A Parade, a Potluck, and the Story of How We Found Our Home
There’s a story we tell every Fourth of July—and it starts with a parade, a potluck, and a house that felt like it had been waiting for us.
Eight years ago, we found ourselves at a small town’s annual Fourth of July parade. And there’s a good reason why. But before I go into all that…
If you’ve ever been to a true Americana parade, you know that it’s full of—kids with popsicles, vintage tractors, flag streamers trailing behind tricycles, and neighbors waving from porches. It’s sweet, simple, and deeply nostalgic.
But that year, it was also something more.
That year, this house—the one we now call home—was for sale. And as it turns out, the owners were hosting their own parade party in the front yard. So we did something we’ve never done before…
We brought a written offer with us—to their party.
It sounds bold now, but somehow it felt right. This home had a warmth, a welcome, a history that pulled us in. And the next day, they said yes.
From One Family to Another
What we didn’t expect was the bond that would form between our family and theirs. In the years since that exchange, the very people who handed us the keys have returned every single Fourth of July to celebrate with us.
They come to our parade party now.
The same steps they once watched the world go by from, they now revisit as guests. It’s the kind of full-circle moment that doesn’t happen often—and one that reminds me what it truly means to “pass down” a home.
This isn’t just about real estate. It’s about legacy. Hospitality. Continuity.
The Kind of Home That Holds Things
This house was built for things like this—open doors, long tables, loud laughter, and the kind of days that end with bare feet in the grass and twinkle lights overhead.
It has held parades and potlucks, neighbors and new friends, fireworks and quiet reflection.
And every year, on this day, I’m reminded:
We didn’t just buy a home—we inherited a rhythm.
A tradition.
A spirit of welcome that was here long before us and, Lord willing, will continue long after.
If You’re Reading This
Maybe you’ve got your own Fourth of July tradition.
Or maybe you’re still searching for a place that feels like home.
I hope this story reminds you that sometimes, the best chapters start in the most unexpected ways—with a parade, a front yard, and a porch full of possibility.
And if you’re ever in our little town on the Fourth, you’ll know where to find us—just follow the flags and the laughter.
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