The Fixer-Upper Farmhouse

The scariest thing about the fixer-up farmhouse that my husband and I bought more than a decade ago wasn't the window frames that let in snow nor the pipes that could go into a "history of plumbing display."

It was the carpet.

The stairs and all the upstairs rooms were layered in a thick, plush white carpet.

I can't wear a white shirt for more than 10 minutes without spilling something on it. How could I -- and the dogs and cats and husband -- keep carpet in a house clean? The fact that the family who lived there previously -- husband, wife, and five children who raised hogs -- kept the carpet clean provided little solace.

My husband must have realized the futility. When one of the dogs had an accident on the carpet, he offered to clean it. When I walked into the room, I discovered he'd taken his utility knife and cut out the soiled carpet.