NEW LISTING - 32 MAIN ST

A sweet semi-detached downtown home in the mid-300s. New appliances and a deep, pretty garden.

1049 HWY 2 EAST

An extraordinary home made from a blend of sandstone and limestone, finished on three levels just east of downtown Kingston.

OPEN HOUSE - SUNDAY SEPTEMBER 28, 2-4 PM

58 EARL ST

58 Earl St is something special. Walkable in minutes to the downtown core and to the water, the hospitals, City Park and the University, the location feels as perfect as a front-row seat. With large principal rooms and high ceilings, excellent natural light and grown-up perennial gardens front and back, it’s a winning ticket, a dream made from perfect angles in double-brick and immaculate plaster.

35 MANITOU CRESCENT EAST

My dad’s house. It’s been a long time coming, and a process not without its complications, but it’s ready for you now. A big old Amherstview side split with the best garden I’ve seen in that part of the world.

I only lived here for a few months. We’d been in Canada less than a year, and the Mississauga job that got us through Immigration didn’t work out. Dad took something new near Kingston, and he and my mum bought 35 Manitou sometime between lunch and dinner on a Saturday afternoon. I spent long evenings that winter either alone or in Dale McKergow’s basement just around the corner, drinking warm Molson Export and listening to Talking Heads: “And you may ask yourself, ‘Well, how did I get here?’” Truth is, I think I’m still working on the answer to that question and, well, if you buy the place maybe I can finally move on.

1049 Hwy 2 - Microfictions

When John left (in a box, wrecked face bolted sunwards) my sister flew in from Skye for a month. We sat at this dumb table, searching for universals, contrasting the light here and there. She told me this wallpaper, lovely though she found it, wouldn’t work back home. The salt and the wind would peel it from any wall in under a season, she said, and anyway it was more Beatrix Potter than William Morris, wasn’t it? I was lost, gone, adrift, and for reasons I both do and don’t understand, I lied to her then, said I’d found a folding knife under one of the floorboards, John’s initials carved ornately, all antique flourish, into its ivory side.

*

You asked how he arrived. Well, Allan rode whales over ice spume off Cape Cod, she said. Brought scenting dogs from Scotland, a wheel of rum cake wrapped in lemon muslin, a glass jar of leather buttons, boots that grabbed at his calves like a hand. He read in front of fires piled from aerated pyramids of cedar, took the hobbled cart along the lake’s edge to town, a list of ingredients smuggled to him from the help: rosemary, tallow, new potatoes, a fist of cloves if possible, to stud the oranges stashed back of the dresser drawers.

RECENTLY SOLD

MUSINGS