Really by a series of accidents, too many and too boring to relate.
Let's just say that if a character in a movie was having a day as
comically pathetic as my day was, she would have ended it by meeting the
love of her life, not finding a 19th century house.
house, built around 1845, was sold to the town of East Lyme in 1955. Then it was boarded up and ignored - except by vandals, who targeted
it until the town thought it might be easier to just tear it down. But
some citizens of East Lyme fought for its preservation, and in 1976 it
opened as a museum.
That's all anyone can hope for, I think: sometimes you find good places by accident, and occasionally some people believe in things everyone else has given up on.
By the way, this is my 500th post on The Size of Connecticut. There's no actual significance to that number; it's not as if when I publish the post a light goes off above my head and I get a free ice cream, like at Stew Leonard's. Yet somehow, I couldn't let that fact go unmentioned.