Vicki Doudera – Realtor, Author, Mainer

The bottom of the market seems to be here — in fact, prices are starting to rise in some areas, indicating that we are scratching and clawing are way OUT of the bottom.  If you’ve been sitting on the sidelines, now is THE TIME to get into the game and purchase real estate!

There are definitely some great deals out there, and interest rates remain so low it seems crazy not to pick up an investment property. Give me a call and we’ll make it happen.

The housing market is starting to show signs of moving… and I’m thrilled.

Not just because it means I can help some of my clients get their homes sold, but because so many industries depend on a healthy housing market.

Not just contractors, big box store operators, and huge real estate firms, but lots of “little people,” too. Here in Maine we not only know these people, but they are our friends and neighbors.

People like my next door neighbor, Frank, the third generation owner of a small hardware and building supply store in Camden. Frank leaves his house at 4 a.m. each morning except Sunday to open the store. That’s right — I said FOUR a.m.! It is a testament to how well I sleep (or how tired I am!) that I have only heard the rumble of Frank’s truck as he pulls out of his driveway four or five times in fourteen years of being his neighbor.

Of course the recession has hit Frank’s store hard. He’s struggling to keep his loyal employees and doing what he can to generate business. Customers at his store know they get something they cannot find in other places, and that’s personal attention from people who actually know building.

So it’s people like Frank and his store, along with all the small carpenters, solo practicing architects, furniture upholsterers, and yes, real estate agents who will breathe a big sigh of relief when housing starts and existing home sales pick up.

Right now I’m feeling thankful that it looks like the tide has turned.

Several years ago, I was the “on duty” agent at Camden Real Estate Company when a call came in from a woman visiting the area from Florida. In a strong, no-nonsense voice she said she wanted to look at houses as soon as possible and she ticked off a few she’d chosen. I met her that afternoon – a thin, sharp-nosed woman with a beautiful smile, expensive clothes, and take-charge manner. We tromped in and out of some lovely properties, including a gracious Dutch Colonial on a tree-lined street in the village. “I’ll take it,” she announced, adding that if her husband was still alive, he’d never agree to the purchase. “But he’s not here to object,” she added, with the tiniest hint of mischief.

That day was the beginning of my friendship with Lucy, a fiesty, fun, CNN-addicted chain smoker with a soft spot for dogs (she had three) and a talent for decorating. Eventually I would help her buy more property, including two lots downtown (where she built a fabulous store to showcase her antique dollhouse collection) and a breathtaking estate on Camden Harbor, a sale that remains one of my biggest. With every transaction, I was impressed with her forthright attitude and her ability to make decisions decisively.  She knew exactly what she wanted, her taste was impeccable, and she wasn’t afraid to spend money.

Lucy was a dream client, but what cemented our friendship was her love of mysteries. An avid reader, she devoured — cover to cover — one book every night.  I’d visit her home or the store and she’d list the titles she’d finished, critiquing each one in incredible detail. True to form, she showed no mercy if she thought a plot was weak or an ending thin, and no writer — famous or not — escaped her opinion.  Blunt? Lucy could be brutal.

And so it was with trepidation that I asked Lucy to read the manuscript of my first mystery, A House to Die For.  Constructive criticism be damned — I was just plain petrified. I knew she’d tell me exactly what she thought, and frankly, I wondered if I could take it.

Lucy read the 300-odd pages in a night and called me to say she loved it. ”Especially the ending,” she barked, adding that it wasn’t just a dashed off thing like some (insert a big name writer here) people slapped together. Big sigh of relief! The world’s most voracious reader of mysteries liked my book. Surely editors, agents, critics, and mystery fans everywhere would as well.

The release of Killer Listing this spring coincided with Lucy’s struggle and death from cancer. She accepted her diagnosis with her characteristic courage, and elected to die on her own terms, just as she’d lived her life. I managed to bring her an advance copy before she became too ill to read. She’d helped inspire the book’s setting by allowing our family to stay in her Siesta Key home one Christmas, and I knew she’d enjoy the story’s twisted plot.

Lucy couldn’t put Killer Listing down, she said. She sent me a note on her stationary saying that I should continue with the series because there weren’t enough good mysteries in the world. I saved her note, and when I sit down to write my stories, it’s Lucy that I picture, ready to read them.

You can always snowshoe into a property...

Am I the type of agent who would pick up clients in a blizzard and take them to see houses?

You bet — in fact that is just what I did during one of our more recent snowstorms, and it was quite the adventure.  Trust me — not all of my winter appointments consist of bringing buyers out in a blizzard, but nonetheless I’m a big believer that real estate in Maine doesn’t grind to a halt just because of a few flakes.

I have a feeling that those of you in warmer climes are wondering why anyone would bother looking at real estate during the cold months.

Well, first off — some people need to relocate here, so they have to start their search early in the year.  Others want to experience what they think will be “the worst of Maine” before they commit to buying a home. And still others think they can get a better deal in the winter.

Which begs the question — can you get a better deal in the winter?

The answer is — sometimes. For every seller who wants to wait for the spring market, there are two more who are tired of worrying about their pipes bursting, sick of paying heating bills, and just plain ready to be done with the whole thing.  A seller like that will welcome a winter offer, especially during a blizzard or a particularly cold snap.

Serious buyers don’t let winter stop them from finding a home.  They use the chilly temps and snowy roads to their advantage.

A week or so ago, my daughter had to write an Italian Sonnet for homework and challenged me to write one, too. It’s been a long time since I thought about iambic pentameter, rhyme schemes (this one had to be abba, abba, cde, cde) and the like.  We sat in front of the fire while the snow fell outside and composed our sonnets.  Here’s mine…

Out in the driving blizzard of white snow,

Where I had blindly wandered, lost my way,

I saw a phantom, pale and ghostly gray,

And where the stranger came from, did not know.

Over the wind that moaned in voices low,

I called to him, not having much to say,

But asking why he’d stood there for the day,

Instead of warming by a fire’s glow.

He looked at me with eyes as black as coal,

And said nothing, nor did he tip his hat,

Which he wore perched upon a snowy head,

So round it made me think that it could roll.

Just then the storm grew worse, the flakes grew fat,

I turned, and from his carrot nose I fled.

A long time ago the Pilgrims sailed, to find a brand new land.

They wanted to worship God themselves, not by the King’s command.

So begins an eight-verse epic poem written by yours truly in November of 1971. I was a fifth grader at Norfolk Elementary School in Massachusetts, steeped so deeply in the lore and legend of the Mayflower, Squanto and Governor Bradford that I felt as if I, too, had planted my shiny black-buckled shoe upon the famous Plymouth Rock.

Growing up in the Bay State it was hard to avoid the Pilgrims. The wide-brimmed hat sported by Pilgrim men (called a capotain) was on signage for our highways, the state flower bore the same name as the Pilgrims’ sturdy ship, and Plimouth Plantation, the living history museum replicating a 1627 English village and Wampanoag settlement, was the default class trip for hordes of school children, including those of us from Norfolk Elementary.It’s not surprising that a young girl who feverishly penned poems, short stories, soap operas, and magazine advice columns should turn her attention to the most famous immigrants of all.

What is surprising is what happened after I wrote the poem.I recall the noisy auditorium of the school, the kids antsy to go home for Thanksgiving break, and me, wearing a plaid dress no doubt, ushered by my teacher up to the front of the assembly. Did I read the poem slowly, emphasizing the dramatic moment when the Pilgrims nearly starved? Or did I hurry through the verses, eager to get back to my seat?

Here is what I do remember: knowing deep in my core that I am a writer. It’s a feeling as solid as Plymouth Rock itself, and for that I am grateful.

Wishing everyone a very Happy Thanksgiving!

This month marks a milestone for Ed and I. Twenty-five years ago we took a trip to Maine together and fell in love with the beauty of the state. Six months later, we were official residents.

It was an ad in the Boston Globe that caught my eye. A very inexpensive cottage was available for one week on the Maine coast. We called and booked it, and in August of 1985 began the drive from Massachusetts to Maine. Six or seven hours later we were Down East… in the little town of Corea, Maine.

The cottage was small but cute, with a tiny kitchen and huge views of the rocky coast. Acadia National Park was nearby, and we spent several days on Cadillac Mountain, Sand Beach, and along the Carriage Trails by Jordan Pond. One afternoon we happened upon a huge patch of ripe raspberries. After finding containers we picked enough for me to make a pie. Back at the cottage we savored each exquisite bite while watching the lobstermen work their traps. We were falling in love with each other and with a place at the same time.

Good friends from Boston drove up to visit us and stayed a night or two at the tiny cottage. Those same friends were in Camden for dinner about a week ago. We laughed about the night we ordered way too many clams, not knowing a “peck” from a “pound.” We recalled the stark beauty of the Down East Coast. And then we waved goodbye and they headed to Bar Harbor.

A string of events — some of them chance — led us to Maine. Twenty-five years later, we are still grateful.

The start of the ride...

What a difference a year makes… and some sunny weather!

Last weekend’s trek was such a wonderful ride. The 180 miles flew by and the scenery was fabulous. Thanks to all of you who supported my ride this year!

And thanks to Robin Chace for these great photos.

Sue Chace, me, Ed, and Will

A Soggy 2009 Ride

The Finish Line in Belfast

The Trek Across Maine is coming up once more (June 18 to 20) and despite last year’s dismal weather, I have to say I’m looking forward to it. There is something great about spending a few days with nothing more to worry about than getting from point A to point B. The camraderie along the ride is fun, and the cause — clean air and healthy lungs — makes raising the money worth while.

I think I am nearly to my goal, fundraising-wise, but if you’d like to sponsor me with a donation to the Maine Lung Association, just click on my fundraising page.  Thank you!

We are about to buy an old cottage constructed in the forties or fifties that needs MUCHO work: the classic “fixer-upper.” It occured to me that as we progress, I might share some of our experiences so that any of you who take the same path can benefit.

Right now we are in the “gather information” phase (meeting with septic designers, electricians, contractors, etc) but before getting to this point, we had to decide whether it was worth it to purchase. This particular property can be divided so that in addition to a cute little house (at least we hope it will be cute when we finish!) we’ll have a building lot to sell. Figuring out whether a fixer upper is worth it involves having a realistic assessment of what you can sell it for when it is finished, balanced by what your budget will be. The aim is to make some money, not only to recoup what you’ve spent, but to compensate you in some fashion for your “sweat equity” — all that back-breaking work you’ve put into the project.

Although our real estate market is improving here in coastal Maine, it is still not on fire, so it is important not to think of this project as a flip. Our thinking is that we can rent the little house for a while and wait for the market to continue to improve.

I’ll include a photo when we actually own the place, and feel free to send me any questions you have.