Recently a friend suggested we check out an old house that looked like it had been through a fire.  He didn’t know anything about it, just happened to drive by and thought we’d be interested.

The weekend was sunny and we decided it was perfect for a drive to see an old house, or two, whatever the condition.

We wound our way through a neighborhood of white colonials, mature trees and perfect landscaping.  The lawns were still a lush green, with just enough leaves sprinkled about to remind us it’s Fall.  Every home design was well thought out, from the three story with dentil moulding at the eaves to the tiny gambrel with weathered shingles and red painted door.  Some sat high on a knoll, others hugged the ground low.  Their placement among their neighbors was perfect.  The whole scene was the stuff of calendars.

Then we came to it.  It sat high and prominent, impossible to hide its sorry state.  We drove up the driveway to park and take a look around.  No trespassing signs were everywhere, but those are for the bad guys.

We were there to help.  I took some photos while my husband left his card in the door and circled the house to investigate its details.

The driveway abutted a neighbor’s back yard and she was rather annoyed that we’d ignored the signs.  My husband assured her we were good guys, we try to save houses like this.

She said yes, obviously, there had been a fire, but the owners had no insurance.

Yikes.

The rafters are gone, and I can only imagine the water damage inside.  So often as much damage is done putting it out as from the fire itself.

Will they tear it down, or repair?  Or will it sit, like some, for years?  I’ll keep you posted.