Saturday, September 29, 2012

I Got the Mortgage Interest Rate Blues

About a year ago, I received a letter from my mortgage company that offered me a free refinance.  No closing costs, no cost to me at all, and they would even send a notary to my house.  Take me from 5.5% to 5%, just because I have a perfect payment record.  I spent ample time on the phone with the Chase guy, and was assured there was no catch.  Really?  Is anything ever free?  But I proceeded; the notary came, I signed the papers, and suddenly had a payment that was $300. less.  Who wouldn't jump on that??!!  I thought it was a tremendous stroke of good luck!

Fast forward to now.  Could Chase have known over a year ago that interest rates would be 2.7% on a 15- year mortgage today?  Because now there is something called the HARP program.  And I DO NOT QUALIFY, because I closed AFTER 2009 (thanks to that free refinance).  With the HARP program, anyone can refinance, regardless of their income, if they closed BEFORE 2009.  My income has dropped so much, no one will refinance me now.  The mortgage companies want my mortgage to be no more that 50% of my income, and it is almost 90%.  They won't touch me.

So without HARP, I have no chance to refinance at these current, amazingly low rates.  Because I jumped on that free refinance from Chase a year ago, I am out of the running.  If I had not done that, my closing date would be recorded as 2005, and I would be a HARP shoe-in.

This is one of those situations where a crystal ball would have been just marvy.  At 2.7%, my payment would be about the same, but over a decade of payments would disappear.

 Oh that hurts.

 Everything happens for a reason, I truly believe that.  But right now, the reason for my having to pay tens of thousands more for my home eludes me.  I have to let this go, and writing helps me do that.  Thanks for listening......


Wednesday, September 26, 2012

The Last Supper


Never do I feel so alone in the world as when I am mourning a beaver.  Nor do I feel more that I must come from a different place and time.  A beaver was killed.  And it was my beaver, somewhat.  Part of Wood Thrush Ridge is a 9-acre lake...Bream Hole Lake (after my boys' first swim in this lake, we re-named it Lake Leech).  But it is not my lake alone.  My land deed shows I own one edge of Lake Leech; the other edges are owned by 5 other land owners.  Recently, a beaver showed up in this lake, where of course one would...it is water surrounded by delicious trees.  And here is where my aloneness comes in:  I alone think the lake belongs to the beavers (and all other creatures), not to the people who have it drawn on their land deed.  I cannot tell you how solitary this thinking is in my community.  But it is my core belief that this is the land of the animals, and I am on THEIR land...they are not on MY land.  I am just lucky enough to share it with them.

When I was very young, I came across Chief Seattle's poem and the line "We did not create the web of life, we are merely a strand in it".  It settled into my psyche like a stone in soft mud, and lies there still.  So when I heard that the neighbors were out at night to shoot the beaver, I was devastated.  Why does the neighbors' wanting to kill automatically override my wanting to protect?  I understand there are trees in yards that
people want to keep.  But hardware-cloth wrap seems such an easy solution to me....I cannot fathom thinking instead,  "Oh my tree has been chewed, let's kill the beaver".   And likewise, the beaver killers cannot fathom why on God's green earth I would want to let the beavers stay.

We are the only species on the planet that kills out of choice.  A human could go, if it wanted to, from birth to death without killing a single animal.  No other meat-eating animal can do that.  The cheetah on the Kalahari cannot think, "Man, I am craving some meat today, I think I'll off a tommy."  The cheetah has no choice...it must kill or die.  This is what separates me from most of the people here in Tennessee, that I deeply know this: all killing by a human is a conscious choice.  And I myself cannot, in good conscious,  choose to kill  (except a flea).  Thankfully, there are enough food choices at Kroger that I do not have to.  Now if it was 200 years ago and my family was starving, that would be a whole other waxy ball.

For the beaver, I am so sorry I am only one of six.  If it was my lake alone, you would be welcome to be the architect of nature that you are.  You would be able to do your thing in peace, and I would marvel at watching all that you can do.  You are not the first beaver to die here, and you will not be the last.  I wish I could have protected you from the the others who choose to kill you, instead of calling you Kin.

Friday, September 21, 2012

For the Lingering Wood Thrush

Imagine this:
You have a balloon, blown up taught.  Lick your thumb, and rub the balloon until you make a nice squeaking noise.  That's the sound of me making my mortgage payment this month.  Cliche to say that I squeaked by, but I so did.   And since I am OCD about sending an extra principle payment, it's a little worse than it has to be.  But I figure I'm cleaning out the bank account now to buy peace and freedom down the road, and it all seems worth it to me.

Sunrise on Wood Thrush Ridge

Here's the part I love:   When I pay that mortgage and it cleans me out, I do not feel stressed about it, but feel incredible joy.  I get rewards that feel, to me, so much better than a cushy check-book balance.  Like the reward of standing on the edge of my woods at the day's end, listening for lingering wood thrush.   They have long stopped singing, way back in July.  But through the fall, I can still hear them, doing their "pwit pwit pwit pwit" call (sounds like banging two marbles together), or their soft "mur mur mur mur" sounds.  And I wonder, are these the same wood thrush that nested here all season, and stay as long as they can?  Or are they migrants who chose this place for a rest stop?  I have heard wood thrush here as late as the first week of November.  And then they fall silent, as they have gone to winter in Belize.  I pay that mortgage all winter long, so they can come back to protected nesting grounds in April.   I do it for the wood thrushes, and every other creature that uses this 40 acres.  And let's be honest, Janet Lee....I do it for me.  Because nothing gives me more joy than knowing I have kept this land another day.

Friday, September 14, 2012

Here goes.....

My very first blog post.
I know some absolutely amazing bloggers (Stephen Lyn Bales, Vickie Henderson, Julie Zickefoose, Gary Loucks) who have all .....started....right...here.   The very first blog post.
With this choice, to begin a blog, comes the knowing that I have opened up a window to the world, to step right on up and take a look at my life.  And that's alright with me, because I have much to share.

The focus of this blog will be my home, Wood Thrush Ridge, and all the deliciously natural and wild comings and goings of my life on this 40 acres of land.  Seven years ago, I was one of the millions of Americans who were given just about any home mortgage they decided to go for.   And like many of those millions of Americans, this mortgage has now become more than I can handle.  But I feel blessed blessed blessed that I got under the wire on buying this home and land, because living here is my best possible life.   And my greatest goal and most worthy journey is to keep this home, protect this land, and continue to walk this ground.

Soooo, I thought I would live with complete transparency and share my journey with everyone, anyone, every cent of the way.   I am saving for a conservation easement (approximately $10,000), and paying for this place ($256,017.98 balance), and every month brings a small victory when I send in that mortgage payment; I do a happy dance to the mail box each and every time... (internally....the locals think I am weird enough).    I hope to have a blog following who loves nature enough to share these monthly victories with me.   Come along......and let's keep Wood Thrush Ridge as pristine as possible, for countless nesting wood thrushes to come.