taken pride in the astonishment that many of our visitors express after hearing and seeing the details of the restoration. When we initially opened for business, Esther decided to provide a journal for each of the rooms in order to collect written comments and anecdotes from our guests. These journals now contain literally hundreds of complimentary remarks, and although many refer directly to the quality of the hospitality or the dining, the vast majority also include praise and, in some cases astonishment, for what we have accomplished. It has been inspirational and motivational to spend a few minutes reading these reflections before embarking on yet another phase of the project.

We have found the experience of entertaining guests in our home to be less intrusive and more rewarding than we imagined. It has been our observation that the nicest people in the world stay at Bed & Breakfasts. Although running a business from your home can be exhausting at times, many a summer evening has been passed sitting on our back verandah with our guests engaged in pleasant conversation while watching the sun set over the harbour or enjoying the antics of the shore birds. And it has been equally as satisfying to observe our guests as they stroll slowly around the property or amaze at the cardinals that arrive each morning to feed on the safflower seeds Esther places strategically within view of the breakfast table. Our guests come from all over the world, and for the most part they arrive as strangers and leave as friends. We have learned and grown and endured and matured. And all because of the enchantment.