(Lazy, low-bandwidth Saturday at Refuge Farm, Photo Socotra)

I am suffering the pangs of lower bandwidth down at the farm. Got up at five and looked out at the darkness the cloaked the pastures and outbuildings and decided, “Why?”
 
So I rolled over on the termperpedic bed and slept to seven thirty, feeling delightfully slug-like. The chores can wait.
 
There are dozens of chores to be done down here, but I have an appointment back up north to show the Harley to a Marine with a larger death wish than I enjoy at the moment, so need to get back up north with some alacrity after I process all the coffee in the pot on the counter.
 
Heckle the cat did not show up in the last 24 hours, so I will just leave some dry food out for her and see if she comes back next week. It was lovely yesterday, heartbreaking almost, as the season recedes and the holidays start to loom.
 
The appraisal guy was late, of course. Nothing is hard to find anymore, not with GPS, but he entered some location east of town and I am on the west side.
 
When he appeared, he turned out to be a big bluff guy with close-cropped blond hair, a Blackwater t-shirt and clipboard. I have been seeing a lot of men with clipboards lately, the previous one in the hands of a small African American man who came to the condo on Weds. We both worked for Lucent Technologies, as it turned out in chit-chat, though it seems that everyone of a certain age did, one time or another.
 
The clipboard before that one was in the hands of the Candidate Officer who was about to change my son’s life, and I saw it in the rear-view going away.
 
Neither appraiser asked about primary residences, it not occurring to them that one would have more than one; three again for me, if you include the place back in Michigan that is now in the family trust.
 
It is a curious thing. The financial industry was giving money away without thought of risk, fueling the big bubble. Now that times are hard they are being cautious to the extent of suspicion. I tried this a few months ago and could not get Suntrust Bank to execute their end of the paperwork, and they would not disclose the amount of the appraisal that I paid for, which I found truly bizarre.
 
The Fed is doing what it can, and money is essentially costs nothing, so it seems like I ought to lower my payments while I can.
 
The bubble bit me on the butt on the condo at Big Pink. I thought I had made $25K by signing to buy the place, and for a moment, in the darkest days, I thought I had lost a hundred grand. It is a good thing I like the place, and have not been forced to find employment elsewhere and been left holding the bag like so many others.
 
Both the thorough professional assessments took about fifteen minutes, tops. I assume someone with a green eyeshade somewhere assigns the final number. Both guys were pleasant, though I assume that means nothing. Back in the wild days, I remember telling the appraisers the number you needed to make the next deal.
 
Those days are dead as a doornail, whatever those might have been.
 
I am trying to exploit two Federal programs here, so the next time you hear me bitching about big government don’t hesitate to call me a hypocrite.
 
One is a special set-aside. As a disabled Vet, the farm is a special deal with an FHA plan. Should be no points and no closing costs except the appraisal. It is already a fairly low rate, so consequently the savings will also be fairly small, though could come to two or three cases of vodka a month.
 
The condo is sitting on a note at 6.1 percent, though, and that would come down nearly two full points. There are closing costs associated with the loan, but the savings are fairly significant, and would pay for themselves in a year. Since I am on the two-year plan, that works for me. The kicker is the appraisal, of course. The loan-to-value has to fall within 105% of the assessed value, and that is where I am at the tender mercy of the market.
 
Through the flim-flam to buy the place, I only threw in 10% cash, scooped out of the equity of the efficiency apartment I flipped. That is gone, of course, and it is the same frustration that has millions of homeowners shackled to places they cannot sell or even rent for the cost of the mortgage.
 
I have been a good borrower, ahead on payments and throwing cash at principle when I can to bring down the balance. But that doesn’t seem to matter to the lenders, though it seems paradoxical. I mean, if you are “Paying as agreed” on a more expensive loan, why wouldn’t you be a good risk for a lower payment?
 
We will see what happens. Maybe I can slide out from under the bubble at last, and move on to other things. Maybe actually get some stuff done on the farm. There is fence to mend, and the front gate is hanging by one bolt. But getting the appraisal done was the big chore, since that will help me keep the place.
 
Next week, maybe, for the other ones.
 
Copyright 2010 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com
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