Our 116-year-old Virginia home is a money pit—so we’re getting creative

An old Virginia home and a string of costly repairs reveal how rising house prices and the cost of living are forcing middle-class homeowners to get creative just to stay afloat.

I have a love/hate relationship with our 116-year-old home. I adore its character and location, but I absolutely do not love the way it keeps trying to financially ruin us. 

Our house is basically the architectural version of a group project where no one communicated. The original structure went up in 1910, someone got ambitious in 1940, and then another round of “sure, why not?” happened sometime in the mid-60s to ‘70s. The result? A Frankensteined together structure that we proudly call “home.” 

Even though we bought this house as our forever home 10 years ago, the near-constant need for repairs had us recently browsing Zillow listings in our area. 

In the past few months, we’ve:

• finished paying off the repipe of our entire home ($6,000)
• cut down an 85-foot rotting tree ($3,200)
• installed a new hot water heater ($1,000)
• renovated the upstairs bathroom where the pipes initially burst ($700)

Along with some smaller necessary projects this year, we’re also hoping to replace the failing 60-year-old oil heating system and update the electrical panel to accommodate that. We were quoted $12,000 to $15,000 for those upgrades this past fall.

None of these are cosmetic upgrades or Instagram-inspired projects. These are the kinds of repairs we can’t ignore—the kind that don’t make your house nicer, just functional.

The reality of the market

My husband, Kody, and I both work salaried 40-hour weeks. Our combined income for a household of three puts us squarely in the middle class for our area. 

The frustrating part isn’t just the repairs; it’s the math—and we’re not alone in feeling it. Across Virginia and the county at-large, home prices climbed significantly over the past few years. Interest rates are up, too. 

“Home prices saw a modest increase across the state, but price trends varied widely across different regions,” according to a Virginia Realtors report citing research from last month. “The statewide median sales price was $410,000 in February, going up $6,500 since last year, increasing by 1.6%.”

What used to feel within reach for middle-class families now comes with a much steeper entry point and far less margin for error.

In our household, we’re doing everything “right.” We have full-time jobs, we budget, we don’t live extravagantly. Our family trips are by car; not only won’t you ever catch me on a metal tube posing as a mode of transportation tens of thousands of feet in the air, but have you seen the cost of flights lately thanks to the rising cost of fuel? Still, the line between “stable” and “if one more thing breaks” feels thinner than it should.

It’s the kind of thing that keeps us crossing our fingers against every noise our century-old house makes. A drip isn’t just a drip anymore—it’s a potential four-figure invoice.

Here’s the part that really gets me: If we made what we currently do a few years ago, we could’ve comfortably bought a second property. But now, housing prices—coupled with the rising cost of living—have gone so far through the roof that the only option we have is to stay put and hope we have the funds to repair whatever breaks next. 

Our house, of course, took that as a challenge. 

Chad Pickeral (left) and Amie Knowles strike a pose on the roof. (Kody Knowles/Dogwood)

A questionable repair 

Most recently, the shingles over part of the 1940 addition started leaking around an unused satellite dish the previous owners bolted straight into the roof (how very thoughtful of them). 

We called a roofing company who quoted $3,280 for just that portion, which left us with three options for the upcoming spring showers: Let it leak, win the lottery, or try to seal it ourselves. 

Since our plan of striking it rich didn’t pan out, and we didn’t want the water stain and musty smell to get worse, we went with the slightly less orthodox method. 

I’m no roofing pro, but I do have ADHD—which is basically another way of saying I have a natural knack for coming up with creative solutions. So I bought a $5 can of insulating spray foam sealant from Home Depot. My brother came over, and together, we scaled the roof and applied the sealant.

Is it pretty? No. Is that product meant for leaky roofs? Also no. Is it working? Eh, to be determined—we didn’t get as much rain as the weather folks called for the following day, so it’s hard to tell. 

But, until proven otherwise, our family mantra remains in place for the time being: “If it’s stupid but works, it ain’t stupid.”

In a state full of old homes with their own quirks and histories, I have a feeling we’re not the only ones getting a little creative to keep things standing.

But that raises a growing concern: When “making do” starts replacing “getting ahead,” it sure feels like something bigger than our houses is wearing down.

Dealing with your own “if one more thing breaks” moment? I want to hear about it. And if you want more stories like this—real people navigating real life in Virginia—sign up for the newsletter.

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