The photographer was coming at eleven. The rest of the house was “super empty,” but I wanted him to catch the living room before I moved out the couch and rug.
It was a cool room.
I had bought 134 Franklin Street in Poughkeepsie in 2016 as a wreck. The old listing showed peeling wallpaper, unfinished floors, missing moldings, and a house that needed cash before a bank would take it seriously. That was part of the appeal. It was a ridiculous amount of house and history for the money, assuming I could actually put it back together.
The project lasted for years.
By February 2021, I was trying to sell it without turning the final stretch into another giant renovation. My note to the contractor was plain: repair the obvious cosmetic damage, work with the building department on the retroactive permits, and find the most practical path to a listing.
The basement was the problem. I did not want it classified as living space. Finished storage would have been fine. The bathroom down there made that harder, and I knew a variance might be necessary.
I was not pretending the issue did not exist. I also did not want to pour a new pile of money into work that a buyer might immediately change.
The weather kept inserting itself into the plan. Snow complicated the move. I told the photographer I had spent more time shoveling than moving during one trip. Another storm threatened the shoot. We moved the schedule around and finally settled on Thursday morning.
At the same time, I was moving into the city apartment. The main move had gone well. Then I returned for the couch, the rug, and whatever else still made the mostly empty house look like somebody lived there.
The photographer arrived a little late on February 11. No problem. We did the shoot. The next day I was signing the listing paperwork and explaining which key in the lockbox opened the basement door.
The house was clean enough to photograph, empty enough to sell, and still carrying one last argument with the building department.