A: Ace has to agree: The house to which you refer is certainly striking. Seen on its own, it could be mistaken for the last remaining house on earth after nuclear warfare. But in reality, it is one of two structures that once called the Target construction site home. Wendell Wood, whose United Land Corporation is the brains, brawn and bucks behind the capacious store scheduled to open next summer, tore down the other house (and accompanying sheds, lean-tos and what-have-yous) about six months ago. The house in question, however, has survived. That’s because it is, as Wood says, “special.”
According to Wood, the house was built in the 1920s or 1930s and “is too nice to tear down…[You] don’t get many houses made of stone anymore.” It’s a big house, too: 4,000 square feet with five bedrooms, three baths, a family room, kitchen, living and dining rooms. Wood estimates he has owned the house and its land for 15 to 20 years, during which time he rented it to tenants. He gave the most recent renters notice a year ago that their lease would be on a month-to-month basis, and they finally skedaddled 60 days ago.
Because he’s so fond of the house, Wood is trying to ship it out to a site farther from the future megamart, he told Ace. The trip involves the complicated process of moving the thing across a stream and Wood is currently applying for permits from about 10 agencies, including the Department of Environmental Quality and the Virginia Marine Resources. If a permit does not materialize, Wood admits the house will succumb to the powers of the wrecking ball.
As for when it’ll all go down, Wood says, “You tell me when I can get a permit and I’ll tell you when I’ll move it.” (Ace knows a lot of things, but Ace doesn’t have a crystal ball!) Ninety days is Wood’s self-imposed deadline. After that, no permit and it’s hasta la casa. Should he get the go-ahead to move the house, Wood plans to renovate the building and use it either as offices or for another residence.
Being re-sited to just a stone’s throw from a mammoth-sized parking lot might not be considered pastoral country living, but there’s probably no denying that should new tenants arrive, they’ll find some use for cheapie teapots designed by po-mo profiteer-geniuses like Michael Graves.
