My youngest daughter, Shannon, and her husband, Chris, have purchased a new house, which is really an old house. Although we haven’t done the research yet, there is evidence the house, built in the 1800s, was once inhabited by a sea captain who spent his days traveling to exotic ports.

Although there is no longer a crow’s nest in place, there’s still an old ladder affixed to the wall, reaching to the hatch door in the attic’s ceiling. I imagine the captain’s wife in the rooftop lookout, wearing her best dress, her hair loose and free in the summer breeze as she watches for the ship that will sail up the Kennebec bringing her seafaring husband home.

It’s one of the romantic notions I attach to this towering mansion that looms above the street in downtown Bath.

Shannon and Chris intend to research exactly what has transpired in the house over the past 120 years after they settle in and begin to listen to the stories any resident ghosts have to tell them.

In the meantime, they’re enthralled, enthusiastic and excited as they tote their baby daughter through the sun-filled, vacant rooms, waxing poetic about rewiring, floor refinishing, paint colors, and window treatments. The couple remain undaunted by the disintegrating carpet and five layers of cracked, flaking linoleum in the ell, the non-existent kitchen, and evidence of rodents.

Shannon forges ahead, flitting through the Yellow Pages, the phone to her ear, while bouncing little Lucy on her knee.

It’s pretty clear there’s much work to be done. Except for the drafty ell tacked to the back and the addition of bathroom fixtures a good 50 years ago, the house appears to be pretty much unchanged. The good news is replacement windows were installed by the latest owner, and the ornate radiators are in working condition. There are also secret passages through to the bedrooms, narrow back stairs leading to a two-room apartment, and a grand front hall with a mahogany staircase.

Just couldn’t see it

I have to admit, the first time I laid eyes on the place, I thought only about the money, time and sweat-equity this young couple would have to expend. I stood in the winter gloaming, looking up at the incredible hulk of a house with its overgrown garden and loose shingles, wondering what in the heck my daughter and son-in-law were so enraptured with.

For the life of me, even when squinting my eyes and looking at the house from every angle, I just couldn’t see whatever it was they saw.

Later that night, after the ink was dry on the closing documents, I went back out into the cold for the grand tour of Chris and Shannon’s new purchase, ready to embrace their hopes and dreams. I entered through the kitchen door and walked toward the sound of excited voices. Nearly my entire family, including Lucy and her three little cousins, were gathered in the glow of the front hall light. Armed with flashlights, we investigated every nook and cranny to the sounds of laughter, oohs and aahs, as well as 3-year-old grandson Addison’s constant questions.

Anna, our precocious toddler, instigated a game of “Hide ‘n Seek,” ducking into the storage cupboard under the staircase. The men talked of supporting beams, floor jacks and frost walls while the women planned shopping expeditions to local flea markets.

At the end of the tour, I clicked photos of everyone as they perched on the grand staircase and leaned against the hall radiator, then paused to look and listen at what was happening there in that moment. As Addison pulled on the leg of my slacks, Anna closed herself into the secret cupboard for the 20th time, son-in-law Frank bounced a very vocal baby Jack, and Shannon gave Lucy a kiss before passing her to her daddy.

It was then I saw a glimmer of what the new homeowners must envision: I saw a grand old beast of a house filled with energy, laughter and affection; a place of abundance with plenty of room to grow – a place to be a family.