This old house. (In real life: first-person America).

TARKIO, MISSOURI--We live in an agricultural region that has just endured a record drought. The stock market is in a swoon. So is the local economy. We decided to celebrate by buying a house.

Mind you, our decision was made even tougher by family pressures.

Julie and I started married life in a four-room tenant house with no central heat or air conditioning. The pipes froze with regularity, and the electric baseboard heaters were so expensive to run that we spent the first winter in two rooms, which we heated with a wood stove. The foundation of our home was made of soft brick, crumbling in places, allowing easy entry to cold winds and rodents. One extremely large creature traveled up inside the wall, and took up residence directly over our bed, scratching and keeping us awake each night. We attacked that rat with every trap, poison, and potion known to man, but he didn't leave his perch until the next spring. It was a testament to love that knows no bounds that my wife stuck with me for the three years we lived there.

When our second child was on the way, we purchased a house that was warmer, but sat above a basement that filled with water after every heavy dew. There was also the disapproval of my grandfather to deal with. He didn't think that any farmer should live in town, even a very small town like the one where this house was located. Grandpa finally came to visit only because it was the only way he could see his youngest great-grandchild.

Our third home came painted in a color scheme redolent of the 1970s drug culture. No surprise, as the previous resident ended up spending a hitch in the state penitentiary for some illegal farm diversification. This house was in the country, which pleased my grandfather, but it was built with used lumber, leaving our ceilings only seven and a half feet tall. Over the years we re-roofed the house, added a couple of bedrooms, central air, a porch, new siding, and a redone kitchen.

But my wife and I have long nursed a dream, one that involves high ceilings, beautiful woodwork, formal gardens, and enough bookshelves to hold all of my books. On a lark, we toured a house for sale in Tarkio, which turned out to have three stories, solid oak wainscoting, pocket doors, and beautiful wood floors. The two-acre lot looked like a bare pallette for my wife's horticultural passions. It had a huge porch ideal for the kind of lavish hanging baskets only someone running a greenhouse business like ours can afford. After a thorough 15-minute discussion, we bought the house.

We are now violating an ...