Almost Home

– By Mary Brennan Gerster –

We thought that Rye was our destination home, the place that we would always return to. We had been living in Rye since 1972, raised our two children there and connected with the people who will forever be our friends. When in January of 1994 we lost our home, pets and all personal belongings in a fire, it was the community of Rye that made us whole again. We never considered not rebuilding our beloved 1894 Victorian on Halsted Place.

Both our children married and eventually moved to Rowayton, as Rye was simply not a possibility for them. As our grandchildren arrived and we found ourselves spending more and more time in this tiny, bucolic, Norman Rockwell waterside community my husband kept asking, “Why don't we live here”? To which I logically replied, “Because we live in Rye.”

What started us down the “slippery slope” as my husband refers to it, was a phone call from our daughter Eileen telling us to go look at a friend's home in Belle Island in Rowayton, no obligation just look. From that initial “look” we decided that only direct water access with 24-hour views (no mud flats) would compel us to leave Rye. Low and behold such a house was on the market. Built in 1918 and directly on Five Mile River.

Making a purely instinctive decision we bought it. (We were married while still in college while Vietnam was roaring, so we have confidence in such decisions). The reality of what this meant did not hit home until the day the movers came and packed up the house on Halsted Place.

As I walked through our home, now devoid of any personal sense of the four of us, I sobbed; Deep, gulping sobs. I said goodbye to every room, each filled with unique memories.

We moved on May 1 from a perfect 3,400 square-foot home to a 1,700 square-foot home in the chaos of renovation with no space to hide. When the movers arrived I realized, again in tears, that many of our pieces were just too large, despite having shipped a small truckload of stuff to our farm in Vermont. The best was a chandelier I bought made of twigs, which arrived while I was in Italy. Alec called Eileen to come right over as “a tree is growing out of the ceiling!” It too has found a home in Vermont.

We remodeled as though we were living on a boat with built-ins in every possible space. Despite having lost everything in 1994 we had managed to accumulate the things we most loved - books and artwork. The Rye library benefited, as did our children, but I still have paintings in stacks in our attic (no basement in waterfront homes). Perhaps if I ever am organized I will organize revolving exhibitions in my own home.

After the initial trauma we love our new home. Waking up to the water every morning is a dream come true. Seeing our children and grand children every week is a blessing beyond compare. We have become geek birdwatchers and refer to the five elegant swans as ‘our swans’”. In the summer we love watching the parade of boats enter and leave the harbor and have considered a rating system from one to ten similar to those held during the Olympics. I have tea and my New York Times on my deck looking out at the water until it is too cold to do so.

I still say I am from Rye when people ask, and still give my “967” phone number. After 33 years, I will always consider myself from Rye. I return to have my hair done by Susan at Scissors. I still play tennis at Rye Racquet, get my meat at Crisfield's, my jewelry at Woodrow's, and groceries at June and Ho and The Rye Country Store (my granddaughter Kate always asks “Is this a Chris cookie?”)

I miss the Rye Library and Lucille (Dianni) but am getting to know the folks at the Rowayton Library. The first time I went to the cleaners here, Jem Lee, I found out he is a cousin of Sam Moy of Fong's, so I knew that was meant to be.

We are not Florida people, as we love winter, so our new spot on the water and our place in Vermont are heaven to us.

We are still trying to find spaces for everything but are quite at peace. I cannot drive past Halsted Place yet, as it will always seem like my home and it no longer is. But our friends will be our friends no matter where we or they hang our hats.