If you’ve ever bought raw land and decided to build a life from the ground up, you quickly learn one thing:
Everything becomes an adventure.
Some adventures are beautiful, inspiring moments where you look out over your land and think, we really did this.
Other adventures involve crawling under your house through damp sand while yelling instructions to your husband across a crawlspace.
This is one of those stories.
Welcome to The Crawlspace Chronicles.
Part 1: The Famous “How Hard Could It Be?” Philosophy
Let me start with a little full transparency.
I am what you might call a “how hard could it be?” person.
More specifically, I am a “how hard could it be, we can definitely do that ourselves for cheaper” person.
This personality trait has, over the years, bitten me squarely in the sass more times than I care to admit.
Unfortunately, it has not just bitten me.
Because Caleb and I are a team.
Which means when I confidently say something like:
"Oh we don’t need to hire someone for that."
Caleb automatically gets pulled into the adventure whether he signed up for it or not.
Poor guy.
Now my mom, on the other hand, is firmly in the “let’s pay someone who knows what they’re doing” camp.
And honestly?
That philosophy becomes incredibly wise when you are not currently trying to build an entire life from raw land.
Because when you start with literal sticks and dirt, your budget has a funny way of saying:
“Absolutely not.”
Every time you consider hiring someone.
Which is exactly how Caleb and I keep ending up in situations where we look at each other and say:
"How hard could it be?"
What We’ve Learned Building a House on Raw Land
To be fair, we have actually learned a lot this way.
Mostly through trial, error, and the occasional small disaster.
But still… learning.
We’ve also learned a lot by asking questions from people who have done things before.
Farmers.
Builders.
Contractors.
And old guys at the hardware store who look like they absolutely know what they’re talking about.
But you know what very few people we know have actually done?
Bought a chunk of raw land and basically pointed somewhere and said, “Yep, we’ll just put the house right there.”
Which means even in the short time we have been living here, this house has tested every ounce of our:
- patience
- creativity
- marriage
We’ve had late nights of packing and unpacking.
We’ve tracked in what feels like half the sand in eastern North Carolina because we currently have exactly zero landscaping.
Right now our yard transitions very naturally from:
“front porch” → “coastal beach ecosystem”
In about two steps.
And then…
There was the well.
A Lesson About Well Water (Learned Slightly Too Late)
If you are building a house with a well, let me offer you a small piece of advice we learned slightly too late.
Ask for a water filter.
Apparently that is a thing people do.
Did we ask for one?
No.
So one afternoon Caleb and I are standing outside the house staring at a brand new water filtration system we had just bought, trying to figure out where exactly this thing was supposed to connect.
Now the basic mechanics of plumbing we sort of understand.
Our current plumbing philosophy is built on three core principles:
- This pipe goes here
- That reducer goes there
- Try not to flood the house
So naturally we figured we would just connect the filter to the main water line.
Which immediately raised a new question.
Where exactly is the main water line?
Which led us to the crawlspace.
Our Crawlspace Is Not a Friendly Place
Let me describe our crawlspace for you.
It is not one of those nice spacious crawlspaces you sometimes see on TV where a contractor casually walks underneath the house with a flashlight and clipboard.
No.
Our crawlspace is more like a tight twisting maze of pipes, wiring, and framing that seems specifically designed for people who are both:
- extremely flexible
- roughly the size of a raccoon
Caleb, bless him, is not raccoon sized.
He is a big guy.
A hardworking guy.
A man who uses his hands for a living and also happens to be the primary breadwinner of this household.
Which means the idea of him wedging himself into a crawlspace full of plumbing lines felt like a slightly unnecessary gamble with our family’s income.
This exact thought ran through my mind as Caleb started eyeing the crawlspace entrance like he might crawl under there.
I told him that was probably not a great idea.
He asked why.
Which is a fair question.
But the possible outcomes felt fairly obvious to me:
- Broken pipe
- Stuck husband
- Emergency room visit
None of which felt like the best plan for the afternoon.
So naturally the logical solution became clear.
I would go under the house.
Part 2: Crawlspace Acrobatics
Before we continue, I would like to clarify something.
Before I had four children, crawling through a tight crawlspace probably would have been mildly inconvenient.
After four children?
It requires a level of core engagement, creative breathing, and strategic sucking in that I feel should probably qualify as an Olympic sport.
But under the house I went.
Now our main water line, as luck would have it, is located on the exact opposite side of the house from the crawlspace entrance.
Of course it is.
That would be far too easy otherwise.
Also the crawlspace is currently a little damp.
Why is it damp?
Because our washing machine had been leaking.
Why was it leaking?
Because the plumbing had not actually been connected correctly.
Why was the plumbing not connected correctly?
That is a story for another day.
But let’s just say we discovered that water can travel in directions you did not know were physically possible.
A Very Loud Plumbing Treasure Hunt
So there I am.
Crawling under the house.
Performing what can only be described as a series of increasingly questionable acrobatic maneuvers while trying not to soak my entire body in mysterious crawlspace puddles.
Meanwhile Caleb is outside attempting to guide me toward the water line.
Unfortunately the house is between us.
Which means we cannot hear each other very well.
So instead of having a calm conversation…
We are yelling.
Loudly.
Across the house.
Which of course alerts the children.
Suddenly I hear the unmistakable sound of tiny feet running at full speed.
The door bursts open and the kids come flying outside like someone just yelled “free snacks.”
Apparently hearing their mother shouting from under the house was interesting enough to investigate.
And then it hits me.
My three-year-old.
My fearless, wildly curious, gave me my first gray hairs child.
Has now seen me under the house through the crawlspace vent.
Which means she has now learned that climbing under the house is apparently something adults do for fun.
This realization fills me with immediate dread.
Because I know with absolute certainty that one day this child will attempt to crawl under there herself.
The Toddler Containment Plan
While Caleb and I are still yelling instructions back and forth about where the water line might be, Jojo is now shouting at me from somewhere along the side of the house.
She cannot see the crawlspace opening.
But she can hear me.
Which somehow makes the situation even more exciting.
At this point Caleb clearly has the same realization I did.
The toddler must be contained.
So he runs to the crawlspace opening…
And shuts the door.
Responsible parenting.
Meanwhile I am still under the house navigating a jungle gym made entirely of pipes while attempting to locate a single water line like some kind of muddy plumbing treasure hunt.
Eventually, miraculously…
We find it.
Victory.
The Moment I Thought I Might Live Under the House
Now all I have to do is crawl back out.
Which requires a second round of Olympic-level contortion.
I shimmy.
I twist.
I hold my breath while squeezing under water lines that feel approximately three inches lower than they were on the way in.
Finally I reach the crawlspace opening.
Freedom is right there.
I push on the hatch.
It does not open.
Because Caleb closed it.
To keep the toddler out.
Which, to be fair, is responsible parenting.
But for a brief moment there I genuinely thought I might now live under the house permanently.
Thankfully the door eventually opened.
And I emerged from the crawlspace like a slightly muddy, mildly traumatized groundhog seeing daylight for the first time.
Victorious.
Damp.
And slightly more open to my mother’s philosophy of hiring professionals.
Lessons From The Crawlspace
Building a home on raw land has been one giant learning curve.
Some lessons are beautiful.
Some lessons involve plumbing.
And some lessons involve discovering that crawlspace doors should maybe stay open when someone is under the house.
But every adventure makes the story a little better.
And trust me…
This house has many more stories to come.
