We’ll never forget the day we loaded up the moving truck set to travel 1,700 miles from Baltimore, Maryland, to Garland, Texas, in June 2015. We were filled with nervous anticipation of so many dreams that were about to come true.
Katie would be starting a tenure-track position at Southern Methodist University in the Math Department. She’d been working toward this goal for 12 years. Dylan would soon start working for Halff Associates, the civil engineering firm he interned for during college.
Dylan met Katie while she was still in graduate school at Rice University in Houston, Texas. Dylan, after graduating from Rice as an undergrad, was going back to Rice to receive his MBA. When Katie graduated with a doctorate in mathematics, she dragged Dylan reluctantly away from his native state to Maryland where Katie could fulfill a three-year post-doctoral commitment at Johns Hopkins University.
We enjoyed our three years in Maryland, but it never felt like home. We never got used to driving in snow, and while the Chesapeake crabs are good, they don’t compare to a good brisket or enchilada.
Also, Dylan is the kind of Texan who tries to convince everyone that Texas is bigger and better than anywhere else. He proved his point by winning our church’s annual chili cook-off the Texan way (no beans, of course). He also loyally cheered for his beloved Houston Astros, wearing their jersey around Camden Yards even through the 100-loss rebuilding years. When Katie received her offer from SMU, we were both thrilled to be moving back to our home state.
We were also very excited about owning our first house. We diligently saved money for years while living in cramped apartments too small for a growing family of three after the birth of our daughter in May 2014. We were constantly tripping over toys and longed for space to spread out.
Finding a house was a challenge. We sat at our computer in Maryland and marked favorites from among those our realtor sent us, only to see them fly off the market days later in the hot North Texas housing market.
Our house hunting plans accelerated when riots began in Baltimore in response to the death of Freddie Gray. While we understood the anger, it was sad to watch the inner-city youth destroy businesses in their own community. Katie was greeted at work the next day by armed National Guard officers. We decided the time was right to get out of town, and we booked a flight to Dallas for the next weekend. We had only Friday afternoon and Saturday to tour homes, make a decision, and make an offer.
Thankfully, the house we now own in Oakridge had just gone on the market. We fell in love immediately. It felt so open with the golf course out back, had a big playroom upstairs for our daughter, and had enough space in the garage for the home gym Dylan wanted. We made an offer that afternoon. It felt like everything was falling into place.
Things got more interesting on moving day. As the movers were loading the final boxes into the truck, our realtor called to tell us that there was an unsigned document that would prevent the bank from granting us the loan. Little did we know that our house was referred to as the “FBI house” in the neighborhood due to a raid by federal agents in which the previous owner was arrested and convicted for Medicare fraud and running a “pill mill.” He began serving a 12-year prison sentence and forfeited the house.
The house was technically owned by the U.S. government now, and the realtor working for them wasn’t returning any calls. Our realtor didn’t know whom to call at the government, and she advised us to let this house go and look for another when we got into town.
We were crushed. It had been a month since our offer was accepted, and it was hard to let it go. We tried to hide our feelings from our one-year-old, who was struggling to cope with the only home she had known–our small apartment, being turned into a maze of towering boxes.
We caught a break the next day. Our realtor visited the house to make sure there was no damage from the extensive rain that had hit Dallas that week. Our neighbor Keta came over to see what was happening with the sale. When she found out the problem, she gave our realtor exactly what we needed—the phone number of the U.S. Marshall in charge of the case. The U.S. Marshall didn’t even know the house was supposed to be closed on that week, and he immediately sent his deputy to the attorney’s office to sign the missing document. Thank you, Keta!
We have now lived here for three years, and our home has surpassed our expectations. We love our house more and more as we slowly make improvements, and it is rewarding to invest our time, energy, and money into our home. Dylan is perfecting his smoked brisket, and Katie can play her organ without worrying about noise complaints from apartment neighbors. This has also been a great place to raise our daughters. They both enjoy play dates with a few of the kids on our street and watching the dogs walk by in the evening.
What we appreciate most about Oakridge is the community of which we are now a part. It was a welcome change when many neighbors welcomed us to Oakridge, taking the time to get to know us beyond the polite “hello.” We have enjoyed getting to know and becoming friends with many of you. We are truly blessed to call Oakridge and Garland home.
At the end of each blog post, I will add a musical selection. Let’s keep this campaign positive and fun.