A Home of Our Own

I've said before, when Mom died, she left a huge mess behind. And, actually, a reluctance to deal with this mess might be part of why she died. But that's a sort of pop-psychology, avoidance issue thing that I may or may not write about later. In any case, due to an unpaid loan situation, I thought my mom had lost the rights to her land and house, and was only living there because no one wanted to kick a poor old lady out, which could have happened. I was also wicked disappointed because the monies owed were less than 10% of the value of the land, a pretty raw deal. As it turns out, I was wrong, and I am so happy about that.
There is a bit of money owed, a debt to an acquaintance of Mom's who paid property taxes for her, but I have the opportunity to pay off the debt and keep the land where Mom, my little brother Edward, and my grandmother are buried. So that's a very good thing. I've never owned anything worth that much either. To find myself a homeowner, even due to such unhappy circumstances, is rather exciting.
It's not much of a place, 2 1/4 acres of boggy land and an unfinished house with no water or plumbing, jury-rigged electricity and a wood stove for heat. And no driveway to speak of. And twenty-five years worth of hoarded junk, vermin, and cat shit, that makes the place basically uninhabitable. But the structure itself is fairly sound, it has lots of windows and there's a large garden and raspberry patch. So, yes, I have my work cut out for me, not completely sure I'm equal to the task, but hey, gotta give it a try and see what happens. And if I sound deeply ambiguous, it's because I am.