The house looked so picturesque: a 100-year-old farmhouse, freshly white-washed, overlooking a pond in an area of upstate New York we’d loved visiting for years. As a bonus, the 2-acre property included a barn, already finished as a workshop, that made my husband and sons swoon.

The price was fair, even given the fireball of a market. So I called our real estate agent and arranged to see the property in person.

It was a lot of house, bigger than any place I’d ever called home before. In addition to the living and dining rooms, the sunny main floor had about four more areas that we could invent names and purposes for. Study? Sunroom? Parlor? Sure, the laminate flooring and ’70s kitchen and bathrooms had to go. But my husband and I felt ready for a project, and the place looked sturdy, able to withstand a flurry of cosmetic fixes.

This place had potential and then some.

Next we toured the barn, meandering through a meadow bursting with yellow and purple wildflowers. Check, check, and check went the boxes for our pastoral fantasyland.

Our real estate agent shared the home’s history: It had been in one family for ages, and after the matriarch died a few years ago, various children and cousins stayed there from time to time, and occasionally rented the place to friends. Now they were ready to cash out.