In past articles, I’ve written about the history of the property and the Spaulding family, dating back to 1767. Our own history with the land began in January 2020, when Krista and I purchased the last remnant of the original Spaulding farm—just before the pandemic.

At the time, the land was overgrown, the early 18th-century barn was sinking into the ground, and the house—left unoccupied for over 20 years—had no heat, no running water, and had been taken over by wildlife. Our original plan was to hire contractors to slowly restore the property, eventually transforming it into our retirement home.

All things being pandemic, we changed our plans, quit our jobs, sold our house and moved into a nonfunctioning house with all of its animal inhabitants on July 1, 2021. We thought, We can do this ourselves.

This article is less about the work we did on the property and more about what we discovered along the way.

Shards and Shurds

Working on a property that dates back centuries rather than decades, you’re bound to uncover all sorts of things—Connecticut Copper coins from 1787, a hammer from a flintlock rifle, hand-forged hinges, horseshoes, and nails. So many nails.

Then there are the fragments—shards of broken glass and ceramics from items lost long ago. Thanks to our daughter-in-law, CJ, a true mudlarker, we’ve come to treasure these little pieces of history.

Housemates

Moving into a house that had sat empty for 20 years, we knew we’d uncover some curious surprises. One of the many problems was a large section of the foundation—completely missing. So, I temporarily blocked it up with wood, thinking, problem solved!

However, we were soon perplexed to find that something kept digging its way under or around my makeshift barricade.

Before moving in permanently, we would stay for a night or two, contemplating what we had done—buying such a ramshackle house. It wasn’t long before we discovered the culprit: a small adult fox. We would catch glimpses of her (we assumed she was a “her” because she was so cute) watching the house from a distance. That’s when it hit us—she wasn’t just a visitor; she was our housemate.

Then we made another discovery—she had babies. Or, as they’re known in the animal kingdom, kits. That was the end of the barricade. She was welcome to come and go as she pleased.

After a while, we stopped seeing her around. Apparently, we weren’t as hospitable as we thought. She had moved out.

Dismayed, I was walking behind the barn one beautiful day when I stopped in my tracks. Check out the video—it’s heartwarming.

Looks like she upgraded to the barn.

Yuck!

On one of our short trips, we went out for dinner—not just because we had no food, but because the kitchen oven had become an apartment for mice. They had evolved from field mice to city dwellers.

As we stood by the car, watching the sun set in the west, the house looked beautiful… until a bat flew from the eaves. We started counting. At first, we were in awe—ten bats flitted through the air. By the time we reached 100, we knew we had a problem. By 200, we were seriously considering sleeping in the car.

The next day, Krista called the State of Vermont. I’m not sure who she spoke to, but it must have been the Agency of Bats. They were very excited. Turns out, we had a bat colony! Apparently, that was something to be proud of.

But what were we supposed to do? A fox in the crawlspace was one thing, but 200 bats in the belfry was another. The Agency’s solution? Wait until they left just before winter—when they migrate to caves to hibernate—then seal up the house. And that’s exactly what we did.

So, what does a house look like after hosting a colony of bats? I’ll show you.

Believe it or not, all that bat stuff didn’t significantly alter our renovation plans. The house needed to be gutted anyway. Many walls had to be removed and replaced due to rot. All the plaster, sheetrock, and insulation had to go. You may have noticed the electrical junction box in the photo below—not good, Sparky.

Here’s a quick look at the changes we made to the kitchen. And yes, that’s me finishing the kitchen plugs.

Editor’s Note
This post serves as a foundation for our ongoing exploration of this land and its history. It brings together regional events in the Champlain Valley and the lived experiences of families—both documented and remembered—who shaped and were shaped by this part of Vermont. The posts linked below expand on these stories in greater detail, each offering a closer look at the people, structures, and moments that continue to inform how we care for this farm today.

• Historic Spaulding Homestead
  The home and land that anchored generations of the Spaulding family in Panton.
• Revolution, Patriots, Hardship, and Survival on the Frontier
  Life along Lake Champlain during the Revolutionary era.
• A Barn Through Time: Farming Families and the Changing Landscape of Addison County
  How agriculture and land use evolved across generations.
• The Craft of a Gunstock Barn: Vermont’s Timber Frame Heritage
  Traditional building methods that still shape our landscape.
• Salvaging and Saving a Historic Vermont Barn
  Why preservation matters—for history, place, and future use.
• Folklore and Memory: This Old Farm
  The quieter stories that linger long after they’re written down.