Today I went to check out a possible place for us to live. It is a property near a river, just over the Cheatham County line, 65 acres with several cabins and various residents living in those cabins as well as great lodge retreat and rental space. A community crone used to have pagan events out there, and it survives in stories even though no one really seems to know what is going on there now.
Someone found them on FB for me, and from the limited info they had posted I found the not-fully-constructed website (no wonder it didn't google well!) and phone number. I have been trying to contact them for about three months. Email was ignored, phone message was ignored, and finally I made another attempt a few days ago, left a "I want to know more about you" voicemail and at last got a call back. I made an appointment for 1:00, googled the directions along with asking on the phone for advice for any rural quirks, and felt excited. If it didn't lead to a place to live, I hoped it would at least provide the lead that would take us where we need to go.
I drove 45 minutes out there, found the place where the private gravel road ended and parked, hoping I had guessed right since there were no actual address numbers made available to me. After being creatively sniffed by the thumping dogs and taken under wing by a resident, we found the woman I was supposed to meet with. She was uncomfortable with me in a drifty kind of way, unsure what to say, and the absolute lack of rapport or chemistry was remarkable. I asked my questions, she gave me answers in a vague sounding voice and gave me a short tour of the great lodge. In under 20 minutes, I was back in my truck. No, they don't have any cabins available or coming available. The one that would be most likely to turn over comes furnished and rents for about double what we can afford (though I only mentioned not needing furniture, omitting the money bit).
It was a bust. A wholesale bust. I even asked if she knew of any other rental properties around, and she said no. On my way back to the highway I detoured to see if I could find some local papers with local classifieds. I took note of a few names I could google and picked up a free paper out of a stand. The free paper turned out to be worse than useless, and the papers I googled are owned by Gannett who also does the Tennessean. Their websites have now made it impossible to find the classified ads that are ACTUALLY IN THE PAPER, and instead link to national websites full of ads and NOTHING REMOTELY USEFUL. Frustrating!
I had such hopes that a situation with so much potential would either work or lead to something that does. I went ready to impress with my ability to help with the retreat center business and be an asset on property, even as I deliberately let others set the tone enough to keep from coming across too strong or trying too hard. In short, I pulled out all my skills, dressed ambiguously enough to pass as more professional or relaxed depending on expectation, and went in expecting good things. And got bupkiss.
I took the more scenic route home and chose not to stop and do errands along the way. It is time for a new plan on how to find the New Nest.