How this middle-class millennial managed to buy a house

Most of my generation can't afford to buy a house. This is a fact and a meme, and some days I actually feel guilt for being an outlier. The least I can do is push back against the persistent, mostly older-generation-based idea that we're lazy and irresponsible or whatever.

Tl;dr: it was only possible because of a streak of good luck.

A large part of that luck was simply being on the older side of my cohort. I and my husband were born in 1984, so we managed to get ahead of a lot of the worst of the recession by a couple years, and then take advantage of low interest rates at just the right time.

But my luck goes much deeper than that. It's generationally built, and to have an understanding of how I came to own a house before I turned thirty, you have to go back at least a century.

I'm white, and my family has a history of being homeowners, both factors that statistically make my home ownership more likely. My working-class family immigrated here in the early 1900's, moved to the west coast (dad's side to the city, mom's side to the country) and immediately bought their own houses. They then, despite being working or middle class, had some extra wealth to help their children do things like also buy their own houses and go to college. 

My parents were solidly middle class. They both worked full time to afford the small suburban house they purchased in the mid 70's, but even then, they needed some help from family members for the down payment. Which they got! Because we had a little bit of generational wealth to share around.

Having stable housing, plus raises they both got from their jobs--helped by the post-high school education their generational wealth helped them obtain-- plus finding a very affordable daycare provider --something that's rare and precious, and had retired when I was a teen, the first of many windows I slipped through before they closed-- meant they could afford to upgrade a few years later to a small rural property, which they live in to this day.

My husband's family was not quite as a privileged, but they are also white also had a history of generational property ownership.

Another big piece of luck was the unique college scholarship I received -- Being able to afford that rural property meant that I went to a specific small high school that paid many of its graduates a full-tuition scholarship to the local state university. It's worth noting that this small town had a very limited rental housing situation--meaning if someone had to move, they would likely have to move out of district--so that most of the kids who qualified for this scholarship came from home-owning families (it required a student to be in the district for, IIRC, 8 years at the time).

I once again came along at just the last possible second to really take advantage of it; After my year, the scholarship requirements became much more restrictive and limited. Had I been just a few years younger, I would not have qualified, and I'd probably still be in student debt to this day. 

My extended family (using that generational wealth again) had been sending checks and bonds to us kids since we were small, so I had a small but significant savings account to dip into by the time I was eighteen, and my parents both had enough wealth to help with college expenses that weren't covered by the scholarship. Between that and my summer job, I graduated four-year university with that magical, nearly unattainable number of ZERO. Zero money in my bank account, but also zero debt. Nearly unheard of for my cohort.

Even my housing situation was lucky and set me up for success later: having stable housing my entire childhood meant I had grown up as part of a community -- I have friends and contacts all over the local area. I ended up becoming roommates with a couple of people I'd known since elementary school. Trusted and reliable roommates are worth their weight in gold, and what's more their family contacts let  rent a house together for very cheap, which meant I could earn enough with my summer job to pay for rent the rest of the year, and therefore focus on study instead of working as well.  Just a few years after we moved out, the landlord decided not to rent it anymore, and all over that university town, rents have skyrocketed in the last decade. 

When people say that eviction is traumatic, this is part of what that means. Community members help each other in ways that are numerous, and difficult to quantify. Eviction and unstable housing destroys communities. 

Anyway, back to me: I got a job with salary* and benefits right after graduation. Barely. I applied to about a dozen places, and it was the only one that called me for an interview. Most wanted the now-normal "experience in the field" or a master's or were seasonal-only and unstable. I almost passed by the booth at the job fair, assuming I wasn't qualified, but luckily, the woman who was working the booth that day was the extremely nice manager at the time. She actively encouraged me to apply. If she hadn't gone out of her way, I wouldn't have. Less than two years later, that organization changed its policies; no longer allowing not-yet-graduated to apply, and actively discouraging those with "only" a bachelors. I squeaked through yet another window that closed behind me.

Me having a salary with benefits meant that my boyfriend (and soon to be husband) could quit his dead-end job and start going to school full time, which meant after a while he could get a particular (paid!?) internship, which lead to a new job, a few years later that paid so well we moved across the state to take advantage of it.

With the help from his family for part of a down payment, and the fact that the rural area we moved to had some of the lowest land prices in the state, we bought our first house for $110k. A few years later, we would sell it for much more. Yet again, we made it just in time; We could not have afforded our house had we arrived a few years later.

But because we could, we could buy another house... barely. My husband's next job was in Portland, and housing prices were very high. It took nine months of searching to find one that fit our needs and was within a reasonable commute (two hours is reasonable, right?). And that only worked because we were able to tap into our family and friend network once again, me, my kid and dog living with my parents, while my husband lived with his friend in Portland during the week, rent -free Without that help, if we'd had to rent during that time, we would have burned through savings instead of being able to save for a down payment. We had a small child at the time, and I couldn't work because, again, affordable daycare is hard to find, and my wage wouldn't have been able to cover it or justify it. We'd be renting to this day.

The impact of childcare on society cannot be overstated. When we lived in a more rural part of the state, home ownership was more common for younger and blue collar people - part of this can be attributed to lower cost of land, but another thing I noticed is that people from there tend to stay there, near family, and therefore have free daycare. The boost this gives to people literally makes the difference between home ownership and renting. 

But we finally found a house and bought it. The one we live in now. It's in a nice neighborhood with friendly neighbors, decent schools and walkable to some businesses. It's three bedroom, 1.5 bath, and has a backyard for my garden and the dog. It's not extravagant, and it's old and needs a lot of work, but we did it. We're livin' the American dream. Barely; Just one year after purchase, our house had increased in value so much we never could have afforded it had we tried to move later than we did. Yet another window closed behind us.

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*Funny story, just a couple months ago I was reminiscing with my husband about my first "grown up job", and how it had "paid so well", and I was like, "I don't remember exactly, what was my salary back then, like $50k? (a number that had been rattling around in my head because it's roughly the median income of the county I now live in)" He laughed, and was like, "um, it was barely $28k. It just felt like a lot because of how poor we were."

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Some sources:

The Great Recession, education, race, and home ownership

Pew Research: How young adulthood today compares with prior generations

The Childcare Crisis

Thoughts on "condo collies" and other "apartment-inappropriate" pets

For a couple of years, I had two border collies, one of which was bred to be a cow dog. My partner and I both worked full time jobs and usually weren't able to come home at lunch, and for a while we lived in a two bedroom, second story apartment. Sounds like the worst situation for border collies, right?

Here's all it took to keep my condo collies satisfied: twenty minutes of fetch in the yard/field in the morning before work. Filled kongs for while we were gone. They had run of the house and, after we moved, a doggy door to the fenced yard for the nine hours they were alone. More fetch or an off leash walk in the evening when we came home. A few minutes of trick-training for their dinner, then hanging out with the family as we went about our evening housework, dinner prep, and relaxing.

They both slept quietly in their crates next to the bed every night, and rarely made a peep until we got up the next morning. They didn't destroy anything, they didn't bark or develop obsessive habits. Every indication was that they were content and happy to be part of our lives.

When I got pregnant, the routine started slipping. For three months I was nauseous from noon until bedtime, and the only relief seemed to be to sit or lie down, so the evening walk was the first to go.

Soon, the only evening exercise they were getting was a few minutes of fetch in the yard. By the second trimester, I was more tired in the mornings and was sleeping through my alarm more often, so soon they weren't getting morning exercise every day either. I started getting lazy about filling their kongs every day. I started feeling exhausted in the evenings after work. All I wanted was to lay on the couch until bedtime.

By the middle of the second trimester, the poor dogs were rarely getting any exercise during the week at all, and only one good long off-leash walk on the weekends. It's no coincidence that they both started counter surfing during this period. Some dishes were broken. We learned to puppy-proof in the mornings, so it still wasn't a huge issue.

We made it through pregnancy and the newborn stage with both dogs still happy in their living situation. A couple years later, we thought that it still wasn't fair to the farm-bred one to be cooped up so much, so we re-homed her to a sheep farm. Ironically, she turned out to be bad at herding, as well, so she continues as a house pet to this day.

I'm not saying that a working-bred dog is for everyone. But so often we find ourselves judging pet owners for the type of animal they've chosen. I certainly have in the past, but, especially in the year 2020, we could all learn to let go of that knee-jerk reaction to assume the worst about strangers we know nothing about.

Thing's I've learned on the job

Things I've learned from working at a vet clinic and animal shelters:

-You can't fix everything all at once

-There is no such thing as a "perfect" pet home

-You never know the whole story

-A person's bank account is not an indicator of how good of a pet owner they will be

-There is no such thing as a completely healthy bulldog

-People will lie to you. (It doesn't automatically make them bad people)

-People will make mistakes. (It doesn't automatically mean they shouldn't own pets)

-People really can learn from their mistakes if given the opportunity

-Many more people than you would think are able to successfully keep multiple, large dogs without a fenced yard

-People get way more defensive about their dog having fleas than almost any other aliment

-DVM's can succumb to observational bias just like anyone

-Landlords will always complain about their tenants no matter what

-I really need to take a refresher course in conversational Spanish

-You may not understand why someone feels the need to spend a couple thousand bucks to import a rare breed of dog from Eastern Europe just because they read online that the breed would "make a good jogging partner", but it really doesn't matter what you think. Not everyone needs a lecture on their decisions

-"Pit bulls" really, truly, are a popular type of pet

-There is a definite correlation between a dog's status as "outdoor only" and how likely they are to be leash trained

-There are a lot more people than you'd guess that have "outdoor only" dogs that are loved and receive regular vet care

-People in the thick of animal rescue do not give enough credit to members of the community who help animals in small ways

Domestication Stories: The Death and New Life of the Guardian

The bear came in the dead of night, when the fire was low and everyone was asleep except one watchman. Later, his father told him the bear had been very thin, and had come out of hibernation too early. Drawn to their temporary camp by the smell of the fresh horse meat hung in strips from the drying rack.

All the boy knew is that he woke to a frightening weight crashing down on him and a roar so loud and close it seemed to shake the whole earth. For three terrifying heartbeats, he couldn't move or breath, or see. Then, just as suddenly, the crushing weight lifted, and he jumped to his feet, throwing off the blanket fur and looking around wildly. He froze. The weight that had pinned him to the ground a moment ago was a bear, and now its huge, humped back was now less than two arm lengths away.

Time seemed to slow. He was vaguely aware of the others around him, rising from their blankets and groping for weapons, and of the odd, jerky motions of the bear as it bit and clawed at a spear that protruded from its shoulder. He took one step backward, then another, and that's when the bear paused and turned its eyes to him.

There was nothing between it and the boy. He heard his father shout something, but it was too late, the bear, full of hunger and frustration and pain, swung his body around and took a single step toward him, lowering its head. There was no time to run, or to grope for his spear. The bear would maul him to death in seconds, before his father or the other hunters would have time to attack.

But then, a dark furry shape hurtled out of the darkness and rammed into the bear. A wolf, from the Pack-that-Follows. It clung to the bear's neck ruff and shook and scrabbled and snarled. The bear roared again and swiped frantically at the wolf with both arms. Attention diverted, the boy wasted no time and threw himself backwards into the bushes, out of the way.

He looked up in time to see the bear throw the wolf to the ground, but it had given the hunters time to grab their weapons and now they closed in on the bear from all sides. The fight was over in moments, spears and finally a stone club finished off the bear. and it lay limp right next to the fire. There was a round of shaky, tired cheers and then several family members set to work immediately to skin and butcher the bear. It would be bad luck to try to sleep with it lying there in the middle of camp.

But the boy had eyes only for the still form of the wolf. He crawled over on hands and knees and touched the wolf with a shaking hand. It didn't respond, the muscles slack in that familiar way of of an animal newly-dead. He carefully turned the head toward the fire light, and it was as he feared: The wolf's face had a striking dark stripe from forehead to nose tip. His favorite wolf from the Pack-That-Follows, one of the handful who had a name.

Uncle came up and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder as he began to weep. He stroked the wolf's fur for the first, and last time. Even the friendliest wolves like this one, the ones who would venture close to the fire for dinner scraps, wouldn't allow a person to touch them. So incredibly soft and thick. For a moment, the boy wondered what it would be like to have a wolf sleep next to you at night. How safe and warm you would feel.

"Stripey was so brave," he said. "He saved my life."

"Yes," Uncle replied. "He was Her gift to us, we must be thankful for the time he was with us."

The boy looked over his shoulder at the activity around the bear's carcass, then into the brush where the rest of Stripey's pack would be. He couldn't see or hear them, but they were probably watching, as they always did.

"We should give the Pack some of the meat," he said. Uncle nodded.

"I'm sure your father will agree."

"What will we do with Stripey's body?" It seemed to wrong to butcher it, even for the luxurious fur. This was not just any wolf.

Uncle seemed to understand. He went around to the rest of the family and told them to leave Stripey where he lay. None argued. In the morning, he and the boy wrapped an old blanket hide around Stripey's body.

"Come," he said to the boy, and picked up the wolf and walked out into the brush.

They walked for some time, pausing now and then to collect branches. By the time they reached an appropriate place - a low spot between hills, where stones peeked out of the earth to show it was a favored place of the Stone Mother - he was carrying an armload of branches so large he could barely see over it.

Uncle chose a place with a natural depression in the earth, next to a large boulder, and placed Stripey's body into it. He took out his knife and gently removed Stripey's head and set it aside. The rest of the body he re-wrapped in the blanket and together they covered it in all the branches and twigs they'd collected.

"How will he hunt without his head?" The boy asked, his tears returning. Uncle put an arm around his shoulders.

"He has a different job now."

A week later, when the hunting party returned to the Winter Caves with their bounty of food to share, Uncle also helped the boy clean up Stripey's skull and choose a place for him near the doorway to his family's dwelling. The boy had never paid much attention to the Guardian bones that others had placed in different parts of the cave. They were just part of his landscape. Now he realized that each one was significant. He made sure to listen more carefully when stories were told, and to tell Stripey's as well, and he also made sure to bring extra scraps to the Pack-That-Follows. As long as he lived, he would make sure no one forgot the bravery of this Guardian.

~~*~~

Notes:
125,000 years ago, a family of Neanderthals in what is now called England placed wolf skulls at the entrances to their dwellings. It was around the same time that an important genetic divergence event took place among wolves in Eurasia, (according to mDNA, anyway) possibly showing the beginning of the separation between wolves and wolves who would later become dogs. We don't know much else about that period of time. We don't know Neanderthal's relationship with wolves, or their rituals or spirituality, but placing their skulls near doorways implies a spiritual connection. I think it's possible those skulls could have been from camp-following wolves. Wolves who are physically identical to, but were just a little different, from other wolves. Just a little more likely to hang out close to people, and for people to start to recognize individuals and form favorites and attachments to them, even if these wolves weren't yet very "tame".

My wine jug terrarium after 5 1/2 years

On September 24 2013, I tossed a pothos cutting and a chunk of lichen into a wine jug with some dirt:

February 7th, 2019:

It went through a rough period in 2014, when my toddler knocked it over and pushed a ball point pen in there (which remains to this day), but it persevered.